o .  \ 


M^ 


^ 


^^ 


.S*"--p^^- 


Pleasant  little  faniily  party  at  j\lr.  lVck.<uiirs. 


Mark  begins  to  be  jolly  under  creditable  circumstances. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


BY  CHAKIES  DICKENS. 


("BOZ.") 


T.  B.  PETERSON'S  UNIFORM  EDITION  OF  CHARLES  DICKENS'  WORKS. 


BLEAK  HOUSE. 
I'lCKWICK  PAPERS. 
OLD  CURIOSITY  SHOP. 
OLIVER  TWIST. 
SKETCHES  BY  "BOZ." 
BARNABY  RUDGE. 
NICHOLAS  NICKLEBY. 
MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT- 
DAVID  COPPERFIELD. 


CONTAINING 

DICKENS'  NEW  STORIES.  Containing— 
The  Seven  Poor  Travellers.  Nine 
New  Stories  by  the  Christmas  Firk. 
Hard  Times.  Lizzie  Leigh.  The  Mi- 
ser's Daughters.  Fortune  Wildred, 
the   Foundling,  etc. 

DOMBEY  AND  SON. 

CHRISTMAS  STORIES,  AND  PICTURES 
FPOM  ITALY, 


T.  B.  PETERSON,  No.  102  CHESTNUT  STREET 


<^^ 


<o  ^ 


rr--^ 


^y*?^s- 


TO 


MISS   BURDETT   COUTTS, 


CTMs  2Lale 


IS  DEDICATED. 


ITH    THE    TRUE    AND    EARNEST    REGABI 

or 
THE   AUTHOR. 


PREFACE 

TO 

MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT 


I  ATTACH  a  few  preliminary  words  to  the  Life  and  Adventures  of 
Martin  Chuzzlewit:  more  because  I  am  unwilling  to  depart  from 
any  custom  which  has  become  endeared  to  me  by  having  prevailed 
between  myself  and  my  readers  on  former  occasions  of  the  same 
kind,  than  because  I  have  anything  particular  to  say. 

Like  a  troublesome  guest  who  lingers  in  the  Hall  after  he  has 
taken  leave,  I  cannot  help  loitering  on  the  threshold  of  my  book, 
though  those  two  words.  The  End:  anticipated  through  twenty 
months,  yet  sorrowfully  penned  at  last:  stare  at  me,  in  capitals, 
from  the  printed  page. 

I  set  out,  on  this  journey  which  is  now  concluded,  with  the  de- 
sign of  exhibiting,  in  various  aspects,  the  commonest  of  all  the 
vices.  It  is  almost  needless  to  add,  that  the  commoner  the  folly  or 
the  crime  which  an  author  endeavours  to  illustrate,  the  greater  is 
the  risk  he  runs  of  being  charged  with  exaggeration ;  for,  as  no 
man  ever  yet  recognised  an  imitation  of  himself,  no  man  will  admit 
the  correctness  of  a  sketch  in  which  his  own  character  is  delineated, 
however  faithfully. 

But,  although  Mr.  Pecksniff  will  by  no  means  concede  to  me, 
rhat  Mr.  Pecksniff  is  natural,  I  am  consoled  by  finding  him  keenly 
susceptible  of  the  truthfulness  of  Mrs.  Gamp.  And  though  Mr& 
Gamp  considers  her  own  portrait  to  be  quite  unlike,  and  altogether 

(5) 


^  PREFACE   TO    MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 

out  of  drawing,  she  recompenses  me  for  the  severity  of  her 
criticism  on  that  failure,  by  awarding  unbounded  praise  to  the  pic- 
ture of  Mrs.  Prig. 

I  have  endeavoured,  in  the  progress  of  this  Tale,  to  resist  the 
temptation  of  the  current  Monthly  Number,  and  to  keep  a  steadier 
eye  upon  the  general  purpose  and  design.  With  this  object  iiv 
view,  I  have  put  a  strong  constraint  upon  myself  from  time  to  time, 
in  many  places ;  and  I  hope  the  story  is  the  better  for  it,  now. 

At  any  rate,  if  my  readers  have  derived  but  half  the  pleasure 
and  interest  from  its  perusal,  which  its  composition  has  afforded 
me,  I  have  ample  reason  to  be  gratified.  And  if  they  part  from 
any  of  my  visionary  friends,  with  the  least  tinge  of  that  reluctance 
and  regret  which  I  feel  in  dismissing  them,  my  success  has  been 
complete,  indeed 

LoiTBoir, 
Twenty-fifth  June,  1844. 


ONTENTS 


CaiPTER  I. — Introdu3l«jry,   concerning  the 

Pedigree  of  the  Cl.azzlewit  Family. . .       9 

Chap.  II. — Wherein  cer\.iiQ  Persons  are  pre- 
aented  to  the  Reador,  with  whom  he 
may,  if  he  please,  b»*^me  better  ac- 
quainted       11 

Chap.  Hi. — In  which  certain  other  Persons 
are  introduced ;  on  the  *dme  Terms  as 
in  the  last  Chapter 18 

Chap.  IV. — From  which  it  w  ill  appear  that 
if  Union  be  Strength,  a«id  Family  Af- 
fection be  pleasant  to  co/itemplate,  the 
Chuzzlewits  were  the  strongest  and  most 
agreeable  Family  in  the  World 25 

Chap.  V. — Containing  a  full  Account  of  the 
Installation  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  new  Pu- 
pil  into  the  Bosom  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
Family.  With  all  the  Festivities  held 
on  that  Occasion,  and  the  great  Enjoy- 
ment of  Mr.  Pinch 32 

Chap.  VI. — Comprises,  among  other  import- 
ant Matters,  Pecksniffian  and  Archi- 
tectural,  an  exact  Relation  of  the  Pro- 
gress  made  by  Mr.  Pinch  in  the  Con- 
fidence and  Friendship  of  the  New 
Pupil 41 

Chap.  VII. — In  which  Mr.  Chevy  Slyme  as- 
serts  the  Independence  of  his  Spirit; 
and  the  Blue  Dragon  loses  a  Limb. ...     46 

Chap.  VIII.  —  Accompanies  Mr.  Pecksniff 
and  his  charming  Daughters  to  the  City 
of  London;  and  relates  what  fell  out 
upon  their  way  thither 52 

Chap.  IX. — Town  and  Todgers's 57 

Chap.  X. — Containing  strange  Matter ;  on 
which  many  Events  in  this  History  may, 
for  their  good  or  evil  Influence,  chiefly 
depend 67 

Chap.  XI. — Wherein  a  certain  Gentleman 
becomes  particular  in  his  Attentions  to 
a  certain  Lady,  and  more  coming  Events 
than  one  cast  their  Shadows  before  ...     73 

Chap.  XII. — Will  be  seen  in  the  Long  Run, 
if  not  in  the  Short  One,  to  concern  Mr. 
Pinch  and  others  nearly.  Mr.  Pecksniff 
asserts  the  Dignity  of  outraged  Virtue  ; 
and  young  Martin  Chuzzlewit  forms  a 
despei-ate  Resolution 81 

&AP.  XIII. — Showing  what  became  of  Mar- 
tin and  his  desperate  Resolve,  after  he 
left  Mr.  Pecksniff's  House ;  what  Per- 
Bons  he  encountered ;  what  Anxieties 
he  Suffered ;  and  what  News  he  Heard.    89 


Chap.  XIV. — In  which  Martin  bids  Adieu  to 
the  Lady  of  his  Love,  and  Honours  an 
obscure  Individual  whose  Fortune  he 
intends  to  make,  by  commending  her  to 
his  Protection , 97 

Cka".  XV.— The  Burden  whereof  is  Hail 
Columbia! 101 

Chap.  XVI. — Martin  Disembarks  fi-om  that 
noble  and  fast-sailing  Line  of  Packet 
Ship,  "The  Screw,"  at  the  Pore  of  New 
York,  in  the  United  States  of  America. 
He  makes  some  Acquaintances,  and 
Dines  at  a  Boarding-house.  The  Parti- 
culars of  those  Transactions 105 

Chap.  XVII. — Martin  enlarges  his  Circle  of 
Acquaintance ;  increases  his  Stock  of 
Wisdom ;  and  has  an  excellent  Oppor- 
tunity of  comparing  his  own  Experi- 
ences with  those  of  Lummy  Ned  of  the 
Light  Salisbury,  as  related  by  his  Friend 
Mr.  William  Simmons 113 

Chap.  XVIII. — Does  business  with  the  House 
of  Anthony  Chuzzlewit  and  Son,  from 
which  One  of  the  Partners  retires  un- 
expectedly     121 

Chap.  XIX. — The  Reader  is  brought  into 
Communication  with  some  Professional 
Persons,  and  sheds  a  Tear  over  the  Fi- 
lial Piety  of  good  Mr.  Jonas 125 

Chap.  XX. — Is  a  Chapter  of  Love 131 

Chap.  XXI. — More  American  Experiences. 
Martin  takes  a  Partner,  and  makes  a 
Purchase.  Some  Account  of  Eden,  as 
it  appeared  on  Paper.  Also  of  the  Bri- 
tish Lion.  Also  of  the  kind  of  Sympa- 
thy  professed  and  entertained,  by  the 
Watertoast  Association  of  United  Sym- 
pathizers     137 

Chap.  XXII. — From  which  it  will  be  seen 
that  Martin  became  a  Lion  on  his  own 
Account.  Together  with  the  Reason 
why 1 46 

Chap.  XXIII. — Martin  and  his  Partner  take 
Possession  of  their  Estate.  The  Joyful 
Occasion  involves  some  further  Account 
of  Eden 149 

Chap.  XXIV. — Reports  Progress  in  certain 
homely  Matters  of  Love,  Hatred,  Jeal- 
ousy, and  Revenge 163 

Chap.  XXV. — Is  in  part  Professional ;  and 
furnishes  the  Reader  with  some  Valua- 
ble  Hints  Jn  relation  to  the  Manage- 
ment of  a  Sick  Chamber 159 

(7) 


VUI 


CONTENTS. 


TflAP.  XX\'^I. — An  Unexpected  Meeting,  and 

a  Promising  Prospect 165 

Chap.  XXVIL— Showing  that  Old  Friends 
may  not  only  appear  with  New  Faces, 
but  in  False  Colours.  That  People  are 
prone  to  Bite ;  and  that  Biters  may 
sometimes  be  Bitten 169 

'^B^?.  XXVIIL— Mr.  Montague  at  Home. 

And  Mr.  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  at  Home  . .   177 

Chap.  XXIX. — In  which  some  People  are 
Precocious,  others  Professional,  and 
others  Mysterious :  all  in  their  several 
Ways 181 

Chap,  XXX. — Proves  that  Changes  may  be 
nmg  in  the  best-regulated  Families,  and 
that  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  a  special  hand 
at  a  Triple  Bob-Major 185 

Chap.  XXXI. — Mr.  Pinch  is  discharged  of  a 
Duty  which  he  never  owed  to  Anybody ; 
and  Mr.  Pecksniff  discharges  a  Duty 
which  he  owes  to  Society 191 

Chap.  XXXII. — Treats  of  Todgers's  again ; 
and  of  another  Blighted  Plant  besides 
the  Plants  upon  the  Leads   198 

Chap.  XXXIII. — Further  Proceedings  in 
Eden,  and  a  Proceeding  out  of  it.  Mar- 
tin  makes  a  Discovery  of  some  import- 
ance    201 

Chap.  XXXIV.— In  which  the  Travellers 
move  Homeward,  and  Encounter  some 
Distinguished  Characters  upon  the 
Way 207 

Ckap.  XXXV. — Arriving  in  England,  Mar. 
^  tin  witnesses  a  Ceremony,  from  which 
he  derives  the  cheering  Information  that 
he  has  not  been  Forgotten  in  his  Ab- 
sence    214 

Chap,  XXXVI. — Tom  Pinch  departs  to  seek 
his  Fortune.  What  he  Finds  at  Start- 
ing 217 

Chap.  XXXVII.— Tom  Pinch  going  Astray 
finds  that  he  is  not  the  only  Person  in 
that  Predicament.  He  Retaliates  upon 
a  fallen  Foe 2'35 

Chap.  XXXVIII.— Secret  Service   229 

'  "hap.  XXXIX. — Containing  some  further 
Particulars  of  the  Dom  3stic  Economy 
of  tlie  Pinches ;  with  strange  NeTs 
from  the  C>ty,  narrowly  conccrnipjjf 
Tom.   -. 233 


239 


Chap.  XL. — The  Pinches  make  a  Nev.  Ac- 
quaintance, and  have  fresh  occabion 
for  Surprise  and  Wonder 

Chap.  XLI. — Mr.  Jonas  and  his  Friend,  ar- 
riving  at  a  Pleasant  Understanding, 
set  forth  upon  an  Enterprise 245 

Chap.  XLII. — Continuation  of  the  Enter- 
prise of  Mr.  Jonas  and  his  Friend  ....   249 

Chap.  XLIII, — Has  an  Influence  on  the 
Fortunes  of  several  People.  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff is  exhibited  in  the  Plenitude  of 
Power ;  and  wields  the  same  with  For- 
titude and  Magnanimity 253 

Chap,  XLIV, — Further  Continuation  of  the 

Enterprise  of  Mr.  Jonas  and  his  Friend  261 

Chap.  XLV,  In  which  Tom  Pinch  and  his 
Sister  take  a  little  Pleasure ;  but  quite 
in  a  Domestic  Way,  and  with  no  Cere- 
mony about  it 

Chap,  XLVL— In  which  Miss  Pecksniff 
makes  Love,  Mr.  Jonas  makes  Wrath, 
Mrs.  Gamp  makes  Tea,  and  Mr.  Chut 
fey  makes  Business 268 

Chap.  XLVII. — Conclusion  of  the  Enter- 
prise of  Mr.  Jonas  and  his  Friend 

Chap.  XL VIII.— Bears  Tidings  of  Martin, 
and  of  Mark,  as  well  as  of  a  Third  Per- 
son not  quite  unknown  to  the  Reade*. 
Exhibits  Filial  Piety  in  an  Ugly  As- 
pect ;  and  casts  a  doubtful  Ray  of  Light 
upon  a  very  Dark  Place 

Chap.  XLIX. — In  which  Mrs.  Harris,  assist- 
ed  by  a  Teapot,  is  the  cause  of  a  Divi- 
sion  between  Friends 

Chap.  L. — Surprises  Tom  Pinch  very  much, 
and  shows  how  certain  Confidences 
passed  between  him  and  his  Sister 

Chap.  LI. — Sheds  New  and  Brighter  Light 
upon  the  very  Dark  Place ;  and  coiv 
tains  the  Sequel  of  the  Enterprise  of 
Mr.  Jonas  and  his  Friend 297 

Chap.  LII. — In  which  the  Tables  are  Turned 

completely  Upside  Down 305 

Chap.  LIII. — What  John  Westlock  said  to 
Tom  Pinch's  Sister ;  what  Tom  Pinch's 
Sister  said  to  John  Westlock ;  what  Tom 
Pinch  said  to  both  of  them ;  and  how 
they  all  passed  the  Remainder  of  the  Day  312 

Chap.  LIV.— Gives  the  Author  great  Con. 

cern.    For  it  is  the  Last  in  the  Book. .  31S 


265 


27" 


281 


287 


292 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES 

OF 

MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT 


CHAPTER  I. 

INTRODUCTORY,  CONCERNING  THE  PEDIGREE  OF  THE  CHUZZLEWIT 

FAMILY. 


As  no  lady  or  gentleman,  with  any  claims  to 
polite  breeding',  can  possibly  sympathise  with 
the  Chuzzlewit  Family  without  being  first  as- 
sured of  the  extreme  antiquity  of  the  race,  it 
is  a  great  satisfaction  to  know  that  it  undoubt- 
edly descended  in  a  direct  line  from  Adam  and 
Eve;  and  was,  in  the  very  earliest  times,  closely 
connected  with  the  agricultural  interest.  If  it 
should  ever  be  urged  by  grudging  and  malicious 
persons,  that  a  Chuzzlewit,  in  any  period  of  the 
family  history,  displayed  an  overweening 
amount  of  funily  pride,  surely  the  we  .-kncss 
will  be  considered  not  only  pardonable  but  laud- 
able,  when  the  immense  superiority  of  the  house 
to  the  rest  of  mankind,  in  respect  of  this  its 
ancient  origin,  is  taken  into  account. 

It  is  remarkable  that  as  there  was,  in  the  old- 
est family  of  which  we  have  any  record,  a  mur- 
derer and  a  vagabond,  so  we  never  fail  to  meet, 
in  tlie  records  of  all  old  families,  witli  innumer- 
able repetitions  of  the  same  phase  of  character. 
Indeed,  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  general  prin- 
ciple, that  the  more  extended  the  ancestry,  the 
greater  the  amount  of  violence  and  vagabond- 
ism ;  for  in  ancient  days,  those  two  amusements, 
combining  a  wholesome  excitement  with  a  pro- 
mising means  of  repairing  shattered  fortunes, 
were  at  once  the  ennobling  pursuit  and  the 
healthful  recreation  of  the  Quality  of  the  land. 

Consequently,  it  is  a  source  of  inexpressible 
comfort  and  happiness  to  find,  that  in  various 
periods  of  our  history,  the  Chuzzlewits  were 
actively  connected  with  divers  slaughterous  con- 
spiracies and  bloody  frays.  It  is  further  record- 
ed of  them,  that  being  clad  from  head  to  heel 
in  steel  of  proof,  they  did  on  many  occasions 
lead  their  leather-jerk ined  soldiers  to  the  death, 
with  invincible  courage,  and  afterwards  return 
home  gracefully  to  their  relations  and  friends. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  that  at  least  one  Chuz- 
zlewit came  over  with  William  the  Conqueror. 
It  does  not  appear  that  this  illustrious  ancestor 
"came  over"  that  monarch,  to  employ  the  vul- 
gar phrase,  at  any  subsequent  period  :  inasmuch 
as  the  Family  do  not  seem  to  have  been  ever 
greatly  distinguished  by  the  possession  of  land- 
ed estate.  And  it  is  well  known  that  for  the 
bestowal  of  that  kind  of  property  upon  his  fi- 
vourites,  the  liberality  and  gratitude  of  tlie  Nor- 
man were  as  remarkable,  as  those  virtues  are 
usually  found  to  be  in  great  men  when  they 
give  away  what  belongs  to  other  people. 

Perhaps  m  this  place  the  history  may  pause 
to  congratulate  itself  upon  the  enormous  ainoniit 
of  bravery,   wisdom,  eloquence,  virtue,  gentle 


birth,  and  true  nobility,  that  appears  to  have 
come  into  England  with  the  Norman  Invasion  : 
an  amount  wliich  the  genealogy  of  every  an- 
cient family  lends  its  aid  to  swell,  and  which 
would  beyond  all  question  have  been  found  to 
be  just  as  great,  and  to  the  full  as  prolific  iti 
giving  birth  to  long  lines  of  chivalrous  descend- 
ants, boastful  of  their  origin,  even  though  Wil- 
liam the  Conqueror  had  been  William  the  Con- 
quered :  a  change  of  circumstances  which,  it 
is  quite  certain,  would  have  made  no  manner 
of  difference  in  this  respect. 

There  was  unquestionably  a  Chuzzlewit  in 
the  Gunpowder  Plot,  if  indeed  the  arch-traitor, 
Fawkes  himself,  were  not  a  scion  of  this  re- 
markahle  stock;  as  he  might  easily  have  been, 
supposing  another  Chuzzlewit  to  have  emigrated 
to  Spain  in  the  previous  generation,  and  there 
intermarried  with  a  Spanish  lady,  by  whom  be 
had  issue,  one  olive-complexioned  son.  This 
probable  conjecture  is  strengthened,  if  not  ab. 
solutely  confirmed,  by  a  fact  which  cannot  fail 
to  be  interesting  to  those  who  are  curious  in 
tracing  the  progress  of  hereditary  tastes  through 
the  lives  of  their  unconscious  inheritors.  It  is 
a  notable  circumstance  that  in  these  later  times, 
many  Chuzzlewits,  being  unsuccessful  in  other 
pursuits,  have,  without  the  smallest  rational 
hope  of  enriching  themselves,  or  any  conceiv- 
able reason,  set  up  as  coal-merchants  ;  and  have, 
month  after  month,  continued  gloomily  to  watch 
a  small  stock  of  coals,  without,  in  any  one  in- 
stance, negociating  with  a  purchaser.  The 
remarkable  similarity  between  this  course  of 
proceeding  and  that  adopted  by  their  Great  An- 
cestor beneath  the  vaults  of  the  Parliament 
House  at  Westminster,  is  too  obvious  and  too 
full  of  interest,  to  stand  in  need  of  comment. 

It  is  also  clearly  proved  by  the  oral  traditions 
of  the  Family,  that  there  existed,  at  some  one 
period  of  its  history  which  is  not  distinctly 
stated,  a  matron  of  such  destructive  principles, 
and  so  familiarised  to  the  use  and  composition 
of  inflammatory  and  combustible  engines,  that 
she  was  called  "  The  Match  Maker :"  by  which 
nickname  and  byword  she  is  recog-nised  in  the 
Family  legends  to  this  day.  Surely  there  caii 
be  no  reasonai)le  doubt  that  this  was  the  Span- 
ish lady  :  the  mother  of  Chuzzlewit  Fawkes. 

But  there  is  one  other  piece  of  evidence,  bea 
ing  immediate  reference  to  their  close  connet 
ion  with  this  memorable  event  in  English  His 
tory,  which  must  carry  conviction,  even  to  n 
mind  (if  such  a  mind  there  be)  remaining  un 
''onvinced  by  these  presumotive  proois. 

(9> 


10 


LIFE    AMD   ADVENTURES   OF 


There  was,  w  ithin  a  few  y^ei.rs,  in  tJie  possession 
of  a  higMj  respectable  and  in  every  way  credible 
and  unimpeachable  member  of  the  Chuzzkwit 
Family  (for  his  bitterest  enemy  never  dared  to 
hint  at  his  being  otherwise  than  a  wealthy  man), 
%  dark  lantern  of  undoubted  antiquity  ;  rendered 
still  more  interesting  by  being,  in  shape  and  pat- 
tern, extremely  like  such  as  are  in  use  at  tlie  pres- 
ent day.  Now  this  gentleman,  since  deceased,  was 
at  all  times  ready  to  make  oath,  and  did  again  and 
again  set  forth  upon  his  solenm  asseveration,  tliat 
he  had  frequently  heard  his  grandmother  sisy, 
when  contemplating  this  venerable  relic,  "  Ay,  ay  1 
This  was  carried  by  my  fourth  son  on  the  fifth  of 
November,  when  he  was  a  Guy  Favvkes."  These 
remarkable  words  wrought  (as  well  they  might)  a 
strong  impression  on  his  mind,  and  he  was  in  the 
habit  of  repeating  them  very  often.  The  just  in- 
terpretation which  they  bear,  and  the  conclusion 
to  which  they  lead,  are  triumphant  and  irresisti- 
ble. The  old  lady,  naturally  strong-minded,  was 
nevertheless  frail  and  fading  ;  she  was  notoriously 
subject  to  that  confusion  of  ideas,  or,  to  say  the 
least,  of  speech,  to  which  age  and  garrulity  are 
liable.  The  slight,  the  very  slight  confusion,  ap- 
p?>-ent  in  these  expressions,  is  manifest  and  is  ludi- 
crously easy  of  correction.  "  Ay,  ay,"  quoth  she, 
and  it  will  be  observed  that  no  emendation  what- 
ever is  necessary  to  be  made  in  these  two  initia- 
tive remarks,  "Ay,  ay!  This  lantern  was  carried 
by  my  forefather" — not  fourth  son,  which  is  pre- 
posterous—  "  on  the  fiflh  of  November.  And  he 
was  Guy  Fawkes."  Here  we  have  a  remark  at 
once  consistent,  clear,  natural,  and  in  strict  ac- 
cordance with  the  character  of  the  speaker.  In- 
deed tiie  anecdote  is  so  plainly  susceptible  of  this 
meaning,  and  no  other,  that  it  would  be  hardly 
worth  recording  in  its  original  state,  were  it  not  a 
proof  of  what  may  be  (and  very  often  is),  effected 
not  only  in  historical  prose  but  in  imaginative  p^,- 
etry,  by  the  exercise  of  a  little  ingenious  labour  on 
the  part  of  a  commentato" 

It  has  been  said  that  there  is  no  instance  in 
modern  times  of  a  Chuzzlewit  having  been  found 
on  terms  of  intimacy  with  the  Great.  But  here 
again  the  sneering  detractors  who  weave  such 
miserable  figments  from  their  malicious  brains, 
are  stricken  dumb  by  evidence.  For  letters  are 
yet  in  the  possession  of  various  branches  of  the 
family,  from  which  it  distinctly  appears,  being 
stated  in  so  many  words,  that  one  Diggory  Chuz- 
zlewit was  in  the  habit  of  perpetually  dining  with 
Duke  Humphrey.  So  constantly  was  he  a  guest 
al  that  nobleman's  table,  indeed ;  and  so  unceas- 
ingly were  His  Grace's  hospitality  and  compan- 
ionship forced,  as  it  were,  upon  him  ;  that  we  find 
him  uneasy,  and  full  of  constraint  and  reluctance  : 
writing  his  friends  to  the  effect  that  if  they  fail  to 
do  so  and  so  by  bearer,  he  will  have  no  choice  but 
to  dine  again  with  Duke  Humphrey  :  and  express- 
ing himself  in  a  very  marked  and  extraordinary 
manner  ns  one  surfeited  of  High  Life  and  Gra- 
clous  Company. 

It  has  been  rumoured,  and  it  is  needless  to  say 
•  he  ruHinur  originated  in  the  same  base  quarters, 
'.hat  a  ecrlain  male  Chuzzlewit,  whose  birth  must 
be  admitted  to  be  involved  in  some  obscurity,  was 
of  very  mean  and  low  descent.  H6w  stands 
i'le  proof?  When  the  son  of  Hint  Tndividml,  to 
ihofi)  the  secret  of  his  fa'hcr'e  birth  was  suppos- 


ed to  have  been  communicated  by  his  father  in 
his  lifetime,  lay  upon  his  death-bed,  this  qaestion 
was  put  to  him,  in  a  distinct,  solemn,  and  formal 
way  :  "  Toby  Chuzzlewit,  who  was  your  grand- 
father?" To  which  he,  with  his  last  breath,  no 
less  distinctly,  solemnly,  and  formally  replied  :  and 
his  words  were  taken  down  at  the  time,  and  sign- 
ed by  six  witnesses,  each  with  his  name  ar.d  ad- 
dress in  full :  "  The  Lord  No  Zoo."  It  may  be 
said — it  has  been  said,  for  human  wickedness  has 
no  limits — that  there  is  no  Lord  of  that  name,  aneC 
that  among  the  titles  which  have  become  extinct, 
none  at  all  resembling  this,  in  sound  even,  is  to  be 
discovered.  But  what  is  the  irresistible  inference  ? 
Rejecting  a  theory  broached  by  some  well-mean- 
ing but  mistaken  persons,  that  this  Mr.  Toby  Chuz- 
zlewit's  grandfather,  to  judge  from  his  name,  must 
surely  have  been  a  Mandarin  (which  is  who^y 
insupportable,  for  there  is  no  pretence  of  his  grand- 
mother ever  having  been  out  of  this  country,  or 
of  any  Mandarin  having  been  in  it  within  some 
years  of  his  father's  birth  ;  except  those  in  the  tea- 
shops,  which  cannot  for  a  moment  be  regarded  as 
having  any  bearing  on  the  question,  one  way  or 
other),  rejecting  this  hypothesis,  is  it  not  mani- 
fest that  Mr.  Toby  Chuzzlewit  had  either  received 
the  name  imperfectly  from  his  father,  or  that  he 
had  forgotten  it,  or  that  he  had  mispronounced  it? 
and  that  even  at  the  recent  period  in  question,  the 
Chuzzlewits  were  connected  by  a  bend  sinister,  or 
kir  i  of  heraldic  over-the-left,  \  ■.',h  some  unknown 
noble  and  illustrious  House? 

From  documentary  evidence,  yet  preserved  in 
the  family,  the  fact  is  clearly  established  that  in 
the  comparatively  modern  days  of  the  Diggory 
Chuzzlewit  before  mentioned,  one  of  its  rricmbera 
had  attained  to  very  great  wealth  and  influepce. 
Throughout  such  fragments  of  his  corresponde'hce 
as  have  escaped  the  ravages  of  the  moths  (who, 
in  right  of  their  extensive  absorption  of  the  con- 
tents of  deeds  and  papers,  may  be  called  the  gen- 
eral registers  of  the  Insect  World),  we  find  him 
making  constant  reference  to  an  uncle,  in  lespecf 
of  whom  he  would  seem  to  have  entertained  great 
expectations,  as  he  was  in  the  habit  of  seeking  to 
propitiate  his  favour  by  presents  of  plate,  jewels, 
books,  watches,  and  other  valuable  articles.  Thus, 
he  writes  on  one  occasion  to  his  brother  in  refer- 
ence to  a  gravy-spoon,  the  brother's  property 
which  he  (Diggory)  would  appear  to  have  borrow- 
ed or  otherwise  possessed  himself  of:  "  Do  not 
be  angry  I  have  parted  with  it — to  my  uncle." 
On  another  occasion  he  expresses  himself  in  a 
similar  manner  with  regard  to  a  child's  mug 
which  had  been  entrusted  to  him  to  get  repaired. 
On  another  occasion  he  says,  "  I  have  bestowed 
upon  that  irresistible  uncle  of  mine  everything  I 
ever  possessed."  And  that  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
paying  long  and  constant  visits  to  this  gentleman 
at  his  mansion,  if  indeed,  he  did  not  wholly  reside 
there,  is  manifest  from  the  following  sentence  : 
"With  the  exception  of  the  suit  of  clothes  I  carry 
about  with  me,  the  whole  of  my  wearing  apparel 
is  at  present  at  my  uncle's."  This  gentleman's 
patronage  and  influence  must  have  been  vei  y  ex- 
tensive, for  his  nephew  writes,  "  His  intercs*.  is 
too  high" — "  It  is  too  much" — "  It  is  tremendom" 
— and  the  like.  Still  it  does  not  appear  (which  is 
strange)  to  have  procured  for  him  any  lucratiTe 
post  at  court  or  elsewhere,  or  to  hare  conferred 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


11 


apon  him  any  other  distinction  than  that  which 
was  necessarily  included  in  the  countenance  of  so 
great  a  man,  and  the  being  invited  by  hitn  tocer- 
lain  entertainments,  so  splendid  and  costly  in  their 
nature  that  he  emphatically  calls  tliern  "  Golden 
Balls." 

It  is  needless  to  multiply  instances  of  the  high 
and  lofty  station,  and  the  vast  importance  of  the 
Chuzzlewits,  at  different  periods.  If  it  came  with- 
in the  scope  of  reasonable  probability  that  further 
proofs  were  required,  they  might  be  heaped  upon 
each  other  until  they  formed  an  Alps  of  testimony, 
beneath  which  the  boldest  scepticism  should  be 
crushed  and  beaten  flat.  As  a  goodly  tumulus  is 
already  collected,  and  decently  battened  up  above 
the  Family  grave,  the  present  chapter  is  content 
to  leave  it  as  it  is :  merely  adding,  by  way  of  a 
final  spadeful,  that  many  Chuzzlevvits,  both  male 
and  female,  are  proved  to  demonstration,  on  the 
faith  of  letters  written  by  their  own  mothers,  to 
have  had  chiselled  noses,  undeniable  chins,  forms 
that  might  have  served  the  sculptor  for  a  model, 
exquisitely-turned  limbs,  and  polished  foreheads 
of  so  transparent  a  texture  that  the  blue  veins 
might  be  seen  branching  off  in  various  directions, 
like  so  ma;.^  roads  on  an  ethereal  map.  This  fact 
in  itself,  though  it  had  been  a  solitary  one,  would 
have  utterly  settled  and  clenched  the  business  in 
hand  ;  for  it  is  well  known,  on  the  authority  of  all 
the  books  which  treat  of  such  matters,  that  every 
#ne  of  these  phenomena,  but  especially  that  of  the 


chiseling,  are  invariably  peculiar  to,  and  only 
make  themselves  apparent  in,  persons  of  the  very 
best  condition. 

This  history,  having,  to  its  own  perfect  satisfac- 
tion, (and,  consequently,  to  tiie  full  contentment 
of  all  its  readers,)  proved  the  Chuzzlewits  to  have 
had  an  origin,  and  to  have  been  at  one  time  or 
other  of  an  importance  which  cannot  fail  to  ren- 
der them  highly  improving  and  acceptable  ac- 
quaintance to  all  right-minded  individuals,  may 
now  proceed  in  earnest  with  its  task.  And  hav- 
ing shown  that  they  must  have  had,  by  reason  of 
their  ancient  birth,  a  pretty  large  share  in  the 
foundation  and  increase  of  the  human  family,  it 
will  one  day  become  its  province  to  submit,  that 
such  of  its  members  as  shall  be  introduced  in 
these  pages,  have  still  many  counterparts  and  pro- 
totypes in  the  Great  World  about  us.  At  present 
it  contents  itself  with  remarking,  in  a  general 
way,  on  this  head  :  Firstly,  that  it  may  be  safely 
asserted  and  yet  without  implying  any  direct  par- 
ticipation in  the  Monboddo  doctrine  touching  the 
probability  of  the  human  race  having  once  been 
monkeys,  that  men  do  play  very  strange  and  ex- 
traordinary  tricks.  Secondly,  and  yet  without 
trenching  on  the  Blumenbach  theory  as  to  the 
descendants  of  Adam  having  a  vast  number  of 
qualities  which  belong  more  particularly  to  swine 
than  to  any  other  class  of  animals  in  the  creation 
that  some  men  certainly  are  remarkable  for  tak 
ing  uncommon  good  care  of  themselves. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WHEREIN  CERTAIN  PERSONS  ARE  PRESENTED  TO  THE  READER,  WITH 
WHOM  HE  MAY,  IF  HE  PLEASE,  BECOME  BETTER  ACQUAINTED. 


It  was  pretty  late  in  the  autumn  of  the  year, 
when  the  declining  sun,  struggling  through  the 
mist  which  had  obscured  it  all  day,  looked  bright- 
ly down  upon  a  little  Wiltshire  village,  within  an 
easy  journey  of  the  fair  old  town  of  Salisbury. 

Like  a  sudden  flash  of  memory  or  spirit  kind- 
ling up  the  mind  of  an  old  man,  it  shed  a  glory 
upon  the  scene,  in  which  its  departed  youth  and 
freshness  seemed  to  live  again.  The  wet  grass 
sparkled  in  the  light ;  the  scanty  patches  of  ver- 
dure in  the  hedges — where  a  few  green  twigs  yet 
stood  together  bravely,  resisting  to  the  last  the  ty- 
ranny of  nipping  winds  and  early  frosts  —  took 
heart  and  brightened  up ;  the  stream  which  had 
been  dull  and  sullen  all  day  long,  broke  out  into  a 
cheerful  smile;  the  birds  began  to  chirp  and  twit- 
ter on  the  naked  boughs,  as  though  the  hopeful 
creatures  half  believed  that  winter  had  gone  by, 
and  spring  had  come  already.  The  vane  upon 
the  tapering  spire  of  the  old  church  glistened  from 
its  lofty  station  in  sympathy  with  the  general 
gladness ;  and  from  the  ivy-shaded  windows  such 
gleams  of  light  shone  back  upon  the  glowing  sky, 
that  it  seemed  as  if  the  quiet  buildings  were  the 
hoarding-place  of  twenty  summers,  and  all  their 
ruddiness  and  warmth  were  stored  within. 

Even  those  tokens  of  the  season  which  emphati- 
cally whispered  of  the  coming  winter,  graced  the 
landscape,  and,  tor  the  moment,  tinged  its  livelier 
features  with  no  oppressive  air  of  sadness.  The 
Taller,  leaves,  with  which  the  ground  was  strewn, 


gave  forth  a  pleasant  fragrance,  and  eubdumg  all 
harsh  sounds  of  distant  feet  and  wheels,  created  a 
repose  in  gentle  unison  with  the  light  scattering 
of  seed  hither  and  thither  by  the  distant  husDand- 
man,  and  with  the  noiseless  passage  of  the  plough 
as  it  turned  up  the  rich  brown  earth,  and  wrought 
a  graceful  pattern  in  the  stubbled  fields.  On  the 
motionless  branches  of  some  trees,  autumn  berries 
hung  like  clusters  of  coral  beads,  as  in  those  fabled 
orchards  where  the  fruits  were  jewels;  others, 
stripped  of  all  their  garniture,  stood,  each  the  cen 
treof  its  little  heap  of  bright  red  leaves,  watching 
their  slow  decay ;  others  again,  still  wearing  theirs 
had  them  all  crunched  and  crackled  up,  as  though 
they  had  been  burnt ;  about  the  stems  of  some 
were  piled,  in  ruddy  mounds,  the  apples  they  had 
borne  that  year ;  while  others  (hardy  evergreens 
this  class)  showed  somewhat  stern  and  gloomy  in 
their  vigour,  as  charged  by  nature  with  the  admo- 
nition that  it  is  not  to  her  more  sensitive  and  joy- 
ous favourites  she  grants  the  longest  term  of  life. 
Still  athwart  their  darker  boughs,  the  sun-beams 
struck  out  paths  of  deeper  gold  ;  and  the  red  light, 
mantling  in  among  their  swarthy  branches,  uned 
them  as  foils  to  set  its  brightness  off,  and  aid  tha 
lustre  of  the  dying  day. 

A  moment,  and  its  glory  was  no  more.     Tht 

sun  went  down  beneath  the  long  dark  lines  of  hill 

and  cloud  which  piled  up  in  the  west  an  airy  city. 

wall  heaped  on  wall,  and  battlement  on  battlement 

i  the  light  was  all  withdrawn ;  the  shining  church 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


turned  cold  and  dark  ;  the  stream  forgot  to  smile; 
the  birds  were  silent;  and  the  gloom  of  winter 
dwelt  on  everything. 

An  evening  wind  uprose  too,  and  the  slighter 
branches  cracked  and  rattled  as  they  moved,  in 
skeleton  dances,  to  its  moaning  music.  The  with- 
ering leaves  no  longer  quiet,  hurried  to  and  fro  in 
search  of  shelter  from  its  chill  pursuit ;  the  labour- 
er unyoked  his  horses,  and  vvith  head  bent  down, 
trudged  briskly  home  beside  them ;  and  from  the 
cotluge  windows,  lights  began  to  glance  and  wink 
upon  the  darkening  fields. 

Then  the  village  forge  came  out  in  all  its  bright 
importance.  The  lusty  bellows  roared  Ha  ha !  to 
he  clear  fire,  which  roared  in  turn,  and  bade  the 
shining  sparks  dance  gaily  to  the  merry  clinking 
of  the  hammers  on  the  anvil.  The  gleaming  iron, 
in  its  emulation,  sparkled  too,  and  she''  ■*«  red-hot 
gems  around  profusely.  The  strong  sm.„i*i  and  his 
men  dealt  such  strokes  upon  their  work,  as  made 
even  the  melancholy  night  rejoice  ;  and  brought  a 
glow  into  its  dark  face  as  it  hovered  about  the  door 
and  windows,  peeping  curiously  in  above  the 
shoulders  of  a  dozen  loungers.  As  to  this  idle 
company,  there  they  stood,  spellbound  by  the  place, 
amd,  casting  now  and  then  a  glance  upon  the  dark- 
ness in  their  rear,  settled  their  lazy  elbows  more 
at  ease  upon  the  sill,  and  leaned  a  little  furtiier  in  : 
no  more  disposed  to  tear  themselves  away,  than 
if  they  had  been  born  to  cluster  round  the  blazing 
hearth  like  so  many  crickets. 

Out  upon  the  angry  wind  !  how  from  sighjng, 
it  began  to  bluster  round  the  merry  forge,  banging 
8t  the  wicket,  2nd  grumbling  in  the  chimney,  as 
if  it  bullied  the  jolly  bellows  for  doing  anything 
*o  order.  And  what  an  impotent  swaggerer  it  was 
Ijo,  for  all  its  noise  !  for  if  it  had  any  influence  on 
that  hoarse  companion,  it  was  but  to  make  him 
roar  his  cheerful  song  the  louder,  and  by  conse- 
quence to  make  the  fire  burn  the  brighter,  and  the 
sparks  to  dance  more  gaily  yet :  at  length,  they 
whizzed  so  madly  round  and  round,  that  it  was  too 
much  for  such  a  surly  wind  to  bear;  so  off  it  flew 
with  a  howl ;  giving  the  old  sign  before  the  ale- 
bouse  door  such  a  cuff"  as  it  went,  that  the  Blue 
Dragon  was  more  rampant  than  ustial  ever  after- 
ware  s,  and  indeed,  before  Christmas,  reared  clean 
out  ( C  his  crazy  frame. 

It  was  small  tyranny  for  a  respectable  wind  to 
go  wreaking  its  vengeance  on  such  poor  creatures 
as  the  fallen  leaves,  but  this  wind  happening  to 
come  up  with  a  great  heap  of  them  just  after  vent- 
ing its  humour  on  the  insulted  Dragon,  did  so  dis- 
perse and  scatter  them  that  they  fled  away,  pell- 
mell,  some  here,  some  there,  rollingover  each  other, 
whirling  round  and  round  upon  their  edges,  taking 
Irantic  flights  into  the  air,  and  playing  all  manner 
of  extraordinary  gambols  in  the  extremity  of  their 
distress.  Nor  was  this  enough  for  its  malicious 
fury  ;  for  not  content  with  driving  them  abroad, 
it  charged  small  parties  of  them  and  hunted  them 
into  the  wheelwright's  saw-pit,  and  below  the 
uianks  and  timbers  in  the  yard,  and,  scattering 
ihe  saw-dust  in  the  air,  it  looked  for  them  under- 
neath, and  when  it  did  meet  with  any,  whew  !  how 
it  drove  them  on  and  followed  at  their  heels  ! 

The  scared  leaves  only  flew  the  faster  for  all 
tnis;  and  a  giddy  chase  it  was;  for  they  got  into 
anfrcf|U(  ntcd  places,  where  there  w;is  no  outlet, 
tiid  where  ihcir  pursue*  kept  them  eddying  round 


and  round  at  his  pleasure ;  and  they  crept  under 
the  eaves  of  houses,  and  clung  tightl}'  to  the  sides 
of  hay-ricks,  like  bats  ;  and  tore  in  at  open  cham- 
ber  windows,  and  cowered  close  to  hedges  ;  an^ 
in  short  went  anyvi'here  for  safety.  But  the  odd- 
est feat  they  achieved  was,  to  take  advantage  of 
the  sudden  opening  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  front-door, 
to  dash  wildly  into  his  passage  ;  whither  the  wind 
following  close  upon  them,  and  finding  the  back- 
door open,  incontinently  blew  out  the  lighted  can- 
dle held  by  Miss  Pecksniff^,  and  slammed  the  front* 
door  against  Mr.  Pecksniff  who  was  at  that  mo- 
ment entering,  with  such  violence,  that  in  the 
twinkling  of  an  eye  he  lay  on  his  back  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  steps,  ^ing  by  this  time  weary  of 
such  trifling  '  .jormances,  the  boisterous  rovei 
hurried  av  ^f  rejoicing,  roaring  over  moor  and 
meado",  hill  and  flat,  until  it  got  out  to  sea,  where 
it  tc€t  with  other  winds  similarly  disposed,  and 
made  a  night  of  it. 

In  the  meantime  Mr.  Pecksniff",  having  receiv 
ed,  from  a  sharp  angle  in  the  bottom  step  but  one, 
that  sort  of  knock  on  the  head  which  lights  up, 
for  the  patient's  entertainment,  an  imaginary  gen- 
eral illumination  of  very  bright  short-sixes,  lay 
placidly  staring  at  his  own  street-door.  And  if 
would  seem  to  have  been  more  suggestive  in  its 
aspect  than  street-doors  usually  are  ;  for  he  con- 
tinued  to  lie  there,  rather  a  lengthy  and  unreason 
ab'e  time,  without  so  much  as  wondering  whethei 
he  was  hurt  or  no  ;  neither,  when  Miss  Pecksniff 
inquired  through  the  key-hole  in  a  shrill  voice, 
which  might  have  belonged  to  a  wind  in  its  teens, 
"Who's  there?"  did  he  make  any  reply;  nor, 
when  Miss  Pecksniff  opened  the  door  again,  and 
,  shading  the  candle  with  her  hand,  peered  out,  and 
looked  provokingly  round  him,  and  about  him, 
and  over  him,  and  everywhere  but  at  him,  did  he 
offer  any  remark,  or  indicate  in  any  manner  the 
least  hint  of  a  desire  to  be  picked  up. 

"  /  see  you,"  cried  Miss  Pecksniff,  to  the  ideai 
inflictor  of  a  runaway  knock.  "  You  '11  catch  it, 
sir !" 

Still  Mr.  Pecksniff",  perhaps  from  having  caugh* 
it  already,  said  nothing. 

"  You  're  round  the  corner  now,"  cried  Mis!« 
Pecksniff.  She  said  it  at  a  venture,  but  there  wa» 
appropriate  matter  in  it  too  ;  for  Mr.  Pecksniff,  be 
ing  in  the  act  of  extinguishing  the  candles  before 
mentioned  pretty  rapidly,  and  of  reducing  the 
number  of  brass  knobs  on  his  street-door  from 
four  or  five  hundred  (which  had  previously  been 
juggling  of  their  own  accord  before  his  eyes  in  a 
very  novel  manner)  to  a  dozen  or  so,  might  in  one 
sense  have  been  said  to  bo  coming  round  the  cor 
ner,  and  just  turning  it. 

With  a  sharply-delivcrcd  warning  relative  to 
the  cage  and  the  constable,  and  the  stocks  and  the 
gallows.  Miss  Pecksniff  was  about  to  close  the 
door  again,  when  Mr.  Pecksniff  (being  still  at  the 
bottom  of  the  steps)  raised  himself  on  one  elbow, 
and  sneezed. 

"  That  voice  !"  cried  Miss  Pecksniff,  "  my  pa- 
rent !" 

At  this  exclamation,  another  Miss  Pecksniff 
bounced  out  of  the  parlour :  and  the  two  Miss 
Pecksniffs,  with  many  incoherent  expressions, 
dragged  Mr.  Pecksniff'  into  an  upright  posture. 

"  Pa  I"  they  cried  in  concert.  "  Pa  !  Speak,  Fa . 
Do  not  look  so  wild,  my  dearest  Pa  I" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


18 


But  as  a  gentleman's  looks,  in  such  a  case  of  all 
others,  are  by  no  means  under  his  own  control, 
Mr.  Peckstiitf  continued  to  keep  his  mouth  and 
his  eyes  very  wide  open,  and  to  drop  his  lower 
jaw,  soineuhat  after  the  manner  of  a  toy  nut- 
cracker ;  and  as  his  hat  had  fallen  otf,  and  his  face 
was  pale,  and  liis  hair  erect,  and  his  coat  muddy, 
tlie  spectacle  he  presented  was  so  very  doleful, 
that  neither  of  the  Miss  Pecksnitfs  could  repress 
an  involuntary  screech. 

"  Tliat'll  do,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  I  'm  better." 

"  He  's  come  to  himself  I"  cried  the  youngest 
Miss  Pecksniff. 

"  He  speaks  again !"  exdaimed  the  eldest.  With 
which  joyful  words  they  kissed  Mr.  Pecksniff  on 
either  cheek ;  and  bore  him  into  the  house.  Pre- 
sently, the  youngest  Miss  Pecksniff  ran  out  again 
to  pick  up  his  hat,  his  brown  paper  parcel,  his  um- 
brella, his  gloves,  and  other  small  articles ;  and 
that  dune,  and  the  door  closed,  both  young  ladies 
applied  themselves  to  tending  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
wounds  in  the  back  parlour. 

They  were  not  very  ser'ous  in  their  nature  ;  be- 
ing limited  to  abrasions  on  what  the  eldest  Miss 
Pecksniff  called  "  the  knobby  parts"  of  her  pa- 
rent's  anatomy,  such  as  his  knees  and  elbows,  and 
to  the  development  of  an  entirely  new  organ,  nn- 
known  to  phrenologists,  on  the  back  of  his  head. 
These  injuries  having  been  comforted  externally, 
with  patches  of  piclded  brown  paper,  and  Mr. 
Pecksniff  having  been  comforted  internally,  with 
some  stiff  brandy-and-water,  the  eldest  Miss  Peck- 
sniff sat  down  to  make  the  tea,  which  was  all 
ready.  In  the  meantime  the  youngest  Miss  Peck- 
sniff brought  from  the  kitchen  a  smoking  dish  of 
ham  and  eggs,  and,  setting  the  same  before  her 
father,  took  up  her  station  on  a  low  stool  at  his 
feet*  thereby  bringing  her  eyes  on  a  level  with 
the  tea  board. 

It  must  not  be  inferred  from  this  position  of  hu- 
milit}  that  the  youngest  Miss  Pecksniff  was  so 
younj  as  to  be,  as  one  may  say,  forced  to  sit  upon 
a  stool  by  reason  of  the  shortness  of  her  legs. 
Miss  Pecksniff  sat  upon  a  stool  because  of  her 
simplicity  and  innocence,  which  were  very  great; 
very  great.  Miss  Pecksniff  sat  upon  a  stool,  be- 
cause she  was  all  girlishness,  and  playfulness,  and 
wildness,  and  kittenish  buoyancy.  Slie  was  the 
most  arch  and  at  the  same  time  the  most  artless 
creature,  was  the  youngest  Miss  Pecksniff,  that 
you  can  possibly  imagine.  It  was  her  great  charm. 
She  was  too  fresh  and  guileless,  and  too  full  of 
child-like  vivacity,  was  the  youngest  Miss  Peck- 
sniff, to  wear  combs  in  her  hair,  or  to  turn  it  up, 
or  to  frizzle  it,  or  braid  it.  She  wore  it  in  a  crop, 
a  loosely  flowing  crop,  which  had  so  many  rows 
of  curls  in  it,  that  the  top  row  was  only  one  curi 
Moderately  buxom  was  her  shape,  and  quite  wo- 
manly too ;  but  sometimes — yes,  sometimes — she 
even  wore  a  pinafore;  and  how  charming  that 
was!  Oh  !  she  was  indeed  "a  gushing  thing"  (as 
a  young  gentleman  had  observed  in  verse,  in  the 
Poet's-corner  of  a  provincial  newspaper),  was  the 
youngest  Miss  Pecksniff! 

Mr.  Pecksniff  was  a  moral  man  :  a  grave  man, 
a  man  of  noble  sentiments  and  speech  ;  and  he  had 
had  her  christenced  Mercy.  Mercy  !  oh,  what  a 
eharming  name  for  such  a  pure-souled  Being  as 
the  youngest  Miss  Pecksniff!  Her  sistei*  s  name 
was  Charity.     There  was  a  good  thing  I     Mercy 


and  Charity !  And  Charity,  with  her  fin« 
strong  sense,  and  her  mild,  yet  not  reproachful 
gravity,  was  so  well  named,  and  did  so  well  set  off 
and  illustrate  her  sister!  What  a  pleasant  sin-ht 
was  that,  the  contrast  they  presented  ;  to  see  each 
loved  and  loving  one  sympathising  with,  and  de- 
voted to,  and  leaning  on,  and  yet  correcting  and 
counter-checking,  and,  as  it  were,  antidoting,  the 
other  !  To  behold  each  damsel,  in  her  very  admi- 
ration of  her  sister,  setting  up  in  business  for  her- 
self on  an  entirely  different  principle,  and  an- 
nouncing no  connexion  with  over-tlie-way,  and  if 
the  quality  of  goods  at  that  establishment  don't 
please  you,  you  are  respeclfnlly  invited  to  favour 
ME  with  a  call!  And  tlie  cr)wning  circumstance 
of  the  whole  delightful  catalogue  was,  that  both 
the  fair  creatures  were  so  utterly  unconscious  of 
all  this  !  They  had  no  idea  of  it.  They  no  more 
thought  or  dreamed  of  it,  than  Mr.  Pecksniff  did. 
Nature  played  them  off  against  each  other;  they 
had  no  hand  in  it,  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs. 

It  has  been  remarked  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  a 
moral  man.  So  he  was.  Perhaps  there  never  was 
a  more  moral  man  than  Mr.  Pecksniff;  especially 
in  his  conversation  and  correspondence.  It  waa 
once  said  of  him  by  a  homely  admirer,  that  he  had 
a  Fortunatus's  purse  of  good  sentiments  in  his  in- 
side. In  this  particular  he  was  like  the  girl  in  the 
fairy  tale,  except  that  if  they  were  not  actual  dia- 
monds which  fell  from  his  lips,  they  were  the  very 
brightest  p:iste,  and  shone  prodigiously.  He  wa.j 
a  most>  exemplary  man  ;  fuller  of  virtuous  precept 
than  a  copybook.  Some  people  likened  him  to  a 
direction-post,  which  is  always  telling  the  way  to 
a  place,  and  never  goes  there :  but  these  were  his 
enemies  ;  the  shadows  cast  by  his  brightness  ;  that 
was  all.  His  very  throat  was  moral.  You  saw  i| 
good  deal  of  it.  You  looked  over  a  very  low  fence 
of  white  cravat  (whereof  no  man  had  ever  beheld 
the  tie,  for  he  fastened  it  behind),  and  there  it  lay, 
a  valley  between  two  jutting  heights  of  collar,  se- 
rene and  whiskerless  before  you.  It  seemed  to 
say,  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  There  is  no 
deception,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  all  is  peace ;  a 
holy  calm  pervades  me."  So  did  his  hair,  just 
grizzled  with  an  iron-gray,  which  was  all  brushed 
off  his  forehead,  and  stood  bolt  upright,  or  slightly 
drooped  in  kindred  action  with  his  heavy  eyelids-. 
So  did  his  person,  which  was  sleek  though  free 
from  corpulency.  So  did  his  manner,  which  was 
soft  and  oily.  In  a  word,  even  his  plain,  black 
suit,  and  state  of  widower,  and  dangling  double 
eye-glass,  all  tended  to  the  same  purpose,  and  cried 
aloud,  "  Behold  the  moral  Pecksniff!" 

The  brazen  plate  upon  the  door  (which  being 
Mr.  Pecksniff's,  could  not  lie)  bore  this  inscrip- 
Uca  "  Pecksniff,  Architect,"  to  which  Mr.  Peck- 
snffi,  on  his  cards  of  business,  added,  "and  Land 
Surveyor."  In  one  sense,  and  only  one,  he  m.ay 
be  said  to  have  been  a  Land  Surveyor  on  a  pretty 
large  scale,  as  an  extensive  prospect  lay  stretched 
out  before  the  windows  of  his  house.  Of  his  archi- 
tectural  doings,  nothing  was  clearly  known,  e.^scept 
that  he  had  never  designed  or  built  anything ;  but 
it  was  generally  understood  that  his  knowledge  of 
the  science  was  almost  awful  in  its  profundity. 

Mr,  Pecksniff's  professional  engagements,  in 
deed,  were  almost,  if  not  entirely,  confined  to  the 
reception  of  pupils;  for  the  collection  of  rents, 
with  which  pursuit  he  occasionally  varied  and  ro 


14 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


lieved  his  graver  toils,  can  hardly  be  said  to  be  a 
Btrictly  architectural  employment.  His  genius  lay 
in  ensnaring  parents  and  guardians,  and  in  pock- 
eting  premiums.  A  young  gentleman's  premiuKi 
»eing  paid,  and  the  young  gentleman  come  to  Mr. 
Pecksnift^'s  house,  Mr.  Pecksniff  borrowed  his 
case  of  mathematical  instruments  (if  silver-mount- 
cd  or  otherwise  valuable);  entreated  him,  from  that 
moment,  to  consider  himself  one  of  the  family ; 
complimented  him  highly  on  his  parents  or  guar- 
dians, as  the  case  might  be  :  and  turned  him  loose 
in  a  spacious  room  on  the  two-pair  front ;  where, 
in  the  company  of  certain  drawing-boards,  paral- 
lel rulers,  very  stiff-legged  compasses,  and  two,  or 
perhaps  three,  other  young  gentlemen,  he  improv- 
ed himself,  for  three  or  five  years,  according  to  his 
trticles,  in  making  elevations  of  Salisbury  Cathe- 
dral from  every  possible  point  of  sight ;  and  in 
constructing  in  the  air  a  vast  quantity  of  Castles, 
Houses  of  Parliament,  and  other  Public  Buildings. 
Perhaps  in  no  place  in  the  world  were  so  many 
gorgeous  edifices  of  this  class  erected  as  under 
Mr.  Pecksniff's  auspices  ;  and  if  but  one  twenti- 
eth part  of  the  churches  which  were  built  in  that 
front  room,  with  one  or  other  of  the  Miss  Peck- 
eniffs  at  the  altar  in  the  act  of  marrying  the  archi 
tect,  could  only  be  made  available  by  the  parlia- 
mentary commissioners,  no  more  churches  would 
be  wanted  for  at  least  five  centuries. 

"  Even  the  worldly  goods  of  which  we  have 
just  disposed,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  glancing  round 
the  table  when  he  had  finished,  "  even  cream,  su- 
gar, tea,  toast,  ham,——" 

"  And  eggs,"  suggested  Charity  in  a  low  voice. 
"  And  eggs,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  even  they 
have  their  moral.  See  how  they  come  and  go ! 
Every  pleasure  is  transitory.  We  can't  even  eat 
long.  If  we  indulge  in  harmless  fluids,  we  get 
the  dropsy ;  if  in  exciting  liquids,  we  get  drunk. 
What  a  soothing  reflection  is  thatl" 

"  Don't  say  we  get  drunk,  Pa,"  urged  the  eld- 
est Miss  Pecksniff. 

"  When  I  say,  we,  my  dear,"  returned  her  fa- 
ther, "I  mean  mankind  in  general;  the  human 
race,  considered  as  a  body,  and  not  as  individuals. 
There  is  nothing  personal  in  morality,  my  love. 
Even  such  a  thing  as  this,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
laying  the  forefinger  of  his  left  hand  upon  the 
brown  paper  patch  oi)  the  top  of  his  head,  "slight 
casualty,  baldness,  though  it  be,  reminds  us  that 
We  are  but" — he  was  going  to  say  "  worms,"  but 
recollecting  that  worms  were  not  remarkable  for 
heads  of  hair,  he  substituted  "  flesh  and  blood." 

"Which,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff  after  a  pause, 
during  which  he  seemed  to  have  been  casting 
about  for  a  new  moral,  and  not  quite  successfully, 
"  which  is  also  very  soothing.  Mercy,  my  dear, 
Btir  the  fire  and  throw  up  the  cinders." 

The  young  lady  obeyed,  and  haviog  done  so, 
resumed  her  stool,  reposed  p,pe'  ^Irri  upon  her  fa- 
ther's knee,  and  J^jtd'IIC'f  blooming  cheek  upon  it. 
Miss  CharJtjk'lffiPew  her  chair  nearer  the  fire,  as 
one  prjQpih'ed  for  conversation,  and  looked  towards 

'"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  afler  a  short  pause, 
during  which  he  had  been  silently  smiling,  and 
shaking  his  head  at  the  fire — "  I  have  again  been 
fortunate  in  the  attainment  of  my  object.  Anew 
inmate  will  very  shortly  come  among  us." 
"  A  youth,  papa  ?"  asked  Charity. 


"  Ye-es,  a  youth  "  irtW^^tfri'  i»ec*9fliff.  "  H« 
will  avail  himself  of  the  eligible  opportunity  which 
now  offers,  for  uniting  the  advantages  of  the  best 
practical  architectural  ed  ication,  with  the  comforts 
of  a  home,  and  the  constant  association  with  some 
who  (however  humble  their  sphere,  and  limited 
their  capacity)  are  not  unmindful  of  tl^eir  moral 
responsibilities." 

"  Oh  Pa  !"  cried  Mercy,  holding  up  her  finger 
archly.     "See  advertisement  I" 

"  Playful— playful  warbler,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
It  may  be  observed  in  connexion  with  his  calling 
his  daughter  "  a  warbler,"  that  she  was  not  at  all 
vocal,  but  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  in  the  frequent 
habit  of  using  any  word  that  occurred  to  him  as 
having  a  good  sound,  and  rounding  a  sentence 
well,  without  much  care  for  its  meaning.  And  he 
did  this  so  boldly,  and  in  such  an  imposing  man. 
ner,  that  he  would  sometimes  stagger  the  wisest 
people  with  his  eloquence,  and  make  them  gasp 
again. 

His^^nemies  asserted,  by  the  way,  that  a  strong 
trustfulness  in  sounds  and  forms,  was  the  maste»- 
key  to  Mr.  Pecksniflf's  character. 

"  Is  he  handsome.  Pa  ?"  inquired  the  younger 
daughter,  j^t JHt*  ^^. 

"Silly  Merry!"  s*dih6-.el<le8t<"*M«rty*lMBf 
fbnids'fer' Mercy.  "  What  is  the  premium.  Pa  7 
tell  us  that." 

"Oh  good  gracious, Cherry  !"  cried  Miss  Mer- 
cy, holding  up  her  hands  with  the  most  winning 
giggle  in  the  world,  "  what  a  mercenary  girl  you 
are  I  oh  you  naughty,  thoughtful,  prudent  thing !" 

It  was  perfectly  charming,  and  worthy  of  the 
Pastoral  age,  to  sec  how  the  two  Miss  Pecksr.if& 
slapped  each  otljer  after  this,  and  then  subsided 
into  an  embrace  expressive  of  their  different  dis- 
positions. 

"  He  is  well-looking,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  slow 
ly  and  distinctly:  "well-looking  enough.  I  do 
not  positively  expect  any  immediate  premium 
with  him." 

Notwithstanding  their  different  natures,  both 
Charity  and  Mercy  concurred  in  opening  their 
eyes  uncommonly  wide  at  this  announcement,  and 
in  looking  for  the  moment  as  blank  as  if  their 
thoughts  had  actually  had  a  direct  bearing  on  the 
main-chance. 

"  But  what  of  that !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  still 
smiling  at  the  fire.  "There  is  disinterestedness 
in  the  world,  I  hope !  We  are  not  all  arrayed  in 
two  opposite  ranks ;  the  o/fensive  and  the  cfefen- 
sive.  Some  few  there  are  who  walk  between ; 
who  help  the  needy  as  they  go;  and  take  no  part 
with  either  side  :  umph  "i" j^^i^ 

There  was  something  in  these  morsels  of  phi- 
lanthropy which  reassured  the  sisters.  They  eifc 
changed  glances,  and  brightened  very  much. 

"  Oh  !  let  us  not  be  for  ever  calculating,  devis- 
ing,  and  plotting  for  the  future,"  said  Mr.  Pecb. 
sniff,  smiling  more  and  more,  and  looking  at  th« 
fire  as  a  man  might,  who  was  cracking  a  joke 
with  it:  "I  am  weary  of  such  arts.  If  our  in 
clinations  are  but  good  and  open-hearted,  let  as 
gratify  them  boldly,  though  they  bring  upon  "is. 
Loss  instead  of  Profit.     Eh,  Charity?" 

Glancing  towards  his  daughters  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  begun  these  reflectuins,  and  see- 
ing that  they  both  smiled,  Mr.  Pecksniff  eyed  them 
for  an  instant  so  jocosely  (though  still  with  a  kind 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT 


15 


of  saintly  waggishness")  that  the  younger  one  was 
moved  to  sit  upon  his  knee  forthvvitii,  put  her  fair 
arms  round  his  neck,  and  kiss  him  twenty  times. 
During  the  whole  of  this  affeetionate  display  she 
laughed  to  a  most  immoderate  extent;  in  which 
hilarious  indulgence  even  the  prudent  Cherry 
joined. 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  pushing  his 
latest-born  away,  and  running  his  fingers  through 
his  hair,  as  he  resumed  his  tranquil  face.  "  What 
folly  is  this  !  Lei  us  take  heed  how  we  laugh  with- 
out reason,  lest  we  cry  with  it.  What  is  the  do- 
mestic news  since  yesterday  ?  John  Westlock  is 
gone,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Indeed  no,"  said  Charity. 

"  And  why  not  ?"  returned  her  father.  "  His 
term  expired  yesterday.  And  his  box  was  packed, 
I  know ;  for  I  saw  it,  in  the  morning,  standing 
in  the  hall." 

"  He  slept  last  night  at  the  Dragon,"  returned 
the  young  lady,  "  and  had  Mr.  Pinch  to  dine  with 
him.  They  spent  the  evening  together,  and  Mr. 
Pinch  was  not  home  till  very  late." 

"And  when  I  s:iw  him  on  the  stairs  this  morn- 
ing, Pa,"  said  Mercy  with  her  usual  sprightliness, 
"  he  looked,  oh  goodness,  such  a  monster  !  with 
his  face  all  manner  of  colours,  and  his  eyes  as  dull 
as  if  they  had  been  boiled,  and  his  head  aching 
dreadfully,  I  am  sure  from  the  look  of  it,  and  his 
clothes  smelling,  oh  it 's  impossible  to  say  how 
strong,  of" — here  the  young  lady  shuddered  — 
"  of  smoke  and  punch." 

"Now  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  with  his 
accustomed  gentleness,  though  still  with  the  air 
of  one  wlio  suffered  under  injury  without  com- 
plaint, "  I  think  Mr.  Pinch  might  have  done  bet- 
ter than  choose  for  his  companion  one  who,  at  the 
close  of  a  long  intercourse,  had  endeavoured,  as 
he  knew,  to  wound  my  feelings.  I  am  not  quite 
sure  that  this  was  delicate  in  Mr.  Pinch.  I  am 
not  quite  sure  that  this  was  kind  in  Mr.  Pinch.  I 
will  go  further  and  say,  I  am  not  quite  sure  that 
this  was  even  ordinarily  grateful  in  Mr.  Pinch." 

"  But  what  can  any  one  expect  from  Mr.  Pinch  I" 
cried  Charity,  with  as  strong  and  scornful  an  em- 
phasis on  the  name  as  if  it  would  have  given  her 
unspeakable  pleasure  to  express  it,  in  an  acted 
(iliarad'3,  on  the  calf  of  that  gentleman's  leg. 

"  A} ,  ay,"  returned  her  father,  raising  his  hand 
mildly :  "  it  is  very  well  to  say  what  can  we  ex- 
pect from  Mr.  Pinch,  but  Mr.  Pinch  is  a  fellow- 
creature,  my  dear ;  Mr.  Pinch  is  an  item  in  the 
vast  total  of  humanity,  my  love;  and  we  have  a 
right,  it  is  our  duty,  to  expect  in  Mr.  Pinch  some 
development  of  those  better  qualities,  the  posses- 
sion of  which  in  our  own  persons  inspires  our 
humble  self-respect.  No,"  continued  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. "  No !  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  say, 
nothing  can  be  expected  from  Mr.  Pinch ;  or  that 
I  should  say,  nothing  can  be  expected  from  any 
man  alive  (even  the  most  degraded,  which  Mr. 
Pinch  is  not,  no  really);  but  Mr.  Pinch  has  dis- 
appointed me  ;  he  has  hurt  me ;  I  think  a  little 
the  worse  of  him  on  this  account,  but  not  of  hu- 
man  nature.     Oh  no,  no  !" 

"  Hark  !"  said  Miss  Charity,  holding  up  her  fin- 
ger, as  a  gentle  rap  was  heard  at  the  street-door. 
'There  is  the  creature  !  Now  mark  my  words,  he 
has  Come  back  with  John  Westlock  for  his  box, 
»nd  is  going  to  help  him  take  it  to  the  mail.  Only 
•nark  my  words,  if  that  isn't  his  intention  '" 


Even  as  she  spoke,  the  box  appeared  to  be  in 
progress  of  conveyance  from  the  house,  but  after 
a  brief  murmuring  of  question  and  answer,  it  was 
put  down  again,  and  somebody  knocked  at  the 
parlour  door. 

"  Come  in  !"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff — not  severe- 
ly;  only  virtuously.     "Come  in  !" 

An  ungainly,  awkward-looking  man,  extremely 
short-sighted,  and  prematurely  bald,  availed  him- 
self of  this  permission  ;  and  seeing  that  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff  sat  with  his  back  towards  him,  gazing  at  the 
fire,  stood  hesitating,  with  the  donr  in  iiis  hand. 
He  was  far  from  handsome,  certainly  ;  and  was 
drest  in  a  snuff-coloured  suit,  of  an  uncouth  make 
at  the  best,  which  being  shrunken  with  long  wear, 
was  twisted  and  tortured  into  all  kinds  of  odd 
shapes;  but  notwithstanding  his  attire,  and  his 
clumsy  figure,  which  a  great  stoop  in  his  should- 
ers, and  a  ludicrous  habit  he  had  of  thrusting  his 
head  forward,  by  no  means  redeemed,  one  would 
not  have  been  disposed  (unless  Mr.  Picksniff  said 
so)  to  consider  him  a  bad  fellow  by  any  means. 
He  was  perhaps  about  thirty,  but  he  might  have 
been  almost  any  age  between  sixteen  arid  sixty : 
being  one  of  those  strange  creahires  who  never 
decline  into  an  ancient  appearance,  but  look  their 
oldest  when  they  are  very  young,  and  get  it  over 
at  once. 

Keeping  his  hand  upon  the  lock  of  the  door, 
he  glanced  from  Mr.  Pecksniff  to  Mercy,  from 
Mercy  to  Charity,  and  from  Charity  to  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff again,  several  times ;  but  the  young  ladies 
being  as  intent  upon  the  fire  as  their  fiither  was, 
and  neither  of  the  three  taking  any  notice  of  him, 
he  was  fain  to  say,  at  last, 

"  Oh  1  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Pecksniff :  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  intruding  :  but " 

"  No  intrusion,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  that  gentleman 
very  sweetly,  but  without  looking  round.  "  Pray 
be  seated,  Mr.  Pinch.  Have  the  goodness  to  shut 
the  door,  Mr.  Pinch,  if  you  please." 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Pinch  ;  not  doing  so,  how- 
ever, but  holding  it  rather  wider  open  than  before, 
and  beckoning  nervously  to  somebody  without ; 
"  Mr.  Westlock,  sir,  hearing  that  you  were  come 
home" — 

"  Mr.  Pinch,  Mr.  Pinch !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
wheeling  the  chair  about,  and  looking  at  hiin  with 
an  aspect  of  the  deepest  melancholy,  "  I  did  not 
expect  this  from  you.  I  have  not  deserved  thin 
from  you  I" 

"  No,  but  upon  my  word  sir" — urged  Pinch. 

"  The  less  you  say,  Mr.  Pinch,"  interposed  the 
other,  "  the  better.  I  utter  no  complaint.  Mak« 
no  defence." 

"  No,  but  do  have  the  goodness,  sir,"  cried  Pinch, 
with  great  earnestness,  "  if  you  please.  M^ 
Westlock,  sir,  going  away  for  good  and  all,  wishes 
to  leave  none  but  friends  behind  him.  Mr.  West 
lock  and  yciu,  sir,  had  a  little  difference  the  othei 
day  ;  you  have  had  many  little  differences." 

"  Little  differences  !"  cried  Charity. 

"  Little  differences  !"  echoed  Mercy. 

"  My  loves  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  the  sam# 
serene  upraising  of  his  hand  ;  "  My  dears  !"  Af^ 
ter  a  solemn  pause  he  meekly  bowed  to  IMr.  Pinch, 
as  who  should  say,  "  Proceed  ;"  but  Mr.  Pinch 
was  so  very  much  at  a  loss  how  to  resume,  and 
looked  so  helplessly  at  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs, 
that  the  conversation  would  most  probably'  havo 
terminated  there,  if  a  good-looking  youth,  ncwJf 


16 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


arrived  at  man's  estate,  had  not  stepped  forward 
from  the  doorway  and  taken  up  the  thread  of  the 
discourse. 

"Come,  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  hf  said  with  a  smile, 
'  don't  let  there  be  any  ill-blood  between  us,  pray. 
[  am  sorry  we  have  ever  differed,  and  extremely 
rorry  I  have  ever  given  you  offence.  Bear  me  no 
rll-will  at  partinjj,  sir." 

"  I  bear,"  answered  Mr.  Pecksniff,  mildly,  "  no 
Hl-will  to  any  man  on  earth." 

"  1  told  you  lie  didn't,"  said  Pinch  in  an  under 
tone ;  "  I  knew  he  didn't  I  He  always  says  he 
don't." 

"  Then  you  will  shake  hands,  sir  ?"  cried  West- 
lock,  advancing  a  step  or  two,  and  bespeaking  Mr. 
Pinch's  close  uttenlion  by  a  glance. 

"Umph  ?"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  his  most  win- 
ning to!ie. 

"You  will  shake  hands,  sir." 
"  No,  John,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  a  calm- 
ness quite  ethereal ;  "  no,  I  will  not  shake  hands, 
John.  I  have  forgiven  you.  I  had  already  for- 
given you,  even  before  you  ceased  to  reproach  and 
taunt  me.  I  have  embraced  you  in  the  spirit, 
John,  which  is  better  than  shaking  hands." 

"  Pinch,"  said  the  youth,  turning  towards  him, 
with  a  Iiearty  disgust  of  his  late  master,  "  what 
did  I  tell  you  ?" 

Poor  Pinch  looked  down  uneasily  at  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, whose  eye  was  fixed  upon  him  as  it  had  been 
from  the  first :  and  looking  up  at  the  ceiling  again, 
made  no  reply. 

"As  to  your  forgiveness,  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  said 
the  youtli,  "  I'll  not  have  it  upon  such  terms.  I 
won'i  be  forgiven." 

«  Won't,  you,  John  ?"  retorted  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
with  a  smile.  "  You  must.  You  can't  help  it. 
Forgiveness  is  a  liiiWi  quality;  an  exalted  virtue; 
far  above  your  control  or  infiuence  John.  I  will 
forgive  you.  You  cannot  move  me  to  remember 
any  wrong  you  have  ever  done  me,  John." 

"Wrong!"  cried  the  other,  with  all  the  heat 
and  impetuosity  of  his  age.  "  Here's  a  pretty 
fellow  !  Wrong  !  Wrong  I  have  done  him  ! 
He'll  not  even  rcincinbcr  the  five  hundred  pounds 
he  had  with  me  imd(  r  filse  pretences;  or  the 
seventy  pounds  a-ycar  for  board  and  lodging  that 
would  have  been  dear  at  seventeen !  Here's  a 
martyr !" 

"  Money,.  John,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  is  the 
root  of  all  evil.  I  grieve  to  see  that  it  is  already 
bearing  evil  fruits  in  you.  But  I  will  not  remem- 
ber its  existence.  I  will  not  even  remember  the 
conduct  of  that  misguided  person" — and  here, 
although  he  spoke  like  one  at  peace  with  all  the 
world,  he  used  an  emphasis  that  plainly  said  '  I 
have  my  eye  upon  the  rascal  now' — "  that  mis- 
guided person  who  has  brought  you  here  to  night, 
seeking  to  disturb  (it  is  a  hu[)piness  to  say,  in 
vain)  the  heart's  repose  and  peace  of  one  who 
would  have  shed  his  dearest  blood  to  serve  him." 
The  voice  of  Mr.  Pecksniff  trembled  as  he 
spoke,  and  sobs  were  heard  from  his  daugliters. 
Sounds  Moated  on  the  air,  moreover,  as  if  two 
spirit  voices  had  exclaimed;  one,  "Beast!"  the 
other,  "  Savage  !" 

"  F'or[.Mveness,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "entire  and 
pure  forgiveness  is  not  incompatible  with  a  wound- 
ed heart;  pcrclianec  when  lhf>  heart  is  wouiidrd, 
rt  bei'f.'iies  a  srreater  virtue.     With  my  breast  still 


wrung  and  grieved  to  its  inmost  core  by  the  ir« 
gratitude  of  that  person,  I  am  proud  and  glad  to 
say,  that  I  forgive  him.  Nay!  1  beg,"  cried  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  raising  his  voice,  as  Pinch  appeared 
about  to  speak,  "  I  beg  that  individual  not  to  offer 
a  remark:  he  will  truly  oblige  me  by  not  uttering 
one  word:  just  now.  I  am  not  sure  that  1  am 
equal  to  the  trial.  In  a  very  short  space  of  time, 
I  shall  have  sufficient  fortitude,  I  trust,  to  converse 
with  him  as  if  these  events  had  never  happened. 
But  not,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  turning  round  again 
towards  the  fire,  and  waving  his  hand  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  door,  "  not  now." 

"  Bah  !"  cried  John  Westlock,  with  the  utmost 
disgust  and  disdain  the  monosyllable  is  capable 
of  expressing.  "  Ladies,  good  evening.  Come, 
Pinch,  it's  not  worth  thinking  of  I  was  right 
and  you  were  wrong.  That's  a  small  matter;, 
you'll  be  wiser  another  time." 

So  saying,  he  clapped  that  dejected  companion 
on  the  shoulder,  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  walked 
out  into  the  passage,  whither  poor  Mr.  Pinch,  after 
lingering  irresolutely  in  the  parlour  for  a  few 
seconds,  expressing  in  his  countenance  the  deepest 
mental  misery  and  gloom,  followed  him.  Then 
they  took  up  the  box  between  them,  and  sallied  out 
to  meet  the  mail. 

That  fleet  conveyance  passed,  every  night,  the 
corner  of  a  lane  at  some  distance;  towards  which 
point  they  bent  their  steps.  For  some  minutes 
they  walked  along  in  silence,  until  at  length  young 
Westlock  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  at  intervals 
into  another,  and  another.  Still  there  was  no  re- 
sponse from  his  companion. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  Pinch  !"  he  said  abruptly 
after  another  lengthened  silence — "  You  haven't 
half  enough  of  the  devil  in  you.  Half  enough! 
You  haven't  any." 

"  Well !"  said  Pinch  with  a  sigh,  "  I  don't  know 
I  'm  sure.  It's  a  compliment  to  say  so.  If  1 
haven't,  I  suppose  I'm  all  the  better  for  it." 

"All  the  better  I"  repeated  his  companion  tajtly: 
"All  the  worse  you  mean  to  say." 

"  And  yet,"  said  Pinch,  pursuing  his  own 
thoughts  and  not  this  last  remark  on  the  part  of 
his  friend,  "  I  must  have  a  good  deal  of  what  you 
call  the  devil  in  me,  luo,  or  how  could  I  make 
Pecksniff  so  uncomfortable?  I  wouldn't  have 
occasioned  him  so  much  distress — don't  laugh, 
please — for  a  mine  of  money  :  and  Heaven  knows 
I  could  find  good  use  for  it  too,  John.  How 
grieved  he  was  I" 

"  He.  grieved  !"  returned  the  other. 
"  Why  didn't  you  observe  that  the  tears  were 
almost  starting  out  of  his  eyes  1"  cried  Pinch. 
"  Bless  my  soul,  John,  is  it  nothing  to  see  a  man 
moved  to  that  extent  and  know  one's  self  to  be 
the  cause  !  And  did  you  hear  him  say  that  ho 
could  have  shed  his  blood  for  me  ?" 

"Do  you  loant  any  blood  shed  for  you?"  le- 
turned  his  friend,  with  considerable  irritation. 
"  Does  he  shed  anything  for  you  that  you  do 
want?  Does  he  shed  employment  for  you,  in- 
struction for  you,  pocket-money  for  you  ?  Docs 
he  shed  even  legs  of  mutton  for  you  in  any  decent 
I)roportion  to  potatoes  and  garden  stuff?" 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Pincli,  sighing  again,  "  th»t 
I  'm  a  great  eater.  I  can't  disguise  from  mysell 
that  I  'm  a  great  eater.  Now  you  know  thaU 
John." 


Meekness^of  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  his  charming  daughters. 


MARTIN    CF4UZZLE\V1T. 


17 


•♦yim  a  ^rcnt  cater !"  retorted  his  compnnion, 
with  no  less  indi{,ni:ition  than  before,  "  How  do 
you  know  you  are  ?" 

There  appeared  to  be  forcible  matter  in  this 
inquiry,  for  Mr.  Pinch  only  repeated  in  an  under- 
tone tliat  lie  had  a  strontr  misgivings  on  the  pubjcct, 
and  that  he  greatly  feared  he  was: 

"  Besides,  whether  I  am  or  no,"  he  added,  "that 
has  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  his  thinking  ine 
ungrateful.  Jolin,  tliere  is  scarcely  a  sin  in  the 
world  that  is  in  my  eyes  such  a  crying  one  as  in- 
gratitude ;  and  when  he  taxes  me  with  that,  and 
believes  nsc  to  be  guilty  of  it,  he  makes  me  mis- 
erable and  wretched." 

"Do  you  think  he  don't  know  that?"  returned 
the  other  scornfully.  *'  But  come.  Pinch,  before 
I  say  anything  more  to  you,  just  run  over  the 
reasons  you  have  for  being  grateful  to  him  at  all, 
will  you  ?  change  hands  first,  for  the  box  is  licavy. 
That'll  do.     Now,  go  on." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Pinch,  "he  took  me 
as  his  pupil  for  muoli  less  than  he  asked." 

"Well,"  rejoined  his  friend,  perfectly  unmoved 
by  this  instance  of  generosity.  "  What  in  the 
second  place  ?" 

"  What  in  the  second  place !"  cried  Pinch,  in 
a  sort  of  desperation,  "why,  everything  in  the 
second  place.  My  poor  old  grandnKjther  died 
happy  to  think  that  she  iiad  put  me  with  such  an 
excellent  man.  I  have  grown  up  in  his  house,  I 
am  in  his  confidence,  I  am  his  assistant,  he  allows 
me  a  salary:  when  his  business  improves,  my 
prospects  are  to  improve  too.  All  this,  and  a  great 
deal  more,  is  in  the  second  place.  And  in  the  very 
prologue  and  preface  to  the  first  place,  John,  you 
must  consider  this,  which  nobody  knows  better 
tlian  I :  that  I  was  born  for  much  plainer  and 
poorer  things,  that  I  am  not  a  good  hand  at  his 
kind  of  business,  and  have  no  talent  for  it,  or  in- 
deed for  anything  else  but  odds  and  ends  that  are 
of  no  use  or  service  to  anybody." 

He  said  this  with  so  much  earnestness,  and  in 
a  tone  so  full  of  feeling,  that  his  companion  in- 
stinctively changed  his  manner  as  he  sat  down  on 
the  box  (they  had  by  this  time  reached  the  finger- 
post at  the  end  of  the  lane) ;  motioned  him  to  sit 
down  beside  him  ;  and  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
siioulder. 

"  I  believe  you  are  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the 
world,"  he  said,  "  Tom  Pinch." 

"Not  at  all,"  rejoined  Tom.  "If  you  only 
knew  Pecksniff  as  well  as  I  do,  you  might  say  it 
of  him,  indeed,  and  say  it  truly." 

"  I  'll  say  anything  of  him,  you  like,"  returned 
the  other,  "  and  not  another  word  to  his  dispar- 
agement." 

"It 's  for  my  sake  then;  not  his,  I  am  afraid," 
said  Pinch,  shaking  his  head  gravely." 

"  For  whose  you  please,  Tom,  so  that  it  does 
please  you.  Oh  !  He 's  a  famous  fellow  !  He 
never  scraped  and  clawed  into  his  pouch  all  your 
poor  grandmother's  hard  savings  —  she  was  a 
housekeeper,  wasn't  she,  Tom  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  nursing  one  of  his  large 
knees,  and  nodding  his  head:  "a  gentleman's 
housekeeper." 

"  He  never  scraped  and  clawed  into  his  pouch 

all  her  hard  savings ;  dazzling  her  with  prospects 

9f  your   happiness  and   advancement,  which  he 

knew  (and  no  man  better)  never  would  be  realized  I 

% 


He  never  speculated  and  traded  on  her  pride  in 
you,  and  her  having  educated  you,  and  on  tier 
desire  that  you  at  least  should  live  to  be  a  gentle- 
man.    Not  he,  Tom  !" 

"  No,"  said  Tom,  looking  into  his  friend's  face, 
as  if  lie  were  a  little  doubtful  of  his  meaning 
"  of  course  not." 

"  So  r  say,"  returned  the  youth,  "  of  course  h« 
never  did.  He  didn't  take  less  than  he  had  asked 
because  that  less  was  all  she  had,  and  more  than 
he  expected  :  not  he,  Tom  !  He  doesn't  keep  you 
as  his  assistant  because  you  are  of  any  use  to  him  , 
because  your  wonderful  faith  in  his  pretensions  i% 
of  inestimable  service  in  all  his  mean  disputes: 
because  your  honesty  reflects  honesty  on  him  ;  be- 
cause your  wandering  about  this  little  place  all 
your  spare  hours,  reading  in  ancient  books,  and 
foreign  tongues,  gets  noised  abroad,  even  as  far  as 
Salisbury,  making  of  him,  Pecksniff  the  master, 
a  man  of  learning  and  of  vast  importance.  H* 
gets  no  credit  from  you,  Tom,  not  he." 

"  Why,  of  course  he  don't,"  said  Pinch,  gazing 
at  his  friend  \vith  a  more  troubled  aspect  than  be- 
fore.    "  Pecksniff  get  credit  from  me  !     Well !'' 

"  Don't  I  say  that  it 's  ridiculous,"  rejoined  tiie 
other,  "  even  to  think  of  such  a  thing  I'' 

"  Why,  it 's  madness,"  said  Tom. 

"Madness!"  returned  young  Westlock.  "Cet- 
tainly,  it's  madness.  Who  but  a  madman  would 
suppose  he  cares  to  hear  it  said  on  Sundays,  that 
the  volunteer  who  plays  the  organ  in  the  church, 
and  practises  on  summer  evenings  in  the  dark,  is 
Mr.  Pecksniff's  young  man,  eh,  Tom  ?  Who  but 
a  madman  would  suppose  it  is  the  game  of  such  u 
man  as  he,  to  have  his  name  in  everybody's  mouthy 
connected  with  the  thousand  useless  odds  and  ends 
you  do  (and  which  of  course  he  taught  you),  eh, 
Tom  ?  Who  but  a  madman  would  suppose  you 
advertise  him  hereabouts,  much  cheaper  and  much 
better  than  a  chalker  on  the  walls  could,  eh,  Tom  ? 
As  well  might  one  suppose  that  he  doesn't  on  all 
occasions  pour  out  his  whole  heart  and  soul  to  you  ; 
that  he  doesn't  make  you  a  very  liberal,  and  in- 
deed, rather  an  extravagant  allowance;  or,  to  be 
more  wild  and  monstrous  still  if  that  be  possible, 
as  well  might  one  suppose,"  and  here,  at  every 
word,  he  struck  him  lightly  on  the  breast,  "  thai 
Pecksniff  traded  in  your  nature,  and  that  your 
nature  was,  to  be  timid  and  distrustful  of  yourself 
and  trustful  of  all  other  men,  but  most  of  all,  ot 
him  who  least  deserves  it.  There  would  be  mad- 
ness, Tom  !" 

Mr.  Pinch  had  listened  to  all  this  with  looks  of 
bewilderment,  which  seemed  to  be  in  part  occa- 
sioned by  the  matter  of  his  companion's  speech, 
and  in  part  by  his  rapid  and  vehement  manner. 
Now  that  he  had  come  to  a  close,  he  drew  a  very 
long  breath  ;  and  gazing  wistfully  in  his  face  as  ii 
he  were  unable  to  settle  in  his  own  mind  what  ex- 
pression it  wore,  and  were  desirous  to  draw  from 
it  as  good  a  clue  to  his  real  meaning  as  it  wa^ 
possible  to  obtain  in  the  dark,  was  about  to  an- 
swer, when  the  sound  of  the  mail-guard's  horc 
came  cheerily  upon  bheir  ears,  putting  an  immedi- 
ate end  to  the  conference :  greatly  as  it  seemed  to 
the  satisf  cction  of  the  younger  man,  who  jumped 
up  briskly,  and  gave  his  hand  t(   his  companion 

"  Both  Hands,  Tom.  I  shall  write  to  you  froin 
London,  mmd  I" 

"  Yes,"  said  Pinch.    "  Yes.    3o,  please.    Go^'H 
B» 


IS 


LIFE    ANb   ADVENTURES   OF 


bye.  Good  bye.  I  can  hardly  believe  you  're 
eoing.  It  seems  now  but  yesterdaj'  that  you 
tame.     Good  bye  I  my  dear  old  fellow  !" 

John  Westlock  returned  his  parting;  words  with 
no  less  heartiness  of  manner,  and  sprung  up  to  his 
seat  upon  the  roof.  Off  went  the  mail  at  a  canter 
down  the  dark  road  :  the  lamps  gleaming  brightly, 
and  the  horn  awakening  all  the  echoes,  fur  and  wide. 

"Go   your  ways,"  said   Pinch,  apostropliizing 


the  C(jach  :  "  I  car;  hardly  persuade  myself  b«. 
you  're  alive,  and  are  some  great  monster  wha 
visits  this  place  at  certain  intervals,  to  bear  my 
friends  awaj'  into  the  world.  You  're  more  ex- 
ulting and  rampant  than  usual  to-night,  I  think  • 
and  you  may  well  crow  over  your  prize ;  for  he  is 
a  fine  lad,  an  ingenuous  lad,  and  has  but  one  fault 
that  I  know  of:  he  don't  mean  it,  but  he  is  most 
cruelly  unjust  to  Pecksriff  1" 


CHAPTER  III. 

IN   WHICH   CERTAIN   OTHER   PERSONS  ARE   INTRODUCED;   ON  THE   SAME 

TERMS  AS  IN  THE  LAST  CHAPTER. 


Mention  has  been  already  made  more  than 
once,  of  a  certain  Dragon  who  swung  and  creaked 
complainingly  before  the  village  ale-house  door.  A 
faded,  and  an  ancient  dragon  he  was ;  and  many 
a  wintry  storm  of  rain,  snow,  sleet,  and  hail,  had 
changed  his  colour  from  a  gaudy  blue  to  a  faint 
ack-lustre  shade  of  gray.  But  there  he  hung ; 
earing  in  a  state  of  monstrous  imbecility,  on  his 
pind  legs ;  waxing,  with  every  month  that  passed, 
so  much  more  dim  and  shapeless,  that  as  you 
gazed  at  him  on  one  side  of  the  sign-board  it 
seemed  as  if  he  must  be  gradually  melting  through 
it,  and  coming  out  upon  the  otlier. 

He  was  a  courteous  and  ccmsiderate  dragon, 
too ;  or  had  been  in  his  distincter  days  :  for  in  the 
midst  of  his  rampant  feebleness,  he  kept  one  of 
his  fore  paws  near  his  nose,  as  though  he  would 
say,  "  Don't  mind  me — it's  only  my  fun  ;"  while 
he  held  out  the  other,  in  polite  and  hospitable  en- 
treaty. Indeed  it  must  be  conceded  to  the  whole 
brood  of  dragons  of  modern  times,  that  they  have 
made  a  great  advance  in  civilization  and  refine- 
ment. They  no  longer  demand  a  beautiful  virgin 
for  breakfast  every  morning,  with  as  much  regu- 
larity as  any  tame  single  gentleman  expects  his 
hot  roll,  but  rest  content  with  the  society  of  idle 
bachelors  and  roving  married  men:  and  they  are 
now  remarkable  rather  for  holding  aloof  from  the 
softer  sex  and  discouraging  their  visits  (especially 
on  Saturday  nights),  than  for  rudely  insisting  on 
their  company  without  any  reference  to  their  in- 
clinations, as  they  are  known  to  have  done  in 
days  of  yore. 

Nor  is  this  tribute  to  the  reclaimed  animals  in 
question  so  wide  a  digression  into  the  realms  of 
Natural  History,  as  it  may,  at  first  sight,  appear  to 
be :  for  the  present  business  of  these  pages  is 
with  the  dragon  who  had  his  retreat  in  Mr.  Peck- 
Bnifl''8  neighbourhood,  and  that  courteous  animal 
being  already  on  the  carpet,  there  is  nothing  in 
the  way  of  its  immediate  transaction. 

J'or  m;iny  years  then,  he  had  swung  and  creak- 
ed, and  flapped  himself  about,  before  the  two  win- 
dows of  the  best  bedroom  in  that  house  of  enter- 
tainment to  which  he  lent  his  name :  but  never, 
m  all  his  swinging,  creaking,  and  flapping,  had 
there  been  such  "  stir  within  its  dingy  precincts, 
as  on  the  evcnifig  next  aftgr  that  upon  which  the 
uicidcnts,  detailed  in  the  last  chiipter,  occurred ; 
when  there  was  such  a  hurryiiin'  \ip  and  down 
xtairs  of  feel,  such  a  glancinq-  of  litrhtj,  such  a 
uihispcnng  of  voices,  such  a  ttnoking  and  r<put- 
U-fuij;  of  wood  newly  lighted  iu  a  damp  chiimiey, 


such  an  airing  of  linen,  such  a  scorching  smell  of 
hot  warming-pans,  such  a  domestic  bustle  and  to- 
do,  in  short,  as  never  dragon,  griffin,  unicorn,  or 
other  animal  of  that  species  presided  over,  since 
they  first  began  to  interest  themselves  in  house 
hold  affairs. 

An  old  gentleman  and  a  young  lady,  travelling, 
unattended,  in  a  rusty  old  chariot  with  post-horses ; 
coming  nobody  knew  whence,  and  going  nobody 
knew  whither ;  had  tunred  out  of  the  high  road, 
and  driven  unexpectedly  to  the  Blue  Dragon  :  and 
here  was  the  old  gentleman,  who  had  taken  this 
step  by  reason  of  his  sudden  illness  in  tne  car- 
riage, suffering  the  most  horrible  cramps  and 
spasms,  yet  protesting  and  vowing  in  the  very 
midst  of  his  pain,  that  he  wouldn't  have  a  doctor 
sent  for,  and  wouldn't  take  any  remedies  but  those 
which  the  young  lady  administered  from  a  small 
medicine-chest,  and  wouldn't,  in  a  word,  do  any- 
thing but  terrify  the  landlady  out  of  her  five  wits, 
and  obstinately  refuse  compliance  with  every  sug 
gcstion  that  was  made  to  him. 

Of  all  the  five  hundred  proposals  for  his  relief 
which  the  good  woman  poured  out  in  less  than 
half-an-hour,  he  would  entertain  but  one.  That 
was,  that  he  should  go  to  bed.  And  it  was  in  the 
preparation  of  his  bed,  and  the  arrangement  of 
his  chamber,  that  all  the  stir  was  made  in  the 
room  behind  the  Dragon. 

He  was  beyond  all  question,  very  ill,  and  suf- 
fering exceedingly  :  not  the  less,  perhaps,  because 
he  was  a  strong  and  vigorous  old  man,  with  a  will 
of  iron,  and  a  voice  of  brass.  But  ncilher  the  ap- 
prehensions which  he  plainly  entertained,  at  times, 
for  his  life  ;  nor  the  great  pain  he  underwent ;  in- 
fluenced his  resolution  in  the  least  degree.  He 
would  have  no  person  sent  for.  The  worse  he 
grew,  the  more  rigid  and  inflexible  he  became  in 
this  determination.  If  they  sent  for  any  person 
to  attend  him,  man,  woman,  or  child,  he  would 
leave  the  house  directly  (so  he  told  them),  though 
he  quilted  it  on  foot,  and  died  upon  the  threshold 
of  the  door. 

Now  there  being  no  medical  practitioner  actu- 
ally resident  in  the  village,  but  a  poor  apothecary 
who  was  also  a  grocer  and  general  dealer,  the 
landlady  had  upon  her  own  responsibility  sent  for 
him,  in  the  very  first  burst  and  outset  of  the  dis- 
aster.  Of  course  it  followed,  as  a  necessary  rsult 
of  his  being  wanted,  that  he  was  not  at  nome.  Mf 
hud  gone  some  miles  away,  and  was  not  expected 
home  until  late  at  night ;  so  the  landlady,  bcin? 
by  this  lime  pretty  well  besida   jrself,  dctii;aUlictl 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


19 


(he  same  messenger  in  all  haste  for  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
ts  a  learned  man  who  could  bear  a  deal  of  rcspon- 
sibility,  and  a  moral  man  who  could  administer  a 
word  of  comfort  to  a  troubled  mind.  That  her 
^uest  had  need  of  some  efficient  services  under 
the  latter  head  was  obvious  enough  from  the  rest- 
less expressions,  importing,  however,  rather  a 
worldly  than  a  spiritual  anxiety,  to  which  he  gave 
frequent  utterance. 

From  this  lust-mentioned  secret  errand,  the 
messenger  returned  with  no  better  news  tiian  from 
the  first :  Mr.  PecksnitF  was  not  at  home.  How- 
ever, tliey  got  the  patient  into  bed,  without  him  ; 
and  in  the  course  of  two  hours  he  gradually  be- 
came so  far  better  that  there  were  much  longer 
intervals  than  at  first  between  his  terms  of  suffer- 
ing. By  degrees,  he  ceased  to  suffer  at  all :  though 
his  exliaustion  was  occasionally  so  great,  that  it 
suggested  hardly  less  alarm  than  his  actual  endu- 
rance had  done. 

It  was  in  one  of  his  intervals  of  repose,  when, 
looking  round  with  great  caution,  and  reaching 
uneasily  out  of  his  nest  of  pillows,  he  endeavour- 
ed, with  a  strange  air  of  secrecy  and  distrust,  to 
make  use  of  the  writing  materials  which  he  had 
ordered  to  be  placed  on  a  table  beside  him,  that 
the  young  lady  and  the  mistress  of  the  Blue  Dra- 
gon, found  themselves  sitting  side  by  side  before 
the  fire  in  the  sick  chamber. 

The  mistress  of  the  Blue  Dragon  was  in  out- 
ward appearance  just  what  a  landlady  should  be: 
broad,  buxom,  comfortable,  and  good-looking,  with 
a  face  of  clear  red  and  white,  which  by  its  jovial 
asf)ect,  at  once  bore  testimony  to  her  hearty  par- 
ticipation in  the  good  things  of  the  larder  and  the 
cellar,  and  to  their  thriving  and  healthful  influen- 
ces. She  was  a  widow,  but  years  ago  had  passed 
through  her  state  of  weeds,  and  burst  into  flower 
again ;  and  in  full  bloom  she  had  continued  ever 
iince  ;  and  in  full  bloom  she  was  now  ;  with  roses 
on  her  ample  skirts,  and  roses  on  her  boddice, 
roses  in  her  cap,  roses  in  her  cheeks, — ay,  and 
roses,  worth  the  gathering  too,  on  her  lips,  for  that 
matter.  She  had  still  a  bright  black  eye,  and  jet 
black  hair ;  was  comely,  dimpled,  plump,  and  tight 
is  a  gooseberry  ;  and  though  she  was  not  exactly 
what  the  world  calls  young,  you  may  make  an  af'- 
fidavit,  on  trust,  before  any  mayor  or  magistrate  in 
Christendom,  that  there  are  a  great  many  young 
ladies  in  the  world  (blessings  on  them,  one  and 
all  I)  whom  you  wouldn't  like  half  as  well,  or  ad- 
mire half  as  much,  as  the  beaming  hostess  of  the 
Blue  Dragon. 

As  this  fair  matron  sat  beside  the  fire,  she 
glanced  occasionally,  with  all  the  pride  of  owner, 
ship,  about  the  room ;  which  was  a  large  apart- 
ment, such  as  one  may  see  in  country  places,  with 
a  low  roof  and  a  sunken  flooring,  all  down-hill 
from  the  door,  and  a  descent  of  two  steps  on  the 
inside  so  exquisitely  unexpected,  that  strangers, 
(lespite  the  most  elaborate  cautioning,  usually  dived 
in  head.first,  as  into  a  plunging-bath.  It  was  none 
of  your  frivolous  and  preposterously  bright  bed- 
rooms, where  nobody  can  close  an  eye  with  any 
kind  of  propriety  or  decent  regard  to  the  associa- 
tion of  ideas;  but  it  was  a  good  dull,  leaden, 
drowsy  place,  where  every  article  of  furniture 
reminded  you  that  you  came  there  to  sleep,  and 
that  you  were  expected  to  go  to  sleep.  There  was 
no  wakeful  reflection  of  the  fire  there,  as  in  your 


modern  chambers,  which  upon  the  darkest  nights 
have  a  watchful  consciousness  of  French  polish  , 
the  old  Spanish  mahogany  winked  at  it  now  and 
then,  as  a  dozing  cat  or  dog  might,  notiiing  more. 
The  very  size  and  shape,  and  hopeless  immovea- 
bility,  of  the  bedstead,  and  wardrobe,  and  in  a 
minor  degree  of  even  the  chairs  and  tables.,  pro- 
voked sleep ;  they  were  plainly  apoplectic  and 
disposed  to  snore.  There  were  no  staring  por- 
traits  to  remonstrate  with  you  for  being  lazy ;  no 
round-eyed  birds  upon  the  curtains,  disgustingly 
wide  awake,  and  insufferably  prying.  The  thick 
neutral  hangings,  and  the  dark  blinds,  and  the 
heavy  heap  of  bed-clothes,  were  all  designed  to 
hold  in  sleep,  and  act  as  non-conductors  to  the 
day  and  getting  up.  Even  the  old  stuffed  fox 
upon  the  top  of  the  wardrobe  was  devoid  of  any 
spark  of  vigilance,  for  his  glass  eye  had  fallen  out, 
and  he  slumbered  as  he  stood. 

The  wandering  attention  of  the  mistress  of  the 
Blue  Dragon  roved  to  these  things  but  twice  or 
thrice,  and  then  for  but  an  instant  at  a  time.  It 
soon  deserted  them,  and  even  the  distant  bed  with 
its  strange  burden,  for  the  young  creature  imme- 
diately before  her,  who,  with  her  downcast  eyes 
intently  fixed  upon  the  fire,  sat  wrapped  in  silent 
meditation. 

She  was  very  young ;  apparently  not  more  than 
seventeen  ;  timid  and  shrinking  in  her  manner, 
and  yet  with  a  greater  share  of  self-possession  and 
control  over  her  emotions  than  usually  belongs  to 
a  far  more  advanced  period  of  female  life.  This 
she  had  abundantly  shown,  but  now,  in  her  tend- 
ing of  the  sick  gentleman.  She  was  short  in 
stature ;  and  her  figure  was  slight,  as  became  her 
years  ;  but  all  the  charms  of  youth  and  maiden- 
hood set  it  off,  and  clustered  on  her  gentle  brow. 
Her  face  was  very  pale,  in  part  no  doubt  from  re- 
cent agitation.  Her  dark  brown  hair,  disordered 
from  the  same  cause,  had  fallen  negligently  from 
its  bonds,  and  hung  upon  her  neck  :  for  which  in- 
stance of  its  waywardness,  no  male  observer  would 
have  had  the  heart  to  blame  it 

Her  attire  was  that  of  a  lady,  but  extremely 
plain;  and  in  her  manner,  even  when  she  sat  as 
still  as  she  did  then,  there  was  an  indefinable 
something  which  appeared  to  be  in  kindred  with 
her  scrupulously  unpretending  dress.  She  had  sat, 
at  first  looking  anxiously  towards  the  bed;  but 
seeing  that  the  patient  remained  quiet,  and  was 
busy  with  his  writing,  she  had  softly  moved  her 
chair  into  its  present  place :  partly  as  it  seemed, 
from  an  instinctive  consciousness  that  he  desired 
to  avoid  observation ;  and  partly  that  she  might, 
unseen  by  him,  give  some  vent  to  the  natural 
feelings  she  had  hitherto  suppressed. 

Of  all  this,  and  much  more,  the  rosy  landlady 
of  the  Blue  Dragon  took  as  accurate  note  and 
observation  as  only  woman  can  take  of  woman. 
And  at  length  she  said,  in  a  voice  too  low,  slw 
knew,  to  reach  the  bed  :  -     - 

"  You  have  seen  the  gentleman  in  this  way  be- 
fore, Miss  ?     Is  he  used  to  these  attacks  ?" 

"  I  have  seen  him  very  ill  before,  but  not  so  lU 
as  he  has  been  to-night." 

"  What  a  Providence!"  said  the  landlady  of  the 
Dragon,  "  that  you  had  the  prescriptions  and  the 
medicines  with  you,  Miss  !" 

"  They  are  intended  for  such  an  emergentfT 
We  never  travel  without  them." 


20 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   Of 


"  Oh !"  thought  the  hostess,  "  then  we  are  in 
ihe  habit  of  travelling,  and  of  travelling  together." 
She  was  so  conscious  of  expressing  this  in  her 
face,  that  meeting  the  young  lady's  eyes  immedi- 
ately afterwards,  and  being  a  very  honest  hostess, 
she  was  rather  confused. 

"  The  gentleman — your  grandpapa" — she  re- 
sumed, after  a  short  pause,  "  being  so  bent  on 
having  no  assistance,  must  terrify  you  very  much, 
Miss  V" 

"  I  have  been  very  much  alarmed  to-night  He — 
he  is  not  my  grandfather." 

"  Father,  I  should  have  said,"  returned  the 
hostess,  sensible  of  having  made  an  awkward 
mistake. 

"  Nor  my  father,"  said  the  young  lady.  "  Nor," 
she  added,  slightly  smiling  with  a  quick  percep- 
tion of  what  the  landlady  was  going  to  add,  "  Nor 
Tiy  uncle.     We  are  not  related." 

"  O  dear  me  I"  returned  the  landlady,  still  more 
embarrassed  than  before  :  "  how  could  I  be  so  very 
much  mistaken ;  knowing,  as  anybody  in  their 
proper  senses  might,  that  when  a  gor.'.lcman  is  ill, 
he  looks  so  much  older  than  he  rea:;y  is  I  That  I 
should  have  called  you  '  Miss,'  too.  Ma'am  !"  But 
when  she  had  proceeded  thus  far,  she  glanced  in- 
voluntarily at  the  third  finger  of  the  joung  lady's 
leil  hand,  and  faltered  again :  for  there  was  no 
ring  upon  it 

"  When  I  told  you  we  were  not  related,"  said 
the  other  mildly,  but  not  without  confusion  on  her 
own  part,  "I  meant  not  in  any  way.  Not  even 
by  marriage.     Did  you  call  me,  Martin?" 

"Call  you  ?"  cried  the  old  man  looking  quickly 

op,  and  hurriedly  drawmg  beneath  the  coverlet 

tlie  paper  on  which  he  had  been  writing.     "  No." 

She  had  moved  a  pace  or  two  towards  the  bed, 

b'j?  stopped  immediately,  and  went  no  further. 

"No,"  he  repeated,  with  a  petulant  emphasis. 
"Why  do  you  ask  me  ?  If  I  had  called  you,  what 
need  for  such  a  question  ?" 

"  It  was  the  creaking  of  the  sign  outside,  sir,  I 
dare  say,"  obsen'ed  the  landlady  :  a  suggestion  by 
the  way  (as  she  felt  a  moment  after  she  had  made 
it),  not  at  all  complimentary  to  the  voice  of  the  old 
gentleman. 

"  No  matter  what.  Ma'am,"  he  rejoined :  "  it 
wasn't  I.  Why  how  you  stand  there,  Mary,  as 
if  I  had  the  plague !  But  they're  all  afraid  of 
me,"  he  added,  leaning  helplessly  backward  on 
his  pillow,  "even  she!  There  is  a  curse  upon 
me.     What  else  have  I  to  look  for!" 

"  O  dear,  no.  Oh  no,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  good- 
tempered  landlady,  rising,  and  going  towards  him. 
"  Be  of  better  cheer,  sir.  These  are  only  sick 
fancies." 

"  What  are  only  sick  fancies  ?"  he  retorted. 
"  What  do  you  know  about  fancies  ?  Who  told 
ym  about  fancies  ?     The  old  story  I  Fancies  !" 

"Only  see  again  there,  how  you  take  one  up!" 
said  tfie  mistress  of  the  Blue  Dragon,  with  unim- 
paired good  humour.  "Dear  heart  alive,  there  is 
n.j  harm  in  the  word,  sir,  if  it  is  an  old  one.  Folks 
m  good  health  have  tlieir  fancies  too,  and  strange 
fuies,  every  day 

Harmless  as  this  speech  appeared  to  be,  it  acted 
on  the  traveller's  distrust,  like  oil  on  fire.  He 
riiised  his  head  up  in  the  bed,  and,  fixing  on  her 
•  wo  dark  eyes  whose  brightness  was  exaggerated 
■JV  the  paleness  of  his  hollow  cheeks,  as  they  in 


turn,  together  with  his  straggling  locks  of  long 
gray  hair,  were  rendered  whiter  by  the  tight  black 
velvet  skull-cap  which  he  wore,  be  searched  her 
face  intently. 

"  Ah  !  you  begin  too  soon,"  he  said,  in  so  low  a 
voice  that  he  seemed  to  be  thinking  it  rather  than 
addressing  her.  "  But  you  lose  no  time.  You  do 
your  errand,  and  you  earn  your  fee.  Now,  wlw 
may  be  your  client?" 

The  landlady  looked  in  great  astonishment  at 
her  whom  he  called  Mary,  and  finding  no  rejoir>- 
der  in  the  drooping  face,  looked  back  again  al 
him.  At  first  she  had  recoiled  involuntarily,  sup- 
f)osing  him  disordered  in  his  mind;  but  the  slow 
composure  of  his  manner,  and  the  settled  purpose 
announced  in  his  strong  features,  and  gathering, 
most  of  all,  about  his  puckered  mouth,  forbade  the 
supposition. 

"Come,"  he  said,  "tell  me  who  is  it?  Being 
here,  it  is  not  very  hard  for  me  to  guess,  you  may 
suppose." 

"  Martin,"  interposed  the  young  lady,  laying  her 
hand  upon  his  arm ;  "reflect  how  short  a  time  vn' 
have  been  in  this  house,  and  that  even  your  name 
is  unknown  here." 

"  Unless,''  he  said,  "  you — "  He  was  evidently 
tempted  to  express  a  suspicion  of  her  having 
broken  his  confidence  in  favour  of  the  landlady, 
but  either  remembering  her  tender  nursing,  or 
being  moved  in  some  sort  by  her  face,  he  checked 
himself^  and  changing  his  uneasy  ptosture  in  the 
bed,  was  silent 

"  There !"  said  Mrs.  Lupin  :  for  in  that  name 

the  Blue  Dragon  was  licensed  to  furnish  enter. 

tainment  both   to  man  and   beast     "Now,  you 

I  will  be  well  again,  sir.     You  forgot,  for  the  mo- 

ment  that  there  were  none  but  friends  here." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  the  old  man  moaning  impatiently 

i  as  he  tossed  one  restless  arm  upoii  the  coverlet 

I  "  why  do  you  talk  to  me  of  friends  I     Can  you  or 

anybody  teach  me  to  know  who  are  my  friends, 

and  who  my  enemies  I" 

]  "  At  least"  urged  Mrs.  Lupin,  gently,  "  this 
young  lady  is  your  friend,  I  am  sure." 

"She  has  no  temptation  to  be  otherwise,"  cried 

!  the  old  man,  like  one  whose  hope  and  confidence 

were  utterly  exhausted.  "  I  suppose  she  is.  Heaven 

knows.     There  :  let  me  try  to  sleep.     Leave  the 

candle  where  it  is." 

As  they  retired  from  the  bed,  he  drew  forth  the 
writing  which  had  occupied  him  so  long,  and 
holding  it  in  the  flame  of  the  taper  burnt  it  to 
ashes.  That  done,  he  extinguibhcd  the  light  and 
turning  his  face  away  with  a  heavy  sigh,  drew 
;  the  coverlet  about  his  head,  and  lay  quite  still. 

This  destruction  of  the  paper,  both  as  being 
strangely  inconsistent  with  the  labour  he  had  de- 
I  voted  to  it  and  as  involving  considerable  danger 
I  of  fire  to  the  Dragon,  occasioned  Mrs.  Lupin  not 
a  little  consternation.     But  the  young  lady,  evin- 
cing no  surprise,  curiosity,  or  alarm,  whispered 
her,   with    many  thanks    for   her  solicitude  and 
company,  that  she  would  remain  tJ)cre  some  time 
longer ;  and  that  she  begged  her  not  to  share  her 
watch,  as  she  was  well  used  to  being  alone,  and 
would  pass  the  time  in  reading. 
I      "  .Mrs.  Lupin  had  her  full  share  and  dividena 
of  that  large  capital  of  curiosity  which  is  inher- 
ited by  her  sex,  and  at  another  time  it  might  have 
been  difficult  so  to  impress  this  hint  upon  her  ai 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


21 


to  indnce  her  to  take  it.  But  now,  in  sheer  won- 
der and  amazenicnt  at  these  inj-steries,  she  with- 
drew at  once,  and  repairing-  straii^htway  to  her 
own  little  parlour  helow-stairs,  sal  down  in  her 
easy-ciiair  with  unnatural  composure.  At  this 
very  crisis,  a  stop  was  heard  in  the  entry,  and  Mr. 
Pecksnilf,  lookiiiir  sweetly  over  the  halt'door  of 
the  bar,  and  into  the  vista  of  snuj;  privacy  beyond, 
__jyurinured  : 
^^^^iood  evening,  Mrs.  Lupin  !" 

"  Oh  dear  nie,  sir!"  she  cried,  advancing  to  re- 
ceive him,  "  I  am  so  very  glad  you  have  come." 

"  And  I  am  very  glad  1  have  come,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  "  if  I  can  be  of  service.  I  am  very 
glad  I  have  come.  What  is  the  matter,  Mrs. 
Lupin  ?" 

"  A  gentleman  taken  ill  upon  the  road,  has  been 
80  very  bad  up-stairs,  sir,"  said  the  tearful  hostess. 

"A  gentleman  taken  ill  upon  tlie  road,  has  been 
so  very  bad  up-stairs,  has  he  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff.    "  Well,  well  I" 

Now  there  was  nothing  that  one  may  call  de- 
cidedly ori^jrinal  in  this  remark,  nor  can  it  be  ex- 
actly saic  to  li  ive  C()ntaii>ed  any  wise  precept 
tlieretofore  unknown  to/inarikind,  or  to  have 
opened  any  hidden  source  of  consolation:  but 
"  Mr.  Pecksniff's  mannflT  was  so  bland,  and  he 
nodded  his  head  so  sootliingly,  and  showed  in 
every  thing  such  an  affable  senue  of  his  own  ex- 
cellence, that  anvbo(Jy  would  have  been,  as  Mrs. 
Lupin  was,  cointortcd  by  the  mere  voice  and  pre- 
sence of  such  a  man  ;  and,  though  he  had  merely 
said  "  a  verb  muijt  agree  with  its  nominative  case 
in  number  and  [jtrson,  my  good  friend,"  or  "eight 
times  eight  are>  sixty-tour,  my  worthy  soul,"  must 
have  tl'it  deeu^  grateful  to  him  for  his  humanity 
and  wisdoiiK 

"  And  how,"  asked  Mr.  Pecksniff,  drawing  off 
bis  gloves  and  warming  his  hands  betbre  the  fire, 
as  benevolently  as  if  tliey  were  somebody  else's, 
not  his  :  "  and  how  is  he  now  ?" 

"  He  is  better,  and  quite  tranquil,"  answered 
Mrs.  Lupin. 

"  He  is  better,  and  quite  tranquil,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,     "  Very  well  I  ve-ry  well  I" 

Here  again,  though  the  statement  was  Mrs. 
Lupin's  and  not  Mr.  Pecksniff's,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
made  it  his  own  and  consoled  her  witii  it.  It  was 
not  much  when  Mrs.  Lupin  said  it,  but  it  was  a 
whole  book  when  Mr.  Pecksniff  said  it.  "  I  ob- 
serve," he  seemed  to  say,  "  and  through  me, 
morality  in  general  remarks,  that  he  is  better  and 
quite  tranquil." 

"  There  must  be  weighty  matters  on  his  mind 
though,"  said  the  hostess,  shaking  her  head,  "  for 
he  talks,  sir,  in  the  strangest  way  you  ever  heard. 
He  is  far  from  easy  in  his  thoughts,  and  wants 
Bome  proper  advice  from  those  whose  goodness 
makes  it  wortli  his  having." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  he  is  the  sort  of 
customer  for  me."  But  though  he  said  this  in  the 
plainest  language,  he  didn't  speak  a  word.  He 
only  shook  liis  head  :  disparagingly  of  himself  too. 

**  I  am  afraid,  sir,"  continued  the  landlady,  first 
looking  round  to  assure  herself  that  there  was 
nobody  within  hearing,  and  then  looking  down 
upon  the  lloor,  "  I  am  very  much  afraid,  sir,  that 
his  conscience  is  troubled  by  his  not  being  related 
-or — or  even  married  to — a  very  young  lady — " 

"  Mrs  I  upin  I"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  holding  up 


his  hand  with  something  in  his  manner  as  nearly 
approaching  to  severity,  as  any  expression  of  his, 
mild  being  tiiat  he  was,  could  ever  do.  "  Person  I 
young  person  !" 

"  A  very  young  person,"  said  Mrs.  Lupin,  Cdur 
tesying  and  bluoiiing  :  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir, 
but  I  have  been  so  iiurried  to-iiij;ht,  that  1  don't 
know  what  I  saj' :  who  is  with  him  now." 

"  Who  is  with  him  now,"  ruminated  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff,  warming  his  back  (as  he  liad  wanned  his 
hands)  as  if  it  were  a  widow's  back,  or  an  eneinj's 
back,  or  a  back  that  any  less  excellent  man  woqM 
have  suffered  to  be  cold  ;  "Oh  dear  me,  dear  me!" 

"  At  the  same  time  I  am  bound  to  say,  and  I  do 
say  with  all  my  heart,"  observed  the  hostess,  ear- 
nestly, "  that  her  looks  and  manner  almost  disarm 
suspicion." 

"  Your  suspicion,  Mrs.  Lupin,"  said  Mr.  Peek- 
sniff  gravely,  "  is  very  natural." 

Touching  wiiicii  remark,  let  it  be  written  down 
to  their  contusion,  tliat  the  enemies  of  this  wortliy 
man  uiiblushingiy  maintained  that  he  always  said 
of  what  was  very  bad,  that  it  was  very  natural  • 
and  that  he  unconsciously  betrayed  his  own  na- 
ture in  doing  so. 

"  Your  suspicion,  iMrs.  Lupin,  "he  repeated,  "  i.s 
very  natural,  and  I  have  no  doubt  correct.  1  will 
wait  upon  these  traviUers," 

With  that  he  took  otf  his  great-coat,  and  having 
run  his  fingers  throU!,rh  his  hair,  thrust  one  hand 
gently  in  the  bosom  of  iiis  waistcoat  and  meekly 
signed  to  her  to  lead  the  way. 

"Shall  I  knock  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Lupin,  when  they 
reached  the  chamber  door. 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "enter  if  you  please." 

They  went  in  on  tiptoe  :  or  rather  the  hostess 
took  that  precaution,  for  Mr.  Pecksniff  always 
walked  softly.  The  old  gentleman  was  still  asleep, 
and  his  young  companion  still  sat  reading  by  the 
fire. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  pausing  at 
the  door,  and  giving  his  head  a  melanclioiy  roll, 
"  I  am  afraid  that  this  looks  artful.  I  am  at'raid, 
Mrs.  Lupin,  do  you  know,  that  this  looks  very 
artful !" 

As  he  finished  this  whisper,  he  advanced  betbre 
the  hostess  ;  and  at  the  same  time  the  young  lady, 
hearing  footsteps,  rose.  Mr.  Pecksniff  glanced  at 
the  volume  she  held,  and  whispered  Mrs.  Lupin 
again  :  if  possible,  with  increased  despondency. 

"  Yes  ma'am,"  he  said,  "  it  is  a  good  book.  I 
was  fearful  of  tiiat  beforehand.  I  am  apprehen- 
sive tliat  this  is  a  very  deep  thing  indeed  !" 

"  Hush  !  don't  trouble   yourself,  ]\Ia'am,"  sallj 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  as  the  landlady  was  about  to  anA 
swer.     "  This  young" — in  spite  of  himself  he  hcs- 
itated  when  '  person'  rose  to  his  lips,  and  suhsti-   ' 
tuted  another  word  :  "  this  young  stranger,  Mrsi.   • 
Lupin,  will  excuse  me  for  replying  brielly,  that  I 
reside  in  this  village  ;  it  may  be  in  an  infiuential  /' 
manner,  however   undeserved;   and    that  I  havci' 
been  summoned  here,  by  you.     I  am  here,  as  I 
am  everywhere,  I  hope,  in  sympathy  for  the  siefe 
and  sorry."  ^ 

With  these  impressive  words,  Mr.  Pecksnilf 
passed  over  to  the  bedside,  where,  af^er  patting 
the  counterpane  once  or  twice  in  a  very  solemn 
manner,  as  if  by  that  means  he  gained  a  cleai 
insight  into  the  patient's  disorder,  he  took  his  sca« 
in  a  large  arm-chair,  and  in  in  attitude  of  mjine 


23 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


thoughl fulness  and  much  comfort,  waited  for  his 
waking.  Whatever  objection  the  J'oung  lady 
urged  to  Mrs.  Lupin  went  no  further,  lor  nothing 
more  was  said  to  Mr.  Pecksniff,  and  Mr.  Pecksnitf 
said  nothing  more  to  anybody  else. 

Full  half  an  hour  elapsed  before  the  old  man 
stirred,  but  at  length  he  turned  himself  in  bed, 
and,  though  not  yet  awake,  gave  tokens  that  his 
sleep  was  drawing  to  an  end.  By  little  and  little 
he  removed  the  bed-clothes  from  about  his  head, 
and  turned  still  more  towards  the  side  where  Mr. 
Pecksnitf  sat.  In  course  of  time  his  eyes  opened; 
and  he  lay  for  a  few  moments  as  people  newly 
roused  sometimes  will,  gazing  indolently  at  his 
visiter,  without  any  distinct  consciousness  of  his 
presence. 

There  was  nothing  remarkable  in  these  pro- 
ceedings, except  the  influence  they  worked  on 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  which  could  hardly  have  been  sur- 
passed by  the  most  marvellous  of  natural  pheno- 
mena. Gradually  his  hands  became  tightly  clasped 
upon  the  elbows  of  the  chair,  his  eyes  dilated  with 
surprise,  his  mouth  opened,  his  hair  stood  more 
erect  upon  his  forehead  than  its  custom  was,  until, 
at  length,  when  the  old  man  ross  in  bed,  and 
stared  at  him  with  scarcely  less  emotion  than  he 
showed  himself,  the  Pecksniff  doubts  were  all 
resolved,  Rfid  he  e,xclaimed  aloud : 

"  You  are  Martin  Chuzzlewit!" 

iiis  consternation  of  surprise  was  so  genuine, 
that  the  old  man,  with  all  the  disposition  that  he 
clearly  entertained  to  believe  it  assumed,  was  con- 
Tinced  of  its  reality. 

"  I  am  Martin  Chuzzlewit,"  he  said,  bitterly  : 
"and  Martin  Chuzzlewit  wishes  you  had  been 
hanged,  before  you  had  come  here  to  disturb  him 
in  his  sleep.  VVhy  I  dreamed  of  this  fellow  !"  he 
said,  lying  down  again,  and  turning  away  his  face, 
"  before  1  knew  that  he  was  near  me  !" 

"  My  good  cousin — "  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"There!  His  very  first  words!"  cried  the  old 
man,  siiaking  his  grey  head  to  and  fro  upon  the 
pillow,  and  throwing  up  his  hands.  "  In  his  very 
first  words  he  asserts  his  relationship!  I  knew 
he  would  :  they  all  do  it !  Near  or  distant,  blood 
OT  water,  it's  all  one.  Ugh  !  What  a  calendar 
of  deceit,  and  lying,  ana  false  witnessing,  the 
bound  of  any  word  of  kindred  opens  before  me  !" 

"  Pray  do  not  be  hasty,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  said 
Pecksniff,  in  a  tone  that  was  at  once  in  the  sub- 
limest  degree  compassionate  and  dispassionate ; 
for  he  had  by  this  time  recovered  from  his  surprise, 
«nd  was  in  full  possession  of  his  virtuous  self 
"  You  will  regret  being  hasty,  I  know  you  will." 

"  You  know  I"  said  Martin,  contemptuously. 

"  Yes,"  retorted  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  Ay  ay,  Mr. 
Chuz/.lewit:  and  don't  imagine  that  1  mean  to 
court  or  flatter  you  :  for  nothing  is  further  from 
my  intention.  Neither,  sir,  need  you  entertain 
the  least  misgiving  that  I  shall  repeat  that  ob- 
noxious word  which  has  given  you  so  nmch  of- 
fence already.  Why  should  I  ?  What  do  I  expect 
or  want  from  you?  There  is  nothing  in  your 
possession  that  I  know  of,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  which 
is  much  to  be  coveted  for  the  happiness  it  brings 
you." 

"Tnat's  true  enough,"  muttered  the  old  man. 

"  A|)art  from  that  consideration,"  said  Mr. 
r<cksniir,  watchful  of  the  elfect  he  made,  "  it  must 
oe  plain  to  you  (I  am  sure)  by  this  time,  that  if  I 


had  wished  to  insinuate  myself  into  your  good 
opinion,  I  should  Jiave  been,  of  all  things,  careful 
not  to  address  you  as  a  relative  :  knowing  your 
humour,  and  being  quite  certain  beforehand  thai 
I  could  not  have  a  worse  letter  of  recommenda- 
tion." 

Martin  made  not  any  verbal  answer ;  but  ho  as 
clearly  implied,  though  only  by  a  motion  of  his 
legs  beneath  the  bed-clothes,  that  there  was  reason 
in  this  and  he  could  not  dispute  it,  as  if  he  had 
said  as  much  in  good  set  terms. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  keeping  his  hand  in 
his  waistcoat  as  though  he  were  ready,  on  the 
shortest  notice,  to  produce  his  heart  lor  INlartin 
Chuzzlewit's  inspection,  "  I  came  here  to  offer  my 
services  to  a  stranger.  I  make  no  offer  of  them 
to  you,  because  I  know  you  would  distrust  me  if 
I  did.  But  lying  on  that  bed,  sir,  I  regard  you  as 
a  stranger,  and  1  have  just  that  amount  of  inter- 
est in  you  which  I  hope  I  should  feel  in  any  stran- 
ger, circumstanced  as  you  are.  Beyond  that  I  ara 
quite  as  indifferent  to  you,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  as  you 
are  to  me." 

Having  said  which,  Mr.  Pecksniff  threw  him- 
self back  in  the  easy  chair :  so  radiant  with  in- 
genuous honesty,  th;it  Mrs.  Lupin  almost  wondered 
not  to  see  a  stained-glass  Glory,  such  as  the  Saint 
wore  in  the  church,  shining  about  his  head. 

A  long  pause  succeeded.  The  old  man,  with 
increased  restlessness,  changed  his  posture  several 
times.  Mrs.  Lupin  and  the  young  lady  gazed  in 
silence  at  the  counterpane.  Mr.  Pecksniff  toyed 
abstractedly  with  his  eye-glass,  and  kept  his  eyes 
shut,  that  he  might  ruminate  the  better. 

"Eh?"  he  said  at  last:  opening  them  suddenly, 
and  looking  towards  the  bed.  "  I  beg  your  pardon. 
I  thought  you  spoke.  Mrs.  Lupin,"  he  continued, 
slowly  rising,  I  am  not  aware  that  I  can  be  of  any 
service  to  you  here.  The  gentleman  is  better,  and 
you  are  as  good  a  nurse  as  he  can  have.     Eh  ?" 

This  last  note  of  interrogation  bore  reference  to 
another  change  of  posture  on  the  old  man's  part, 
whicii  brought  his  face  towards  Mr.  Pccksniti' for 
the  first  time  since  he  !iad  turned  away  from  him. 

"  If  you  desire  to  speak  to  me  before  I  go  sir," 
continued  that  gentleman,  after  another  pause, 
"  you  may  command  my  leisure  ;  but  I  must  stip- 
ulate, in  justice  to  myself,  that  you  do  so  as  to  a 
stranger  :  strictly  as  to  a  stranger." 

Now  if  Mr.  Pecksniff'  knew,  from  anything 
Martin  Chuzzlewit  had  expressed  in  gestures,  thai 
he  wanted  to  speak  to  him,  he  could  only  have 
found  it  out  on  some  such  principle  as  prevails  ir 
melodramas,  and  in  virtue  of  which  the  elderly 
farmer  with  tiie  comic  son  always  knows  what 
the  dumb-girl  means  when  she  takes  refuge  in  his 
garden,  and  relates  her  ])ersonal  memoirs  in  in- 
comprehensible pantomime.  But  without  stopping 
to  make  any  inquiry  on  this  point,  Martin  ("huz- 
zlcwit  signed  to  his  young  companion  to  withdraw 
which  she  immediately  did,  along  with  the  land- 
lady :  leaving  him  and  Mr.  Pecksnitf  alone  to- 
gether. For  some  time  they  looked  at  each  other 
in  silence;  or  rather  the  old  man  looked  at  Mr 
Pecksinff,  and  ]\Ir.  Pecksniff,  again  closing  his 
eyes  on  all  outward  objects,  took  an  inward  survry 
of  his  own  breast.  That  it  amply  repaid  him  fi.r 
his  trouble,  and  atforded  a  delicious  and  enchant 
ing  prospect,  was  clear  from  the  c.xprcssioM  of  hii 
face. 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


29 


"  You  wish  me  to  speak  to  you  as  a  total  stran- 
ger,'' said  the  old  man,  "do  you?" 

Mr.  Pecksnili'  replied,  by  a  KJiriitr  of  Iiis  shoul- 
ders and  an  apparent  turning'-round  of  his  eyes 
tn  their  sockets  before  he  opened  them,  that  he 
was  still  reduced  to  the  necessity  of  entertaining 
that  desire. 

"  You  shall  be  gratified,"  said  Martin.  "  Sir,  I 
<  am  a  ricli  man.  Not  so  rich  as  some  suppose 
perhaps,  but  yet  wealtliy.  I  am  not  a  miser,  sir, 
though  even  that  charge  is  made  against  me,  as  I 
hear,  and  currently  believed.  I  have  no  pleasure 
,n  hoarding.  I  have  no  pleasure  in  the  possession 
of  money.  Tlie  devil  that  we  call  by  that  name 
can  give  me  nothing  but  unhappiness." 

It  would  be  no  description  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
gentleness  of  manner,  to  adopt  the  common  par- 
lance, and  say,  that  he  looked  at  this  moment  as 
if  butter  wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth.  He  rather 
looked  as  if  any  quantity  of  butter  night  have 
been  made  out  of  him,  by  churning  the  milk  of 
human 'kindness,  as  it  spouted  upwards  from  his 
heart 

"  For  the  same  reason  that  I  am  not  a  hoarder 
of  money,"  said  the  old  man,  "I  am  not  lavish  of 
it.  Some  people  find  their  gratific^ition  in  storing 
it  up;  and  others  theirs  in  parting  with  it;  but  I 
have  no  gratification  connected  with  the  thing. 
Pain  and  bitterness  are  the  only  goods  it  ever 
could  procure  for  me.  I  hate  it.  It  is  a  spectre 
v/alking  before  me  through  tlie  world,  and  making 
every  social  pleasure  hideous." 

A  thought  arose  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  mind,  which 
must  have  instantly  mounted  to  his  face,  or  Mar- 
tin  Chuzzlewit  would  not  have  resuiricd  as  quickly 
ajid  as  sternly  as  he  did : 

"  You  would  advise  me  for  my  peace  of  mind, 
lO  get  rid  of  this  source  of  misery,  and  transfer  it 
to  some  one  who  could  bear  it  better.  Even  you, 
perliaps,  would  rid  me  of  a  burden  under  which  I 
suffer  so  grievously.  But,  kind  stranger,"  said  the 
old  man,  whose  every  feature  darkened  as  he  spoke, 
"good  Christian  stranger,  that  is  a  main  part  of 
my  trouble.  In  otiier  hands,  I  have  known  money 
do  good  ;  in  other  hands  I  have  known  it  triumph- 
ed in,  and  boasted  of  with  reason,  as  the  master- 
key  to  all  tiie  brazen  gates  that  close  upon  the 
paths  to  worldly  honour,  fortune,  and  enjoyment. 
To  what  man  or  woman  ;  to  w  hat  worthy,  honest, 
incorruptible  creature ;  shall  I  confide  such  a  tal- 
isman either  now  or  when  I  die  ?  Do  you  know 
any  such  person  ?  Your  virtues  are  of  course  in- 
estimable, but  can  you  tell  me  of  any  other  living 
creature  who  will  bear  the  test  of  contact  with 
myself?" 

"Of  contact  with  yourself,  sir,"  echoed  Mr. 
PeeksnitF. 

"  Ay,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  the  test  of  con- 
tact with  me — with  me.  You  have  heard  of  him 
whose  misery  (the  gratification  of  his  own  foolish 
wish;  was,  that  he  turned  every  thing  he  touched, 
to  gold.  The  curse  of  my  existence,  and  the  real- 
ization of  my  iiwn  mad  desire,  is  that  by  the 
golden  standar.l  which  I  bear  about  me,  I  am 
doomed  to  try  ife.i  metal  of  all  other  men,  and 
find  it  false  and  lullow." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  shook  his  head,  and  said,  "  You 
think  so." 

"  Oh  yes,"  cried  the  old  man,  "  I  think  so  !  and 
in  your  telling  me  '  I  think  so,'  I  recognise  the 


true  unworldly  ring  of  your  metn,l.  I  tell  you, 
man,"  he  added,  with  increasing  bitterness,  "th^t 
I  have  gone,  a  rich  man,  among  people  of  all 
grades  and  kinds  ;  relatives,  friends,  and  strantrers 
among  people  in  whom,  when  I  was  poor,  I  hao 
confidence,  and  justly,  for  they  never  once  deceive  J 
me  then,  or,  to  me,  wronged  6ach  other.  But  I 
have  never  found  one  nature,  no,  not  one,  in  which, 
being  wealthy  and  alone,  I  was  not  forced  to  detect 
the  latent  corrui)tion  that  lay  hid  within  if,  waitmg 
for  such  as  I  to  bring  it  fortli.  Treachery,  deceit, 
and  low  design;  hatred  of  competitors,  real  or 
fancied,  for  my  favour  ;  meannes-s,  falsehoodi  base- 
ness, and  servility  ;  or,"  and  here  lie  looked  closely 
in  his  cousin's  eyes,  "or  an  assumption  of  honest 
independence,  almost  worse  than  all ;  these  are  the 
beauties  which  my  wealth  has  brought  to  light. 
Brother  against  brother,  child  against  parent, 
friends  treading  on  the  faces  of  friends,  this  is  the 
social  company  by  which  my  way  has  been  at- 
tended. Tiiere  are  stories  told — they  may  be  true 
or  false — of  rich  men,  who,  in  the  garb  of  pov- 
erty, have  found  out  virtue  and  rewarded  it.  They 
were  dolts  and  idiots  for  their  pains.  They  should 
have  made  the  search  in  their  own  characters. 
They  should  have  shown  themselves  fit  objects  to 
be  robbed  and  preyed  upon  and  plotted  against, 
and  adulated  by  any  knaves,  who,  but  for  jo\-, 
would  have  spat  upon  their  coffins  when  they  died 
their  dupes;  and  then  their  search  would  have 
ended  as  mine  has  done,  and  they  would  be  what 
I  am." 

Mr.  Pecksniff,  not  at  all  knowing  what  it  might 
be  best  to  say,  in  the  momentary  pause  vvliich  en- 
sued upon  these  remarks,  made  an  elaborate  do- 
monstration  of  intending  to  deliver  something 
very  oracular  indeed  :  trusting  to  the  certainty  of 
the  old  man  interrupting  him,  before  he  should 
utter  a  word.  Nor  was  he  mistaken,  for  Martin 
Chuzzlewit  having  taken  breath,  went  on  to  say  : 

"Hear  me  to  an  end;  judge  what  profit  you 
are  like  to  gain  from  any  repetition  of  this  visit ; 
and  leave  me.  I  have  so  corrupted  and  changed 
the  nature  of  all  those  who  have  ever  attended  on 
me,  by  breeding  avaricious  plots  and  hopes  within 
them  ;  I  have  engendered  such  domestic  strife 
and  discord,  by  tarrying  even  with  members  of 
my  own  family;  I  have  been  such  a  lighted  torch 
in  peaceful  liomes,  kindling  up  all  the  bad  gases 
and  vapours  in  their  moral  atmosphere,  which, 
but  for  me,  might  have  proved  harmless  to  the 
end ;  that  I  have,  I  may  say,  fled  from  all  wlio 
knew  me,  and  taking  refuge  in  secret  places,  have 
lived,  of  late,  the  life  of  one  who  is  hunted.  The 
young  girl  whom  j'ou  just  now  saw — what  I  your 
eye  lightens  when  I  talk  of  her ! — You  hate  her 
already,  do  you  I" 

"  Upon  my  word,  sir  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  lay- 
ing his  hand  upon  his  breast,  and  dropping  his 
eyelids. 

"  I  forgot,"  cried  the  old  man,  looking  at  htm 
with  a  keenness  which  the  other  seemed  to  feel, 
although  he  did  not  raise  his  eyes  so  as  to  see  it : 
"  I  ask  your  pardon.  I  forgot  you  were  a  stran- 
ger. For  the  moment  you  reminded  me  of  one 
Pecksniff,  a  cousin  of  mine.  As  I  was  saying — 
the  young  girl  whom  you  just  now  saw,  is  an 
orphan  child,  whom,  with  one  steady  purpose,  I 
have  bred  and  educated,  or,  if  you  prefer  the  word, 
adopted.     For  a  year  or  more  she  has  been  mj 


24 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


.-•anst^int  companion,  and  she  is  my  only  one.  I 
hiive  taken,  as  she  knows,  a  solpnm  oath  never  to 
leave  her  sixpence  when  I  die,  but  while  I  live,  I 
make  her  an  annual  allowance  :  not  extravagant 
in  its  amount  and  yet  not  stinted.  There  is  a 
compact  between  us  tliat  no  term  of  affectionate 
•  ajolery  shall  ever  be  addressed  by  either  to  the 
other,  but  that  she  call  me  always  by  my  Christian 
name,  1  her,  by  hers.  She  is  bound  to  me  in  life 
by  ties  of  interest,  and  losing  by  my  death,  and 
having  no  expectation  disappointed,  will  mouin  it, 
perhaps:  though  ibr  that  I  care  little.  This  is 
the  only  kind  of  friend  I  have  or  will  have.  Judge 
from  such  premises  what  a  profitable  hour  you 
iiave  spent  in  coming  here,  and  leave  me :  to  re- 
turn no  more." 

With  these  words,  the  old  man  fell  slowly  back 
upon  his  pillow.  Mr.  Pecksniff  as  slowly  rose, 
and,  with  a  prefatory  hem,  began  as  follows: 

"  Mr.  Chuzzlewit." 

"There.  Go!"  interposed  the  other.  "Enough 
of  this.     I  am  weary  of  you." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,  sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, "  because  I  have  a  duty  to  discharge,  from 
which,  depend  upon  it,  I  shall  not  shrink.  No, 
sir,  I  shall  not  shrink." 

It  is  a  lanie!:t:ible  fact,  that  as  Mr.  Pecksniff 
stood  erect  beside  the  bed,  in  all  the  dignity  of 
Goodness,  and  addressed  him  thus,  the  old  man 
cast  an  angry  glance  towards  the  candlestick,  as 
if  he  were  possessed  by  a  strong  inclin;iticn  to 
5a  mch  it  at  his  cousin's  head.  But  he  constrained 
himself,  and  poinlitig  with  his  finger  to  the  door, 
mformed  liitn  that  his  road  lay  there. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "I  am  aware 
of  that ;  I  am  going.  But  before  1  go,  I  crave 
your  leave  to  speak,  and  more  than  that,  Mr. 
Chuzzlewit,  I  nmst  and  will — yes  indeed,  I  repeat 
it,  must  and  wil! — be  heard.  I  am  not  surprised, 
sir,  at  anything  you  have  told  me  to-night.  It  is 
natural,  very  natural,  and  the  greater  part  of  it 
was  known  to  me  before.  I  will  not  say,"  con- 
tinued Mr.  Pecksniff,  drawing  out  his  pocket- 
handkerchief,  and  v.  inking  with  both  eyes  at  once, 
18  it  were  against  his  will,  "  I  will  not  say  that 
you  are  mistaken  in  me.  While  you  are  in  your 
present  mood,  I  would  not  suy  so  for  the  world.  I 
almost  wish,  indeed,  that  I  had  a  different  nature, 
that  I  might  lepress  even  this  slight  confession 
nf  weakness:'  which  1  cannot  disguise  from  you  : 
which  I  feel  is  humiliating :  but  which  you  will 
have  the  goodness  to  excuse.  We  will  say,  if  you 
please,"  added  Mr.  Peeksniff,  with  great  fender- 
ness  of  tnamM  r,  "that  it  ,ir\^fs  from  a  cold  in  the 
head,  or  is  attributable  to  snuff,  or  smelling-salts, 
sr  onions,  or  anything  but  the  real  cause." 

Here  he  paused  for  an  instant,  and  concealed 
aiaface  behind  his  nockcl-handkerchief.     Then, 


smiling  faintly,  and  holding  the  bed-furnUure  with 
one  hand,  he  resumed  : 

"  But,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  while  I  am  forgetful  of 
myself,  I  i.we  it  to  myself,  and  to  my  character — 
ay  sir,  and  I  fiuve  a  character  which  is  very  dear 
to  me,  and  will  be  the  best  inheritance  of  my  two 
daughters — to  tell  you  on  behalf  of  anothc,  that 
your  coiiduct  is  wrong,  unnatural,  indefensible, 
monstrous.  And  1  tell  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff,  towering  on  tiptoe  among  the  curtains,  as  if 
he  were  literally  rising  above  all  worldly  consid 
erations,  and  were  fain  to  hold  on  tight,  to  keep 
himself  from  darting  skywards  like  a  rocket,  "  I 
tell  j'ou  without  fear  or  favour,  that  it  will  not  do 
for  you  to  be  unmindful  of  your  grandson,  young 
Martin,  who  has  the  strongest  natural  claim  upon 
you.  It  will  not  do,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
shaking  his  head.  "  You  may  think  it  will  do, 
but  it  won't.  You  must  provide  for  that  young 
man  ;  you  shall  provide  lor  him  ;  youwill  provide 
for  him.  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff',  glancing 
at  the  pen-and-ink,  "that  in  secret  you  have  al- 
ready done  so.  Bless  you  for  doing  so.  Bless  you 
for  doing  right,  sir.  Bless  you  for  hating  me. 
And  good  night !" 

So  saying,  Mr.  Pecksniff  waved  his  right  hand 
with  much  solemnity  ;  and  once  more  inserting 
it  in  his  waistcoat,  departed.  There  was  emotion 
in  his  manner,  but  his  step  was  firm.  Subject  to 
b'lman  weakness,  he  was  upheld  by  conscience. 

Martin  lay  for  some  time,  with  an  expression 
on  his  face  of  silent  wonder,  not  unmixed  with 
rage  :  at  length  he  muttered  in  a  whisp>3r  : 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  Can  the  false-hearted 
boy  have  chosen  such  a  tool  as  yonder  fellow  who 
has  just  gone  out?  Why  not  I  He  has  conspired 
against  me,  like  the  rest,  and  they  are  but  birds  of 
one  feather.  A  new  plot!  a  new  plot!  Oh  self, 
self,  self!     At  every  turn,  nothing  but  self!" 

lie  fell  to  triflmsr,  ;)S  he  ceased  to  speak,  with 
the  ashes  of  the  burnt  paper  in  the  candlestick. 
He  did  so,  at  first  in  pure  abstraction,  but  they 
presently  became  the  subject  of  his  thoughts. 

"Another  will  made  and  destroyed,"  he  said, 
"  nothing  determined  on,  nothing  done,  and  1 
might  have  died  to-night!  I  plainly  see  to  what 
foul  uses  all  this  money  will  he  put  at  last,"  he 
cried,  almost  writhing  in  the  bed:  "  af^er  filling 
me  with  cares  and  miseries  all  my  life,  it  will  per- 
petuate  discord  and  b;ul  passions  wlien  I  am  dead. 
So  it  always  is.  What  lawsuits  grow  out  of  the 
graves  of  rich  men,  every  day:  sowing  perjury, 
hatred,  and  lies  among  near  kindred,  where  there 
should  be  nothing  but  love  !  Heaven  help  us,  we 
have  much  to  answer  for!  Oh  self,  self,  self ! 
Every  man  for  himself,  and  no  crc'ture  for  me!" 

Universal  self!  Was  there  no.hing  of  its  shiid- 
ow  in  these  reflections,  and  in  the  history  of  Mafr 
tin  Chuzzlewit,  on  his  own  showing  ? 


/ 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 
CHAPTER  IV. 


25 


FROM  WIIICFI  IT  WILL  APPEAR,  THAT  IF  UNION  BE  STRENGTH,  AND  FAAI- 
ILY  AFFECTION  BE  PLEASANT  TO  CONTEMPLATE,  THE  CHUZZLEWITS 
WERE  THE  STRONGEST  AND  MOST  AGREEABLE  FAMILY  IN  THE  vVORJJ). 


That  worthy  tnan,  Mr.  Pecksnift*,  liaving  taken 
leave  of  his  cousin  in  tlie  solemn  terms  recited  in 
the  last  chapter,  vvitiidrevv  to  liis  own  home,  and 
remained  tliere  tiirec  whole  days  :  not  so  much 
as  g'oing'  out  for  a  walk  beyond  the  boundaries  of 
liis  own  garden,  lest  he  should  he  liastily  sum- 
moned to  the  bedside  of  his  penitent  and  remorse- 
ful relative,  whom,  in  his  ample  benevolence,  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  forgive  unconditionally, 
and  to  love  on  any  terms.  But  such  was  the 
ol)stinaey  and  such  the  bitter  nature  of  that  stern 
old  man,  that  no  repentant  summons  came;  and 
the  fourth  day  found  Mr.  Pecksniff  apparently 
much  further  from  hisChristian  object  than  the  first. 

During-  the  whole  of  tJ:ia  interval,  he  iiaunted 
the  Dragon  at  all  times  and  seasons  in  the  day 
and  night,  and,  returning  good  for  evil,  evinced 
the  deepest  solicitude  in  the  progress  of  the  obdu- 
rate invalid  ;  insonmch  that  Mrs.  Lupm  was 
fairly  melted  by  his  disinterested  anxiety  (for  he 
often  particularly  required  her  to  take  notice  that 
ne  would  do  the  same  by  any  stranger  or  pauper 
m  the  like  condition),  and  shed  many  tears  of 
admiration  and  deliglit. 

Meantime,  old  Martin  Chuzzlewit  remained  shut 
U|)  in  his  own  chamber,  and  saw  no  person  but 
his  young  companion,  saving  tlie  hostess  of  the 
Blue  Dragon,  who  was,  at  certain  times,  admitted 
to  his  presence.  So  surely  as  she  came  into  the 
rooni,  however,  Martin  feigned  to  fall  asleep.  It 
was  only  when  he  and  the  young  lady  were  akne, 
that  he  would  utter  a  word,  even  in  answer  to  the 
simplest  inquiry;  though  Mr.  Pecksniff  could 
make  out,  by  hard  listening  at  the  door,  that  they 
two  being  left  together,  he  was  talkative  enough. 

It  happened  on  the  fourth  evening,  that  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  walking,  as  usual,  into  the  bar  of  the 
Dragon,  and  finding  no  Mrs.  Lupin  there,  went 
straight  up-stairs:  purposing,  in  the  fervour  of  his 
alfectionate  zeal,  to  apply  his  ear  once  more  to 
tlie  key-hole,  and  quiet  his  mind  by  assuring  him- 
self that  the  hard-hearted  patient  was  going  on 
well.  It  happened  that  Mr.  Pecksniff,  coming 
soflly  upon  the  dark  passage  into  which  a  spiral 
ray  of  light  usually  darted  through  this  same  key- 
hole, was  astonished  to  find  no  such  ray  visible ; 
and  it  happened  that  Mr.  Pecksniff",  when  he  had 
felt  his  way  to  the  chamber-door,  stooping  hur- 
riedly down  to  ascertain  by  personal  inspection 
whether  the  jealousy  of  the  old  man  had  caused 
this  key-hole  to  be  stopped  on  the  inside,  brought 
his  head  into  such  violent  contact  with  another 
head,  that  he  could  not  help  uttering  in  an  audible 
Toice,  the  monosyllable  "  Oh  1"  which  was,  as  it 
were,  sharply  unscrewed  and  jerked  out  of  him 
by  very  anguish.  It  happened  then,  and  lastly, 
that  Mr.  PecksnifT  found  himself  immediately  col- 
.ared  by  something  which  smelt  like  several  damp 
umbrellas,  a  barrel  of  beer,  a  cask  of  warm 
brandy-and-water,  and  a  small  piirlour-full  of  stale 
tobacco-smoke,  mixed  ;  and  was  straigtitway  ltd 
down  stairs  into  the  bar  tVoni  which  he  hud  lately 
come,  where  he  found  himself  standing  opposite 


to,  and  in  the  grasp  of,  a  perfectly  strange  gentle- 
man, of  still  stranger  appearance,  who,  with  liis 
disengaged  liand,  rubbed  his  own  head  very  hard 
and  looked  at  him,  Pecksniff,  with  an  evil  eoun 
tenance. 

The  gentleman  was  of  that  order  of  appearance, 
which  is  currently  termed  shabby-genteel,  though 
in  respect  of  his  dress  he  can  hardly  be  said  to 
have  been  in  any  extremities,  as  his  fingers  were 
a  long  way  out  of  his  gloves,  and  the  soles  of  his 
feet  were  at  an  inconvenient  distance  from  the 
upper  leather  of  his  boots.  His  nether  garments 
were  of  a  bluish-grey — violent  in  its  colours  once, 
but  sobered  now  by  age  and  dinginess — and  were 
so  stretched  and  strained  in  a  tough  conflict 
between  his  braces  and  his  straps,  that  they 
appeared  every  moment  in  danger  of  flying 
asunder  at  the  knees.  His  coat,  in  colour  blue 
and  of  a  military  cut,  was  buttoned  and  frogged, 
up  to  his  chin.  His  cravat  was,  in  hue  and  pat- 
tern, like  one  of  those  mantles  which  hair-dressers 
are  accustomed  to  wrap  about  their  clients,  during 
the  progress  of  the  professional  mysteries.  His 
hat  had  arrived  at  such  a  pass  that  it  would  have 
been  hard  to  determine  whether  it  was  originally 
white  or  black.  But  he  wore  a  moustache  —  a 
shaggy  moustache  too:  nothing  in  the  meek  and 
merciful  way,  but  quite  in  the  fierce  and  scornful 
style:  the  regular  Satanic  sort  of  thing  —  and  lio 
wore,  besides,  a  vast  quantity  of  unbrushed  hair 
He  was  very  dirty  and  very  jaunty;  very  buld 
and  very  mean;  very  swaggering  and  very  slink- 
ing ;  very  much  like  a  man  who  might  have  been 
something  better,  and  unspeakably  like  a  man 
who  deserved  to  be  something  worse. 

"  You  were  eaves-dropping  at  that  door,  you 
vagabond  !"  said  this  gentleman. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  cast  him  off,  as  Saint  George 
might  have  repudiated  the  Dragon  in  that  animal's 
last  moments,  and  said  : 

"  V/liere  is  Mrs.  Lupin,  I  wonder !  can  the 
good  woman  possibly  be  aware  that  there  is  a 
person  here  who — " 

"  Stay  1"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Wait  a  bit.  She 
does  know.     What  then  ?" 

"  What  then,  sir  ?"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  What 
then  ?  Do  you  know,  sir,  that  I  am  the  friend 
and  relative  of  that  sick  gentleman?  That  I  am 
his  protector,  his  guardian,  his — " 

"  Not  his  niece's  husband,"  interposed  the 
stranger,  "  I  'II  be  sworn  ;  for  he  was  there  before 
you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with 
indignant  surprise.     "  What  do  you  till  me,  sir  ?" 

"Wait  a  bit !"  cried  the  other.  "  Perhaps  you 
are  a  cousin — the  cousin  who  lives  in  this  place  ;'" 

"  I  am  the  cousin  who  lives  in  this  place," 
replied  the  man  of  worth. 

"  Your  name  is  Pecksniff?"  said  the  gentleman 

"  It  is." 

"  I  am  proud  to  know  you,  and  I  ask  youi 
pardon,"  said  the  gentleman,  toucliing  his  hat, 
and  subsequently  diving  behind  his  cravat  for  « 


2(i 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


phirt-collar,  which,  however,  he  did  not  succeed  in 
bring-ing-  to  the  surface.  "  You  hehold  in  me,  sir, 
3ne  wlio  lias  also  an  interest  in  that  gentleman 
jp-stairs      Wait  a  bit." 

As  he  said  this,  he  touched  the  tip  of  his  hi^h 
nose,  by  way  of  intimation  that  he  would  let  Mr. 
Pecksniff  into  a  secret  presently;  and  pulling  off 
his  hat,  begun  to  search  inside  the  crown  among 
a  mass  of  crumpled  documents  and  small  pieces 
of  what  may  be  called  the  bark  of  broken  cigars: 
whence  he  presently  selected  the  cover  of  an  old 
letter,  begrimed  with  dirt  and  redolent  of  tobacco. 

"  Read  that,'  he  cried,  giving  it  to  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. 

"  This  IS  addressed  to  Chevy  Slyme,  Esquire," 
said  that  gentleman. 

"  You  know  Chevy  Slyme,  Esquire,  I  believe  ?" 
returned  the  stranger. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  shrugged  his  shoulders  as  though 
he  would  say  "  I  know  there  is  such  a  person,  and 
I  am  sorry  for  it." 

"  Very  good,"  remarked  the  gentleman.  "  That 
is  my  interest  and  business  here."  With  that  he 
made  another  dive  for  his  shirt-collar,  and  brought 
up  a  string. 

"Now  this  is  very  distressing,  my  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  shaking  his  head  and  smiling  com- 
posedly.  "  It  is  very  distressing  to  me,  to  be  com- 
pelled to  say  that  you  are  not  the  person  you  claim 
to  be.  I  know  Mr.  Slyme,  my  friend :  this  will 
not  do :  honesty  is  the  best  policy  :  you  had  better 
not ;  you  had,  indeed." 

"Stop!"  cried  the  gentleman,  stretching  forth 
his  right  arm,  which  was  so  tightly  wedged  into 
his  threadbare  sleeve  that  it  looked  like  a  cloth 
sausage.     "  Wait  a  bit !" 

He  paused  to  establish  himself  immediately  in 
front  of  the  fip-c,  with  his  back  towards  it.  Then 
gathering  tl^skirts  of  his  coat  under  his  left  arm, 
and  smootbing  his  moustache  with  his  right  thumb 
and  forefinger,  he  resumed  : 

"  I  understand  your  mistake,  and  T  am  not  of- 
fended. Why?  Because  it's  complimentary.  You 
suppose  I  would  set  myself  up  for  Chevy  Slyme. 
Sir,  if  there  is  a  man  on  earth  whom  a  gentleman 
would  feel  proud  and  honoured  to  be  mistaken  for, 
that  man  is  my  friend  Slyme.  For  he  is,  without 
an  exception,  the  highest-minded,  the  most  inde- 
pendent-spirited;  most  original,  spiritual,  classi- 
cal, talented  ;  and  most  thofouglily  Shakspearian, 
if  not  Milton'ic;  and  at  the  same  time  the  most 
disgustingly-unappreciated  dog  I  know.  But,  sir, 
I  have  not  the  vanity  to  attempt  to  pass  for  Slyme. 
Any  other  man  in  the  wide  world,  I  am  equal  to ; 
but  Slyme  is,  I  frankly  confess,  a  great  many  cuts 
above  me.     Therefore  you  are  wrong." 

"I  judged  from  this,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, hold- 
ing out  the  cover  of  a  letter. 

"  No  doubt  you  did,"  returned  the  gentleman. 
"But,  Mr.  Pecksniff,  the  whole  thing  resolves  it- 
self into  an  instance  of  the  peculiarities  of  ge- 
nius. Every  man  of  true  genius  has  his  pecu- 
liarity. Sir,  the  peculiarity  of  my  friend  Slyme 
'M,  thiit  he  is  always  waiting  round  the  corner.  He 
18  perpetually  round  the  corner,  sir.  He  is  round 
the  corner  at  this  instant.  Now,"  said  the  gen- 
tleman, shaking  his  forefinger  bcforehis  nose,  and 
planting  his  legs  wider  apart  as  lie  looked  atten- 
Uvely  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  face,  "  that  is  a  remark- 
n'dy  ■curious  and  interesting  trait  in  Slyme  «  char- 


acter; and  whenever  Slymes  life  comes  to  Im 
written,  that  trait  must  be  thoroughly  worked  out 
by  his  biographer,  or  society  will  not  be  satisfied 
Observe  me,  society  vv-ill  not  be  satisfied  !'■ 

Mr.  Pecksniff  coughed. 

"Slyme's  biographer,  sir,  whoever  he  may  bt," 
resumed  the  gentleman,  "must  apply  to  me;  or 
if  I  am  gone  to  that  what 's-his-name  from  which 
no  thingumbob  comes  back,  he  must  apply  to  mv 
executors  for  leave  to  search  among  my  papers,  i 
have  taken  a  few  notes  in  my  poor  way,  of  some 
of  that  man's  proceedings — my  adopted  brother, 
sir, — which  would  amaze  you.  He  made  use  of 
an  expression,  sir,  only  on  the  fifteenth  of  last 
month,  when  he  couldn't  meet  a  little  bill  and  the 
other  party  wouldn't  renew,  which  would  have 
done  honour  to  Napoleon  Bonaparte  in  addressing 
the  French  army." 

"  And  pray,"  asked  Mr.  Pecksniff,  obviously 
not  quite  at  his  ease,  "  what  may  be  Mr.  Slyme's 
business  here,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  inquire, 
who  am  compelled  by  a  regard  for  my  own  char- 
acter to  disavow  all  interest  in  his  proceedings  ?" 

"  In  the  first  place,"  returned  the  gentleman, 
"you  will  permit  me  to  say,  that  I  object  to  that 
remark,  and  that  I  strongly  and  indignantly  pro- 
test against  it  on  behalf  of  my  friend  Slyme.  In 
the  next  place,  you  will  give  me  leave  to  introduce 
myself.  My  name,  sir,  is  Tigg.  The  name  of 
Montague  Tigg  will  perhaps  be  familiar  to  you, 
in  connexion  with  the  most  remarkable  events  of 
the  Peninsular  War?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  gently  shook  his  head. 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  That  man 
was  my  father,  and  I  bear  his  name.  I  am  con- 
sequently proud — proud  as  Lucifer.  Excuse  mo 
one  moment;  I  desire  my  friend  Slyme  to  be  pre- 
sent at  the  remainder  of  tbis  conference." 

With  this  announcement  he  hurried  away  to 
the  outer  door  of  the  Blue  Dragon,  and  almost  im. 
mediately  returned  with  a  companion  shorter  than 
himself,  who  was  wrapped  in  an  old,  blue  camle. 
cloak,  with  a  lining  of  faded  scarlet.  His  sharp 
features  being  much  pinched  and  nipped  by  long 
waiting  in  the  cold,  and  his  straggling  red  whis- 
kers and  frowzy  hair  being  more  than  usually 
dishevelled  from  the  same  cause,  he  certainly  look- 
ed rather  unwholesome  and  uncomtbrtable  than 
Shakspearian  or  Miltonic. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  clapping  one  hand  on 
the  shoulder  of  his  pre[K)ssessing  friend,  and  call- 
ing Mr.  Pecksniff's  attention  to  him  with  the 
other,  "  you  two  are  related  ;  and  relations  never 
did  agree,  and  never  will ;  which  is  a  wise  dispen- 
sation and  an  inevitable  thing,  or  there  would  be 
none  but  family  parties,  and  everybody  in  the 
world  would  bore  everybody  else  to  death.  If  you 
were  on  good  terms,  I  should  consider  you  a  most 
confoundedly  unnatural  ]inir;  but  standing  to- 
wards each  other  as  you  do,  I  look  upon  you  as 
a  couple  of  devilish  deep-lhoughfed  fellows,  wlic 
may  be  reasoned  with  to  anv  extent." 

Here  Mr.  Chevy  Slyme,  whose  great  abilities 
seemed  one  and  all  to  point  towards  the  sneaking 
quarter  of  the  moral  compass,  nudged  his  friend 
stealthily  with  liis  elbow,  and  whispered  in  his  ear, 

"Chiv,"  said  Mr.  Tigg  aloud,  in  the  high  toim 
of  one  who  was  not  to  be  tampered  with,  "  I  shall 
come  to  that,  presently.  I  act  upon  my  own  re 
sponsibility,  or  not  at  all.     To  the  extent  of  sucb 


i 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


27 


a  trifling'  loan  as  a  crownpicce  to  a  man  of  your 
tidents,  1  look  upon  Mr.  Pecksniff  as  certain  :" 
and  seeing  at  this  juncture  that  the  expression  of 
Mr.  Pecksi.iff's  face  by  no  means  betokened  tliat 
he  sliared  this  certainty,  Mr.  Tigg  laid  liis  finger 
un  his  nose  again  for  that  gentleman's  private  and 
especial  behoof:  calling  upon  him  thereby  to  take 
notice,  that  tiie  requisition  of  small  loans  was  an- 
otiier  instance  of  the  peculiarities  of  genius  as 
cieveloped  in  his  friend  Slyme ;  that  he,  Tigg, 
winked  at  the  same,  because  of  the  strong  meta- 
physical interest  which  these  weaknesses  possess- 
ed ;  and  that  in  reference  to  iiis  own  personal  ad- 
vocacy of  such  small  advances,  he  merely  con- 
sulted the  humour  of  his  friend,  without  the  least 
regard  to  his  own  advantage  or  necessities. 

"  Oh,  Cliiv,  Chiv  1"  added  Mr.  Tigg,  surveying 
his  adopted  brother  with  an  air  of  profound  con- 
templation after  dismissing  this  piece  of  panto- 
mime. "You  are,  upon  my  life,  a  strange  in- 
stance of  the  little  frailties  that  beset  a  mighty 
jnind.  If  there  had  never  been  a  telescope  in  the 
world,  I  should  have  been  quite  certain  from  my 
observation  of  you,  Chiv,  that  there  were  spots  on 
the  sun !  I  wish  I  may  die,  if  this  isn't  the 
queerest  state  of  existence  that  we  find  ourselves 
forced  into,  without  knowing  why  or  wherefore, 
Mr.  Pecksniff!  Well,  never  mind  !  Moralise  as 
we  will,  the  world  goes  on.  As  Hamlet  says,  Her- 
cules may  lay  about  him  with  his  club  in  every 
possible  direcrion,  but  he  can't  prevent  the  cats 
from  making  a  mort  intolerable  row  on  the  roofs 
of  the  houses,  or  the  dogs  from  being  shot  in  the 
hot  weather  if  they  run  about  the  streets  uniimz- 
zled.  Life  's  a  riddle  :  a  most  infernally  hard  rid- 
dle to  guess,  Mr.  Pecksniff.  My  own  opinion  is, 
that  like  that  celebrated  conundrum,  '  Why  's  a 
man  in  jail  like  a  man  out  of  jail  ?'  there's  no 
answer  to  it.  Upon  my  soul  and  body,  it 's  the 
queerest  sort  of  thing  altogether — but  there's  no 
use  in  talking  about  it.     Ha  !  ha  !" 

With  whicii  consolatory  deduction  from  the 
glooniy  premises  recited,  Mr.  Tigg  roused  him- 
self by  a  great  effort,  and  proceeded  in  his  former 
strain. 

"  Now  I  '11  tell  you  what  it  is.  I  'm  a  most 
confoundedly  soft-hearted  kind  of  fellow  in  my 
'i^'^y,  and  I  cannot  stand  by,  and  see  you  two 
blades  cutting  each  other's  throats  when  there  's 
nothing  to  be  got  by  it.  Mr.  Pecksniff,  you're 
the  cousin  of  the  testator  up-stairs  and  we  're  the 
nephew — I  say  we,  meaning  Chiv.  Perhaps  in 
all  essential  points,  you  are  more  nearly  related  to 
him  than  we  are.  Very  good.  If  so,  so  be  it. 
But  you  can't  get  at  him,  neither  can  we.  I  give 
you  my  brightest  honour,  sir,  that  I  've  been  look- 
mg  through  that  keyiiole,  with  short  intervals  of 
rest,  ever  since  nine  o'clock  this  morning,  in  ex- 
pectation of  receiving  an  answer  to  one  of  the 
most  moderate  and  gentlemanly  applications  for  a 
little  temporary  assistance  —  only  fifteen  pound, 
and  inij  security— that  the  mind  of  man  can  con- 
ceive. In  the  mean  time,  sir,  he  is  perp'tu  illy 
closeted  lyith,  and  pouring  his  whole  confidence 
into  the  bosom  of  a  stranger.  Now,  I  say  deci- 
sively, with  regard  to  this  state  of  circumstances, 
fhat  it  won't  do ;  that  it  won't  act ;  that  it  can't 
he;  and  that  it  must  not  be  suffered  to  continue." 

"  Every  man,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  has  a  right, 
fto  undoubted  right,  (which  I,  tor  one,  would  not 


call  in  question  for  any  earthly  consideration  :  oh 
no!)  to  regulate  his  own  proceeding'-  by  his  cw:> 
likings  and  dislikings,  supposing  '^icy  are  not  ini 
moral  and  not  irreligious.  1  may  fi.cl  in  my  own 
breast,  that  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  docs  n^'^  regard — mc, 
for  instance;  say  me — with  exactly  that  amount 
of  Christian  love  which  should  subsist  between 
us;  I  may  feel  grieved  and  hurt  at  the  circum. 
stance;  still,  I  may  not  rush  to  the  conclusion 
that  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  is  wholly  without  a  justifica- 
tion in  all  his  coldnesses  :  Heaven  forbid  !  Besides  , 
how,  Mr.  Tigg,"  continued  Pecksniff  even  more 
gravely  and  impressively  than  he  had  spoken  yet, 
"how  could  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  be  prevented  from 
having  these  peculiar  and  most  extraordinary  con- 
fidences of  which  you  speak  ;  'he  existence  of 
wliich  I  must  admit;  and  vvhich  I  cannot  but  de- 
plore— for  his  sake  ?  Consider,  my  good  sir — " 
and  here  Mr.  Pecksniff  eyed  him  wistfully — "how 
very  much  at  random  you  are  talking." 

"  Why  as  to  that,"  rejoined  Tigg,  "  it  certainly 
is  a  ditficult  question." 

"  Undoubtedly  it  is  a  difficult  question,"  Mr 
Pecksniff  answered :  and  as  he  spoke  he  drew 
himself  aloof,  and-seemed  to  grow  more  mindllil, 
suddenly,  of  the  moral  gulf  between  himself  and 
the  creature  he  addressed.  "  Undoubtedly  it  is  a 
very  difficult  question.  And  I  am  far  from  feel- 
ing sure  that  it  is  a  question  any  one  is  authorised 
to  discuss.     Good  evening  to  you." 

"  You  don't  know  that  the  Spottletoes  are  here 
I  suppose  ?"  said  Mr.  Tigg. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir?  what  Spottletoes?" 
asked  Pecksniff,  stopping  abruptly  on  his  way  to 
the  door. 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spottletoe,"  said  Chevy  Slyme, 
Esquire,  speaking  aloud  for  the  first  time,  and 
speaking  very  sulkily:  shambling  with  his  legs 
the  while.  "Spottletoe  married  my  father's  bro- 
ther's child,  did'nt  he?  and  Mrs.  Spottletoe  is 
Chuzzlewit's  own  niece,  isn't  she  ?  She  was  his 
favourite  once.  You  may  well  ask  what  Spottle 
toes." 

"  Now,  upon  my  sacred  word  !"  cried  Mr.  Peck 
sniff,  looking  upwards.  "This  is  dreadful.  The 
rapacity  of  these  people  is  absolutely  frightful !" 

"It's  not  only  the  Spottletoes  either,  Tigg," 
said  Slyme,  looking  at  that  gentleman  and  speak- 
ing at  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "Anthony  Chuzzlewit  and 
his  son  have  got  wind  of  it,  and  liave  come  down 
this  afternoon.  I  saw  'em  not  five  minutes  ago, 
when  I  was  waiting  round  the  corner." 

"Oh,  Mammon,  Mammon!"  cried  Mr.  Peck 
sniff,  smiting  his  forehead, 

"So  there,"  said  Slyme,  regardless  of  the  inter- 
ruption, "  are  his  brother  and  another  nephew  for 
you,  already." 

"  This  is  the  whole  thing,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tigg, 
"this  is  the  point  and  purpose  at  which  I  was 
gradually  arriving,  when  my  friend  Slyme  here, 
with  six  words,  hit  it  full.  Mr.  Pecksniff,  now 
that  your  cousin  (and  Chiv's  uncle)  has  turned  up, 
some  steps  must  be  taken  to  prevent  his  disa|i- 
])e.iring  again  ;  and,  if  possible,  to  counteract  the 
influence  which  is  exercised  over  him  now,  by 
this  designing  favourite.  Everybody  who  is  inte- 
rested feels  it,  sir.  The  whole  family  is  pouring 
down  to  this  place.  The  time  has  come  when  in 
dividual  jealousies  and  interests  nnist  be  forgotten 
for  a  time,  sir,  and  unitin  must  be  made  against 


28 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


the  common  enemy.  When  the  common  enemy 
IS  routed,  you  will  ull  set  up  for  yourselves  again  ; 
every  lady  and  gerJlenian  wlio  has  a  part  in  the 
game,  will  go  in  on  their  own  uccount  und  bow ! 
away,  to  the  best  of  their  ability,  at  the  testator's 
wicket;  and  nobody  will  he  in  a  worse  position 
than  before  Tliink  of  it.  Don't  commit  your- 
self now.  Tou'll  find  us  at  the  Half-Moon  and 
Seven  Stars  in  this  village,  at  any  time,  and  open 
to  any  reasonable  proposition.  Hem!  Chiv,  my 
dear  fellow,  go  out  and  see  what  sort  of  a  night 
it  is." 

Mr.  Slyme  lost  no  time  in  disappearing,  and,  it 
IS  to  be  presumed,  in  going  round  the  corner,  Mr. 
Tigg,  planting  his  legs  as  wide  ;!p;irt  as  he  could 
be  reasonably  expected  by  the  most  sanguine  man 
to  keep  them,  shook  his  head  at  Mr.  Pecksniff' 
and  smiled. 

"  We  must  not  be  too  hard,"  he  said,  "  upon 
tlie  little  eccentricities  of  our  friend  Shme.  You 
eaw  him  whisper  me  ?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff"  had  seen  him. 
"  You  heard  my  answer,  1  think  ?" 
Mr.  Pecksniff"  had  heard  it. 
"  Five  shillings,  eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  thought- 
fully. "  Ah  1  what  an  extraordinary  fellow  !  Very 
moderate  too  I" 

Mr.  PecksnifF  made  no  answer. 
"  Five  shillings  !"  pursued  Mr.  Tigg,  musing  : 
'*  and  to  be  punctually  repaid  next  week ;  that  's 
the  best  of  it.     You  heard  that?" 
Mr.  Pecksniff"  had  not  heard  that. 
"No!  You  surprise  me  1"  cried  Tigg.  "That's 
the  cream  of  the  thing,  sir.     I  never  knew  that 
man  fail  to  redeem  a  promise,  in  my  life.  You  're 
not  in  want  of  change,  are  you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff",  "  thank  you.  Not 
at  all." 

"Just  so,"  returned  Mr.  Tigg.  "If  you  had 
been,  I'd  have  got  it  for  you  "  With  that  he  be- 
gan to  whistle;  but  a  dozen  seconds  had  not 
elapsed  when  he  stopped  short,  and,  looking  ear- 
nestly at  Mr.  Pecksniff",  said  : 

"  Perhaps  you'd  rather  not  lend  Slyme  five 
sliillings  V" 

"  I  would  much  rather  not,"  Mr.  Pecksniff"  re- 
joined. 

"  Egad  !"  cried  Tigg,  gravely  nodding  his  head 
as  if  some  ground  of  objection  occurred  to  him  at 
that  moment  for  the  first  time,  "  it's  very  possible 
you  may  be  right.  Would  you  entertain  the  same 
sort  of  objection  to  lending  me  five  shillings, 
now  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  couldn't  do  it,  indeed,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
snifF. 

"  Not  even  half-a-crown,  perhaps  ?"  urged  Mr. 
Tigg. 

"  Not  even  half-a-crown. 

"Why  then  we  come,"  said  Mr,  Tigg,  "Ir  the 
ridiculously  small  amount  of  eighteenpence.  Ha  ! 
ha!" 

"  Ano  that,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff",  "  would  be 
equally  objectionable." 

On  receipt  of  this  assurance,  Mr.  Tigg  shook 
him  he.'irtily  by  both  hands,  protesting  with  much 
earnestness,  that  he  was  one  of  the  most  consistent 
and  remarkable  men  he  had  ever  met,  and  that  he 
•Jesired  the  iioriour  of  his  hi-tlcr  acquaintanre.  He 
further  observed  that  there  were  many  little  eha- 
cteristiea  about  his  liiend  Slime,  of  which  he 


could  by  no  means,  as  a  man  of  strict  honour, 
approve;  but  that  he  was  prepared  to  forgive  him 
all  these  slight  drawbacks,  and  niueh  more,  m 
consideration  of  tlie  great  pleasure  he  himstil  had 
that  day  enjoyed  in  his  social  intercourt^e  witii 
Mr.  Pecksniff",  which  had  given  him  a  for  higher 
and  more  enduring  delight  than  the  suecessliil 
negotiation  of  any  small  loan  on  the  part  ot'  his 
friend  could  possiblj*  have  imparted.  With  which 
remarks  he  would  beg  leave,  he  said,  to  wish  .Mr. 
Pecksniff"  a  very  good  evening.  And  so  he  to»  Ij 
himself  off:  as  little  abashed  by  his  recent  failure 
as  any  gentleman  would  desire  to  be. 

The  meditations  of  Mr.  PecksnitF  that  evening 
at  the  bar  of  the  Dragon,  and  that  night  in  his 
own  house,  were  very  serious  and  grave  indeid  j 
the  more  especially  as  the  intelligence  he  li.id  rt- 
ceived  from  Messrs.  Tigg  and  Slyme  touching  tlie 
arrival  of  other  members  of  the  family,  was  iiilly 
confirmed  on  more  particular  inquiry.  For  the 
Spottletoes  had  actually  gone  straight  to  the  Dra- 
gon, where  they  were  at  IJIat  moment  housed  and 
mounting  guard,  and  where  their  appearance  had 
occasioned  such  a  vast  sensation,  that  Mrs.  Lupin, 
scenting  their  errand  before  they  had  been  under 
her  ro(jt'  half  an  hour,  carried  the  news  herself 
with  all  possible  secrecy  straight  to  Mr.  Peck, 
snitf  "s  house  :  indeed  it  was  her  great  caution  in 
doing  so  which  occasioned  her  to  miss  that  gen- 
tleman, who  entered  at  the  front  door  of  the  Dra» 
gon,  just  as  she  emerged  from  the  back  one. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Anthony  Chuzzlcwit  and  his  son 
Jonas  were  economically  quartered  at  the  Half 
Moon  and  Seven  Stars,  which  was  an  cbscure 
alehouse  ;  and  by  the  very  next  coach  there  came 
posting  to  the  scene  ofaetion,  so  many  other  afi'ec 
tionate  members  of  the  family,  (who  quarrelled 
with  each  other,  inside  and  out,  all  the  way  down, 
to  the  utter  distraction  of  the  coachman),  that  in 
less  than  four-and-lwenty  hours  the  scanty  tavtrii 
accommodation  was  at  a  premium,  and  all  the 
private  lodgings  in  the  place,  amounting  to  full 
four  beds  and  a  sofa,  rose  cent,  per  cent,  in  the 
market. 

In  a  word,  things  came  to  that  pass  tliat  nearly 
the  whole  family  sat  down  before  the  Blue  Dragon, 
and  tbrmally  invested  it ;  and  Martin  (Chuzzlcwit 
was  in  a  state  of  siege.  But  he  resisted  bravely ; 
refusing  to  receive  all  letters,  messages,  and  par- 
cels, obstinately  declining  to  treat  with  aiivbody  ; 
and  holding  out  no  liope  or  promise  of  capitula- 
tion. Meantime  the  family  forces  were  perpetually 
encountering  each  other  in  divers  parts  of  tiie 
neighbourhood :  and,  as  no  one  branch  of  the 
Chuzzlevvit  tree  had  ever  been  known  to  agrt  e 
with  another  within  the  memory  of  man,  there 
was  such  a  skirmishing,  and  ffouting,  and  snap- 
ping off  of  heads,  in  the  metaphorical  sense  of 
tliat  expression ;  such  a  bandying  of  words  and 
calling  of  names;  such  an  upturning  of  noses  and 
wiinliliiig  of  brows;  such  a  formal  interment  of 
good  leelings  and  violent  resurrection  of  ancient 
grievances ;  as  had  never  been  known  in  tho>e 
quiet  parts  since  the  earliest  record  of  their  c;»il- 
ized  existence. 

At  length  in  utter  despair  and  hopelessness, 
some  few  of  the  belligerents  began  to  speak  to 
e^icli  other  in  onl}'  moderate  terms  of  Miufual 
aiTL^ravali-on  ;  and  nearly  all  addressed  themselves 
w''h  a  sfiow  ot  tolerable  decency  to  Mt  PecksniiL 


MARTIN   CIlUZZLEiVIT. 


29 


in  rToo'nitinn  of  his  hisfh  character  and  influential 
position.  Thus,  by  Utile  and  little  they  made 
-•oinnion  cause  of  Martin  Chuzzlewit's  obduracy, 
intil  it  was  anjreed — if  such  a  word  can  be  used 
in  connexion  with  the  Chuzzlewits — that  there 
siioidd  be  a  greneral  council  and  conference  held 
at  Mr.  Pecksniff's  house  upon  a  certain  day  at 
noon  ;  which  all  members  of  the  family  who  had 
broug-ht  themselves  within  reach  of  the  summons, 
Kere  forthwith  bidden  and  invited,  solemnly,  to 
attend. 

If  ever  Mr.  Pecksniff  wore  nn  apostolic  look, 
he  wore  it  on  this  memorable  day.  If  ever  his 
unruffled  smile  proclaimed  the  words,  "  I  am  a 
messenger  of  peace !"  that  was  its  mission  now. 
If  ever  man  combined  within  himself  all  the  mild 
()ualities  of  the  lamb  with  a  considerable  touch  of 
the  dove,  and  not  a  dash  of  the  crocodile,  or  the 
least  possible  suggestion  of  the  very  mildest 
seasoning  of  the  serpent,  that  man  was  he.  And, 
Oh,  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs !  Oh,  the  serene 
expression  on  the  face  of  Charity,  which  seemed 
to  say,  "  I  know  that  all  my  family  have  injured 
me  beyond  the  possibility  of  reparation,  but  I  for- 
give them,  for  it  is  my  duty  so  to  do!"  And, Oh, 
the  gay  simplicity  of  Mercy :  so  charming,  inno- 
cent, and  infant-like,  that  if  she  had  gone  out 
walking  by  herself,  and  it  had  been  a  Httle  earlier 
in  the  season,  the  robin-redbreasts  might  have 
covered  her  with  leaves  against  her  will,  believing 
her  to  be  one  of  the  sweet  children  in  the  wood, 
come  out  of  it,  and  issuing  forth  once  more  to 
look  for  blackberries  in  the  young  freshness  of 
her  heart!  What  words  can  paint  the  Pecksniffs 
in  that  trying  hour?  Oh,  none:  for  words  have 
naughty  company  among  them,  and  the  Peck- 
sEiffs  were  all  goodness. 

But  when  the  company  arrived  !  That  was 
the  time.  When  Mr.  Pecksniff,  rising  from  his 
«eat  at  the  table's  head,v,'ith  a  daughter  on  either 
hand,  received  his  guests  in  the  best  parlour  and 
motioned  them  to  chairs,  with  eyes  so  overflow- 
ing and  countenance  so  damp  with  gracious  per- 
spiration, that  he  may  be  said  to  have  been  in  a 
kind  of  moist  meekness!  And  the  company  :  the 
jealous,  stony-hearted,  distrustful  company,  who 
were  all  shut  up  in  themselves,  and  had  no  faith 
lu  anybody,  and  wouldn't  believe  anything,  and 
would  no  more  allow  themselves  to  be  sot'tened 
or  lulled  asleep  by  the  Pecksniffs  than  if  they  had 
been  so  many  hedgehogs  or  porcupines  ! 

First,  there  was  Mr.  Spottletoe,  who  was  so 
bald  and  had  such  big  whiskers,  that  he  seemed 
to  have  stopped  his  hair,  by  the  sudden  application 
of  some  powerful  remedy,  in  the  very  act  of  fall- 
ing off  his  iiead,  and  to  have  fistened  it  irrevoca- 
bly on  his  face.  Then  there  was  Mrs.  Spottletoe, 
who  being  much  too  slim  for  her  years,  and  of  a 
poetical  constitution,  was  accustomed  to  inform 
her  more  intimate  friends  that  the  said  whiskers 
were  "  the  lodestar  of  her  existence ;"  and  who 
could  now,  by  reason  of  her  strong  affection  for 
her  uncle  Chuzzlewit,  and  the  shock  it  gave  her 
U>  l»e  suspected  of  testamentary  designs  upon  him, 
60  nothing  but  cry — except  moan.  Then  there 
were  Anthony  Chuzzlewit,  and  his  son  Jonas  :  tfie 
face  of  the  old  man  so  sharpened  by  the  wariness 
and  cunning  of  his  life,  th;it  it  seemed  to  cut  him 
a  passage  through  the  crowded  room,  as  he  ede-pd 
« way  behind  the  remotest  chairs ;  while  the  son 


had  so  well  profiled  by  the  precept  and  example 
of  the  father  tiiiit  he  lookL'<l  a  year  or  two  the 
elder  of  the  twain,  as  they  stciod  winking  their  red 
eyes,  side  by  side,  and  whispering  to  each  other 
softly.  Then  there  was  tlie  widow  of  a  decease*! 
brother  of  Mr.  Miirlin  Chuzzlewit,  who  being  al 
most  supernaturally  disagreeable,  and  having  a 
dreary  face  and  a  bony  figure  and  a  masculint 
voice,  was,  in  right  of  these  qualities,  what  is 
commonly  called  a  strong-minded  woman;  and 
who,  if  she  could,  would  have  established  her 
claim  to  the  title,  and  have  shown  herself,  men- 
tally speaking,  a  perfect  Sampson,  by  shutting  up 
her  brother-in-law  in  a  private  madhouse,  until  he 
proved  his  complete  sanity  by  loving  her  very 
much.  Beside  her  sat  her  spinster  daughters^ 
three  in  number,  and  of  gentlemanly  deportment 
who  had  so  mortified  themselves  with  tight  stays, 
that  their  tempers  we/e  reduced  to  something  less 
than  their  waists,  and  sharp  lacing  was  expressed 
in  their  very  noses.  Then  there  was  a  young 
gentleman,  grand-nephew  of  Mr.  Martin  Chuzzle- 
wit,  very  dark  and  very  hairy,  and  apparently 
born  for  no  particular  purpose  but  to  save  looking 
glasses  the  trouble  of  reflecting  more  than  just 
the  first  idea  and  sketchy  notion  of  a  face,  which 
had  never  been  carried  out.  Then  there  was  a 
solitary  female  cousin  who  was  remarkable  foi 
nothing  but  being  very  deaf,  and  living  by  her 
self,  and  always  having  the  toothache.  Then 
there  was  George  Chuzzlewit,  a  gay  bachelor 
cousin,  who  claimed  to  be  young  but  had  been 
younger,  and  was  inclined  to  corpulency,  and 
rather  over-fed  himself:  to  that  extent,  indeed, 
that  his  eyes  were  strained  in  their  sockets,  as  if 
with  constant  surprise;  and  he  had  such  an  ob. 
vious  disposition  to  pimples,  that  the  bright  spot* 
on  his  cravat,  the  rich  pattern  on  his  waistcoat, 
and  even  his  glittering  trinkets,  seemed  to  have 
broken  out  upon  him,  and  not  to  have  come  into 
existence  comfortably.  Last  of  all,  there  were 
present  Mr.  Chevy  Slyme  and  his  friend  Tigg. 
And  it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  although  each 
person  present  disliked  the  other  mainly  because 
he  or  she  did  belong  to  the  family,  they  one  and 
all  concurred  in  hating  Mr.Tigg  beciuise  he  didn't 

Such  was  the  pleasant  little  family  circle  now 
assembled  in  Mr.  Peoksnitf's  best  parlour,  agree- 
ably prepared  to  fall  foul  of  Mr.  Pecksniff  or  any 
body  else  who  might  venture  to  say  anything 
whatever  upon  any  subject. 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  rising,  and  looking 
round  upon  them,  with  folded  hands,  "does  me 
good.  It  does  my  daughters  good.  We  thank 
you  for  assembling  here.  We  are  grateful  to  you 
with  our  whole  hearts.  It  is  a  blessed  distinction 
that  you  have  conferred  upon  us,  and  believe  me" 
— it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how  he  smiled  here 
— "  we  shall  not  easily  forget  it" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  you,  Pecksniff,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Spottletoe,  with  his  whiskers  in  a 
very  portentous  state ;  "  but  you  are  assuming  toe 
much  to  yourself,  sir.  Who  do  you  imagine  has 
it  in  contemplation  to  confer  a  distinction  upon 
you  sir  ?" 

A  general  murmur  echoed  this  inquiry  and 
applauded  it. 

"  If  you  are  abont  to  pursue  the  course  with 
which  you  have  bpfjun  sir,"  pursued  Mr.  Spoltle- 
toe  in  great  heat,  and  jrjving  a  violent  rap  on  the 


30 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


table  with  his  knuckles,  "the  sooner  you  desist, 
and  this  assembly  separates,  the  better.  I  am  no 
strangfer  sir,  to  your  preposterous  desire  to  be 
regarded  as  the  head  of  this  family,  but  I  can  tell 
you  sir — " 

Oh,  yes  indeed!  fle  tell.  He!  What!  He 
was  the  head,  was  he  !  From  the  strong-minded 
woman  downwards  everybody  fell,  thai  instant, 
upon  Mr.  Spottletoe,  who  after  vainly  attempting 
to  be  heard  in  silence  was  fain  to  sit  down  again, 
folding  his  arms  and  shaking  his  head,  most 
wratht'ully,  and  giving  Mrs.  Spottletoe  to  under- 
stand in  dumb  show  that  that  scoundrel  Pecksniff 
might  go  on  for  the  present,  but  he  would  cut  in 
presently,  and  annihilate  iiim. 

"  I  am  not  sorry,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  resump- 
tion of  his  address,  "  I  am  really  not  sorry  that 
thife  little  incident  has  happened.  It  is  good  to 
feel  that  we  are  met  here  without  disguise.  It  is 
good  to  know  that  we  have  no  reserve  before  each 
other,  but  are  appearing  freely  in  our  own  charac- 
ters." 

Here,  the  eldest  daughter  of  the  strong-minded 
woman  rose  a  little  way  fiom  her  seat,  and  trem- 
bling violently  from  head  to  foot,  more  as  it  seemed 
with  passion  than  timidity,  expressed  a  general 
hope  that  some  people  would  appear  in  their  own 
tharacters,  if  it  were  only  for  such  a  proceeding 
having  the  attraction  of  novelty  to  recommend  it; 
and  that  when  they  (meaning  the  some  people  be- 
fore mentioned)  talked  about  their  relations,  they 
would  be  careful  to  observe  who  vvas  present  in 
company  at  the  time;  otherwise  it  might  come 
round  to  those  relations'  ears,  in  a  way  they  little 
expected ;  and  as  to  red  noses  (she  observed)  she 
had  yet  to  learn  that  a  red  nose  was  any  disgrace, 
inasmuch  as  people  neither  made  nor  coloured 
their  own  noses,  but  had  that  feature  provided  for 
them  without  being  first  consulted;  though  even 
upon  that  branch  of  the  subject  she  had  great 
doubts  whether  certain  noses  were  redder  than 
other  noses,  or  indeed  half  as  red  as  some.  This 
remark  being  received  with  a  shrill  titter  by  the 
two  sisters  of  the  speaker,  Miss  Ciiarity  Pecksniff 
begged  with  much  politeness  to  be  informed  whe- 
ther any  of  those  very  low  observations  were  lev- 
elled at  her;  and  receiving  !iO  more  explanatory 
answer  than  was  conveyed  in  the  adage  "  Those 
the  cap  fits,  let  them  wear  it,"  immediately  com- 
menced a  somewhat  acrimonious  and  personal  re- 
tort, wherein  s'he  was  much  comforted  and  abet- 
ted by  her  sister  Mercy,  who  laughed  at  the  same 
with  great  heartiness:  indeed  far  more  naturally 
than  life.  And  it  being  quite  impossible  that  any 
difference  of  opinion  can  take  pluce»  among  wo- 
men without  every  woman  who  is  within  hearing 
taking  active  part  in  it,  the  strong-minded  lady 
and  her  two  daughters,  and  Mrs.  Spottletoe,  and 
the  deaf  cousin  (who  was  not  at  all  disqualified 
from  joining  in  the  dispute  by  reason  of  being 
perfectly  unacquainted  with  its  merits),  one  and 
all  plunged  into  tlie  quarrel  directly. 

The  two  Miss  Pecksniffs  being  a  pretty  good 
match  for  the  'hrcc  Miss  Chuzzlewits,  and  all  five 
young  ladies  having,  in  the  figurative  language  of 
the  daj,.i  great  amount  of  steam  to  dispose  of,  the 
hltercation  would  no  doubt  have  been  -a  long  one 
but  for  the  higli  valour  and  prowess  of  the  strong- 
nnnded  wonrrn,  wlio,  in  ri};iil  of  liiT  re()ntaliiin 
kr  oowers  of  sarcasm,  did  so  belabour  and  pum- 


mel Mrs.  Spottletoe  with  taunting  words  that  that 
poor  lady,  before  the  engagement  was  two  minutes 
old,  had  no  refuge  but  in  tears.  These  she  shed 
so  plentifully,  and  so  much  to  the  agitation  and 
grief  of  Mr.  Spottletoe,  that  that  gentleman,  after 
holding  his  clenched  fist  close  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
eyes,  as  if  it  were  some  natural  curiosity  from  the 
near  inspection  whereof  he  was  likely  to  deriv? 
high  gratification  and  improvement,  and  after  of- 
fering (for  no  particular  reason  that  anybody  could 
discover)  to  kick  Mr.  George  Chuzzlewit  for,  and 
in  consideration  of,  the  trifling  sum  of  sixpence, 
took  his  wife  under  his  arm,  and  indignantly  with- 
drew. This  diversion,  by  distracting  the  attention 
of  the  combatants,  put  an  end  to  the  strife,  which, 
after  breaking  out  afresh  some  twice  or  thrice  in 
certain  inconsiderable  spirts  and  dashes,  died  away 
in  silence. 

It  was  then  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  once  more  rose 
from  his  chair.  It  was  then  that  the  two  Miss 
Pecksniffs  composed  themselves  to  look  as  if  there 
were  no  such  beings  —  not  to  say  present,  but  in 
the  whole  compass  of  the  world  —  as  the  three 
Miss  Chuzzlewits:  while  the  three  Miss  Chuzzle- 
wits became  equally  unconscious  of  the  existence 
of  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs. 

"  It  is  to  be  lamented,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with 
a  forgiving  recollection  of  Mr.  Spottletoe's  fist, 
"  that  our  friend  should  have  withdrawn  himself 
so  very  hastily,  though  we  have  cause  fcr  mutual 
congratulation  even  in  that,  since  we  are  assuroi 
that  he  is  not  distrustful  of  us  in  anything  we 
may  say  or  do,  while  he  is  absent.  Now,  that  is 
very  soothing,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Pecksniff,"  said  Anthony,  who  had  been  watcii- 
ing  the  whole  party  with  peculiar  keenness  frDin 
the  first — "don't  you  be  a  hypocrite." 

"  A  what,  my  good  sir  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. 

"  A  hypocrite." 

"  Charity,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  when 
I  take  my  chamber  candlestick  to-niglit,  remitio 
me  to  be  more  than  usually  particular  in  praying 
for  Mr.  Anthony  Chuzzlewit;  who  has  done  n)e 
an  injustice." 

This  was  said  in  a  very  bland  voice,  and  aside, 
as  being  addressed  to  his  daughter's  private  car. 
With  a  cheerfulness  of  conscience,  prompting  al- 
most a  sprightly  demeanour,  he  then  resumed: 

"  All  our  thoughts  centreing  in  our  very  dear, 
but  unkind  relative,  and  he  being  as  it  were  be- 
yond our  reach,  we  are  met  to-day  really  as  if  we 
were  a  funeral  party,  except — a  blessed  exception 
— that  there  ;s  nobody  in  the  house." 

The  strong-minded  lady  was  not  at  all  sure  that 
this  was  a  blessed  exception.    Quite  the  contrary 

"Well,  my  dear  madam  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff 
"  be  that  as  it  may,  here  we  are ;  and  being  here, 
we  are  to  consider  whether  it  is  possiblo  by  any 
justifiable  means — " 

"  Why,  you  know  as  well  as  I,"  said  th«  strong- 
minded  lady,  "  that  any  means  are  justifiable  in 
such  a  case,  don't  you  ?" 

"Very  good,  my  dear  madam,  very  good — wh«. 
ther  it  is  possible  by  any  means  ;  w«  will  say  by 
any  means,  to  open  the  eyes  of  our  valued  relative 
to  his  present  infatuation.  WJiether  >t  is  possible 
to  make  him  acquainl(;d  by  any  means  with  the 
real  character  and  |)urpose  of  that  j'ourg  female 
whose   strange,  whose  very  strange   piC".ition,  ir 


MARTIN   CnUZZLEVVIT. 


s\ 


reference  to  himself" — here  Mr.  PecksnifF  sunk 
his  voice  to  an  impressive  whisper — "really  casts 
a  shadow  of  disgrace  and  shame  upon  tiiis  family; 
and  who,  we  know"  —  here  he  raised  his  voice 
«gain — "  else  why  is  she  his  companion  ?  harbours 
the  very  basest  designs  upon  his  weakness  and  his 
property." 

In  their  strong-  feeling  on  this  point,  they,  who 
agreed  in  nothing  else,  all  concurred  as  one  mind. 
Good  Heaven,  that  she  should  harbour  designs 
upon  his  property  !  The  strong-minded  lady  was 
for  poison,  her  three  daughters  were  for  Bride, 
well  and  bread-and-water,  the  cousin  with  the 
tooth-ache  advocated  Botany  Bay,  the  two  Miss 
Pecksnift's  suggested  flogging.  Nobody  but  Mr. 
Tigg,  who,  notwithstanding  his  extreme  shabbi- 
ness,  was  still  understood  to  be  in  some  sort  a 
lady's-man,  in  right  of  his  upper  lip  and  his  frogs, 
indicated  a  doubt  of  the  justifiable  nature  of  these 
measures;  and  he  only  ogled  the  three  Miss 
Chuzzlewits  with  the  least  admixture  of  banter 
in  his  admiration,  as  though  he  would  observe, 
"  You  are  positively  down  upon  her  to  too  great 
an  extent,  my  sweet  creatures,  upon  my  soul  you 
are  !" 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  PecksnifF,  crossing  his  two 
fore-fingers  in  a  manner  which  was  at  once  con- 
ciliatory and  argumentative:  "I  will  not,  upoh 
the  one  hand,  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  she  deserves 
all  the  inflictions  which  have  been  so  very  forci- 
bly and  hilariously  suggested ;"  one  of  his  orna- 
mental sentences  ;  "  nor  will  I,  upon  the  other,  on 
any  account  compromise  my  common  under 
standing  as  a  man  by  making  the  assertion  that 
she  does  not.  What  I  would  observe  is,  that  I 
think  some  practical  means  might  be  devised  of 
inducing  our  respected  —  shall  1  say  our  rever- 
ed— ?" 

"  No !"  interposed  the  strong-minded  woman 
in  a  loud  voice. 

"Then  I  will  not,"  said  Mr.  PecksnifF.  "  You 
are  quite  right,  my  dear  madum,  and  I  appreciate 
*nd  thank  you  for  your  discriminating  objection 
—  our  respected  relative,  to  dispose  himself  to 
listen  to  the  promptings  of  nature,  and  not  to 
the—" 

"  Go  on.  Pa  !"  cried  Mercy. 

"  Why,  the  truth  is,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
snifF, smiling  upon  his  assembled  kindred,  "  that 
I  am  at  a  loss  for  a  word.  The  name  of  those 
fabulous  animals  (pagan,  I  regret  to  say)  who 
used  to  sing  in  the  v/ater,  has  quite  escaped  me." 

Mr.  George  Chuzzlewit  suggested  "  Swans." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  PecksnifF.  "  Not  swans.  Very 
like  swans,  too.     Thank  you." 

The  nephew  with  the  outline  of  a  countenance, 
speaking  for  the  first  and  last  time  on  that  occa- 
sion, piopounded  "Oysters." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  PecksnifF,  with  his  own  pecu- 
liar urbanity,  "  nor  oysters.  But  by  no  means 
unlike  oysters ;  a  very  excellent  idea  ;  thank  you, 
my  dear  sir,  very  much.  Wait!  Sirens.  Dear 
me  !  sirens,  of  course.  I  think,  I  say,  that  means 
might  be  devised  of  disposing  our  respected  rela- 
tive to  listen  to  the  promptings  of  nature,  and  not 
to  the  sireu-like  delusions  of  art.  Now  we  must 
Oct  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  our  esteemed  friend 
has  a  grandson,  to  whom  he  was,  until  lately, 
Very  much  attanhed,  and  whom  I  could  have 
visiied  to  see  here  to-day,  for  I  have  a  real  and 


deep  regard  for  him.  A  fine  yntmg  man  :  a  very 
fine  young  man!  I  would  submit  toyou,  whetl»«r 
we  might  not  remove  Mr.  Ciiuzzlewil's  di.strust  or 
us,  and  vindicate  our  ow!i  disinterestedness  by "' 

"  II'  Mr.  George  Chuzzlewit  has  anythirw  to 
say  to  me"  interposed  the  strong-minded  woman, 
sternly,  "  I  beg  him  to  speak  out,  like  a  mar; ; 
and  not  to  look  at  me  and  my  daughters  as  if  he 
could  eat  us." 

"  As  to  looking,  I  have  heard  it  said,  Mrs. 
Ned,"  returned  Mr.  George,  angrily,  "  tliat  a  cat 
is  free  to  contemplate  a  monarch ;  and  therefore 
I  hope  I  have  some  right,  having  been  born  a 
member  of  this  family,  to  look  at  a  person  who 
only  came  into  it  by  marriage.  As  to  eating,  1 
beg  to  say,  whatever  bitterness  your  jealousies 
and  disappointed  expectations  may  suggest  to 
you,  that  1  am  not  a  cannibal,  ma'am." 

"  I  don't  know  that  I"  cried  the  strong-minded 
woman. 

"  At  all  events,  if  I  was  a  cannibal,"  said  Mr. 
George  Chuzzlewit,  greatly  stimulated  by  this 
retort,  "  I  think  it  would  occur  to  me  that  a  lady 
who  had  outlived  three  husbands  and  suffered  so 
very  little  from  their  loss,  must  be  most  uncom- 
monly tough." 

The  strong-minded  woman  immediately  rose. 

"  And  I  will  further  add,"  said  Mr.  George, 
nodding  his  head  violently  at  every  second  syl- 
lable ;  "  naming  no  names,  and  therefore  hurting 
nobody  but  those  whose  consciences  tell  them 
they  are  alluded  to,  that  I  think  it  would  be  much 
more  decent  and  becoming,  if  those  who  hooked 
and  crooked  themselves  into  this  family  by  getting 
on  the  blind  side  of  some  of  its  members  bel'ore 
marriage,  and  manslaughtering  them  afterwards 
by  crowing  over  them  to  that  strong  pitch  that 
tiiey  were  glad  to  die,  would  refrain  from  acting 
the  part  of  vultures  in  regard  to  other  mtmbeis 
of  this  family  who  are  living.  I  think  it  would 
be  full  as  well,  if  not  better,  if  those  individuals 
would  keep  at  home,  contenting  themselves  with 
what  they  have  got  (luckily  for  them)  already; 
instead  of  hovering  about,  and  thrusting  their 
fingers  into,  a  family  pie,  which  they  flavor  much 
more  than  enough,  I  can  tell  them,  when  they 
are  fifty  miles  away." 

"  I  might  have  been  prepared  for  this  "  crie, 
the  strong-minded  woman,  looking  about  her  with 
a  disdainful  smile  as  she  moved  towards  the  door, 
followed  by  her  three  daughters:  "indeed  I  was 
fully  prepared  for  it,  from  the  first.  What  else 
could  I  expect  in  such  an  atmosphere  as  this  I" 

"  Don't  direct  your  halfpay-otficer's  gaze  at  me, 
ma'am,  if  you  please,"  interposed  Miss  Charily ; 
"  for  I  won't  bear  it." 

This  was  a  smart  stab  at  a  pension  enjoyed  by 
the  strong-minded  woman,  during  her  second 
widowhood  and  before  her  last  coverture.  It  told 
immensely. 

"  I  passed  from  the  memory  of  a  grateful  coun- 
try, you  very  miserable  minx,"  said  Mrs.  Ned, 
"  when  I  entered  this  family ;  and  I  feel  now, 
though  I  did  not  feel  then,  that  it  served  me  right, 
and  that  I  lost  my  claim  upon  the  United  King- 
dom of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  when  I  so  de- 
graded myself.  Now  my  dears,  if  you  're  'luilt' 
ready,  and  have  sufficiently  improved  voursehv* 
by  taking  to  heart  the  genteel  example  of  thes* 
two  young  laa'.es,  I  think  we  '11  ga     Mi   Pecfe 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Bniff,  we  are  very  much  obliged  to  you,  really. 
We  came  to  be  entertained,  and  you  have  far  sur- 
passed  our  utmost  expectations,  in  the  ainuse- 
int^nl  you  have  provided  for  us.  Thank  you. 
Good  bye  !" 

With  such  departing'  words,  did  this  strong- 
minded  female  paralyse  the  P(?cksniffian  energies  ; 
and  so  she  swept  out  of  the  room,  and  out  of  the 
Louse,  attended  by  her  daughters,  who,  as  with 
one  accord,  elevated  their  three  noses  in  the  air, 
and  joined  in  a  contemptuous  titter.  As  they 
pa.'.sed  the  parlour  windiAv  on  the  outside,  they 
were  seen  to  counterfeit  a  perfect  transport  of  de- 
light  among  themselves  ;  and  with  this  final  blow 
and  great  discouragement  for  those  within,  they 
vanished 

Before  Mr.  Pecksniff  or  any  of  his  remaining 
visitors  could  offer  a  remark,  anotlier  figure  pass- 
ed this  window,  coming,  at  a  great  rate,  in  the 
opposite  direction  :  and  immediately  afterwards, 
Mr.  Spottleloe  burst  inio  the  chamber.  Compared 
with  his  present  state  of  heat,  he  had  gone  out  a 
man  of  enow  or  ice.  His  head  distilled  such  oil 
upon  his  whiskers,  that  they  were  rich  and  clog, 
ged  with  unctuous  drops;  his  face  was  violently 
inflamed,  his  limbs  trembled  ;  and  he  gasped  and 
strove  for  breath. 

"My  good  sir  I"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  Oh  yes  I"  returned  the  other :  "  Oh  yes,  cer- 
tainly !  Oh  to  be  sure  !  Oh  of  course  !  You  hear 
him  ?     You  hear  him  ?  all  of  you  !" 

"  What 's  the  matter  !"  cried  several  voices. 
■     "Oh  nothing!"  cried  Spottletoe,  still  gasping. 
•Nothing  at  all !     It's  of  no  consequence  !     Ask 
n.ai !     He  '11  tell  you  I" 

"I  do  not  understand  our  friend,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  looking  about  him  in  utter  amazement. 
"  I  assure  you  that  he  is  quite  unintelligible  to 
me." 

"  Unintelligible,  sir  !"  cried  the  other.  "  Unin- 
telligible '  Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  you 
don't  know  what  has  happened  !  That  you  haven't 
decoyed  us  here,  and  laid  a  plot  and  a  plan  against 
us  I      Will    you   venture   to  say  that  you  didn't 


know  Mr.  Chiizzlewit  was   going,  sir,   and  that 
you  don't  know  he  's  gone,  sir  ?" 

"  Gone  I"  was  the  sreneral  cry. 

"  Gone,"  ecliocd  Mr.  S|)ottletoe.  "  Gone  while 
we  were  sitting  here.  Gone.  Nobody  knows 
where  he  's  gone.  Oh  of  course  not  I  Nobody 
knew  he  was  going.  Oh  of  course  not!  The 
landlady  thouglit  up  to  the  very  last  moment  that 
they  were  merely  going  for  a  ride ;  she  had  no 
other  suspicion.  Uh  of  course  not  I  She  's  not 
this  fellow's  creature.     Oh  of  course  not!" 

Adding  to  these  exclamations  a  kind  of  ironical 
howl,  and  gazing  upon  the  company  for  one  brief 
instant  afterwards,  in  a  sudden  silence,  the  irri 
tated  gentleman  started  off  again  at  the  same 
tremendous  pace,  and  was  seen  no  more. 

It  was  in  vain  for  Mr.  Pecksniff  to  assure  them 
that  this  new  and  opportune  evasion  of  the  family 
was  at  least  as  great  a  shock  and  surprise  to  him. 
as  to  anybody  else.  Of  all  the  bullyings  and  de- 
nunciations that  were  ever  heaped  on  one  unluck' 
head,  none  can  ever  have  exceeded  in  energy  an'd 
heartiness  those  with  which  he  was  complimentea 
by  each  of  his  remaining  relatives,  singly,  upon 
bidding  him  farewell 

The  moral  position  taken  by  Mr.  Tigg  was 
something  quite  tremendous  ;  and  the  deaf  cousin, 
who  had  had  the  complicated  aggravation  of  see- 
ing all  the  proceedings  and  hearing  nothing  but 
the  catastrophe,  actually  scraped  her  shoes  upon 
the  scraper,  and  afterwards  distributed  impression* 
of  them  all  over  the  top  step,  in  token  that  she 
shook  the  dust  from  her  feet  before  quitting  that 
dissembling  and  perfidious  mansion. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had,  in  short,  but  one  comfort, 
and  that  was  the  knowledge  that  all  these  his  re- 
lations and  friends  had  hated  him  to  the  very  ut 
most  extent  before ;  and  that  he,  for  his  part,  had 
not  distributed  among  tliem  any  more  love,  than, 
with  his  ample  capital  in  that  respect,  he  could 
comfortably  afford  to  part  with.  This  view  of  his 
affairs  yielded  him  great  consolation;  and  the 
fact  deserves  to  be  noted,  as  showing  with  what 
ease  a  good  man  may  be  consoled  under  circum 
stances  of  failure  and  disappointment 


CHAPTER  V. 


CONTAINING  A  FULL  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  INSTALLATION  OF  MR.  PECK 
SNIFF'S  NEW  PUPIL  INTO  THE  BOSOM  OF  MR.  PECKSNIFF'S  FAMILY 
W'TH  ALL  THE  FESTIVITIES  HELD  ON  THE  OCCASION,  AND  THE  GREAT 
ENJOYMENT  OF  MR.  PINCH. 


The  best  of  architects  and  land-surveyors  kept 
a  horse,  in  whom  the  <?lemies  already  mentioned 
more  than  once  in  these  pages,  pretended  to  de- 
t'»ct  a  fmciful  rc-'cmblance  to  his  master.  Not  in 
his  outward  person,  for  he  was  a  raw-boned,  hag- 
gard horse,  always  on  a  much  shorter  allowance 
of  corn  than  Mr.  Pecksniif ;  but  in  his  moral 
character  wherein,  said  they,  he  was  full  of  pro- 
mise, but  of  no  performance.  He  was  always,  in 
d  manner,  going  to,  and  never  going.  When  at 
his  slowest  rate  of  travelling,  he  would  sometimes 
lift  up  his  legs  so  high,  and  display  such  mig-hty 
action,  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  he  was  doing 
'ess  than  fourteen  miles  an  hour  ;  and  he  was  for 
ever  so  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  own  speed,  and 
•o  little  disconcerted  by  opportunities  of  compar- 


ing himself  with  the  fastest  trotters,  that  the  il- 
lusion was  the  more  ditlicult  of  resistance.  He 
was  a  kind  of  animal  who  infused  info  the  breasts 
of  strangers  a  lively  sense  of  hope,  and  possessed 
all  those  who  knew  him  better  with  a  grim  despair. 
In  what  respect,  having  these  points  of  character, 
he  might  he  fliirly  likened  to  his  master,  that  good 
man's  slanderers  onlv  can  explain.  But  it  is  a 
melancholy  truth,  and  a  deplorable  instance  of  the 
uncharitablencss  of  the  world,  that  they  made  the 
comparison. 

In  this  horse,  and  the  hooded  vehicle,  whatever 

its  proper  name  might  he,  to  which  he  was  usually 

harnessed — it  was  more  like  a  gig  with  a  tumour, 

than  anything  el<;e — all  Mr.  Pinch's  thoughts  aiit 

i  wishes  centred,  one  bright  frosty  morning:   for 


MARTIN   C}IUZZLEWIT. 


39 


ATitii  this  gallant  equipage  he  was  about  to  drive 
ic  Salisbury  alone,  there  to  meet  with  the  new 
pjpil,  and  thence  to  bring-  him  home  in  triumph. 
Blessings  on  thy  simple  heart,  Tom  Pinch,  how 
proudly  dost  thou  button  up  that  scanty  coat,  call- 
ed by  a  sad  misnomer,  for  these  many  years,  a 
"great  "one;  and  how  thoroughly  as  with  thy 
cheerful  voice  thou  pleasantly  adjurest  Sam  the 
noetler  "not  to  let  him  go  yet,"  dost  thou  believe 
that  quadruped  desires  to  go,  and  would  go  if  he 
might !  Who  could  repress  a  smile — of  love  lor 
thee,  Tom  Pinch,  and  not  in  jest  at  thy  expense, 
for  thou  art  poor  enough  already,  Heaven  knows — 
to  think  that  such  a  holiday  as  lies  before  thee, 
should  awaken  that  quick  flow,  and  hurry  of  the 
spirits,  in  which  thou  settest  down  again,  almost 
untasted,  on  the  kitchen  window-sill,  that  great 
white  mug  (put  by,  by  thy  own  hands,  last  night, 
that  breakfast  might  not  hold  thee  late),  and  layest 
yonder  crust  upon  the  seat  beside  thee,  to  be  eaten 
on  the  road,  when  thou  art  calmer  in  thy  high 
rejoicing  I  Who,  as  thou  drivest  off,  a  happy  man, 
and  noddest  with  a  grateful  lovingness  to  Peck- 
sniff in  his  nightcap  at  his  chamber-window, 
would  not  cry,  "  Heaven  speed  thee,  Tom,  and 
send  that  thou  wert  going  off  for  ever  to  some 
quiet  home  where  thou  mightst  live  at  peace,  and 
sorrow  should  not  touch  thee  !" 

What  better  time  for  driving,  riding,  walking, 
moving  through  the  air  by  any  means,  than  a 
fresh,  frosty  morning,  when  hope  runs  cheerily 
through  the  veins  with  the  brisk  blood,  and  tingles 
in  the  frame  from  head  to  foot !  This  was  the 
plad  commencement  of  a  bracing  day  in  early 
winter,  such  as  n:ay  put  the  languid  summer  sea- 
ion  (speaking  of  it  when  it  can't  be  had)  to  the 
blush,  and  shame  the  spring  for  being  sometimes 
cold  by  halves.  The  sheep-bells  rang  as  clearly 
in  the  vigorous  air,  as  if  they  felt  its  wholesome 
influence  like  living  creatures;  the  trees,  in  lieu 
of  leaves  or  blossoms,  shed  upon  the  ground  a 
frosty  rime  that  sparkled  as  it  fell,  and  might  have 
been  the  dust  of  diamonds  —  so  it  was,  to  Tom. 
From  cottage  chimneys,  smoke  went  streaming 
up  high,  high,  as  if  the  earth  had  lost  its  gross- 
ness,  being  so  fair,  and  must  not  be  oppressed  by 
heavy  vapour.  The  crust  of  ice  on  the  else  rip- 
pling brook,  was  so  transparent  and  so  thin  in 
texture,  that  the  lively  water  might,  of  its  own 
free  will,  have  stopped  —  in  Tom's  glad  mind  it 
had — to  look  upon  the  lovely  morning.  And  lest 
the  sun  should  break  this  charm  too  eagerly,  there 
moved  between  him  and  the  ground  a  mist  like 
that  which  waits  upon  the  moon  on  summer 
nights — the  very  same  to  Tom — and  wooed  him 
to  dissolve  it  gently. 

Tom  Pinch  went  on  ;  not  fast,  but  with  a  sense 
of  rapid  motion,  which  did  just  as  well ;  and  as 
l"'.  went,  all  kinds  of  things  occurred  to  keep  him 
.iidppy.  Thus  when  he  came  within  sight  of  the 
turnpike,  and  was — Oh  a  long  way  oflTl — he  saw 
ih<5  tollman's  wife,  who  had  that  moment  checked 
a  wagon,  run  back  into  the  little  house  again  like 
mad,  to  say  (she  knew)  that  Mr.  Pinch  was  com- 
ing up.  And  she  was  right,  for  when  he  drew 
within  hail  of  the  gate,  forth  rushed  tbe  tollman's 
children,  shrieking  in  tiny  chorus,  "Mr.  Pinch  !" 
to  Tom's  intense  delight.  The  very  tollman, 
though  an  ugly  chap  in  general,  and  one  vvhoin 
folks  were  rather  shy  of  handling,  came  out  him- 
•elf  to  take  the  toll,  and  give  him   rough  good- 


morning:  and  what  with  all  this,  and  a  glimpse 
of  the  family  breakfast  on  a  little  round  tahio 
bef)re  the  fire,  the  crust  Tom  Pinch  had  brougiil 
away  with  him  acquired  as  ricii  a  flavour  as 
thongii  it  had  been  cut  from  off  a  fairy  loaf. 

But  there  was  more  than  this.  It  was  not  only 
the  married  people  and  the  children  who  gave 
Tom  Pinch  a  welcome  as  he  pass'd.  No,  no. 
Sparkling  eyes  and  snowy  breasts  came  hurriedly 
to  many  an  upper  casement  as  he  clattered  by, 
and  give  him  back  his  greeting:  not  stinted 
either,  but  sevenfold,  good  measure.  They  were 
all  merry;  they  all  laughed;  and  some  of  the 
wickedest  among  them  even  kissed  their  hands  as 
Tom  looked  back.  For  who  minded  poor  Mr. 
Pinch  ?     There  was  no  harm  in  him. 

And  now  the  morning  grew  so  fair,  and  all 
fhings  were  so  wide  awake  and  gay,  that  the  suu 
Nectiiing  to  say — Tern  had  no  doubt  he  said — "I 
can't  stand  it  any  longer:  I  must  have  a  look" — 
streamed  out  in  radiant  majesty.  The  mist,  too 
shy  and  gentle  for  such  lusty  company,  fled  off, 
quite  scared,  before  it;  and  as  it  swept  away,  the 
hills  and  mounds  and  distant  pasture-lands,  teem- 
ing w^ith  placid  sheep  and  noisy  crows,  came  out 
as  bright  as  though  they  were  unrolled  bran-new 
for  the  occasion.  In  compliment  to  which  disco- 
very, the  brook  stood  still  no  longer,  but  ran 
briskly  off  to  bear  the  tidings  to  the  water-mill, 
three  miles  away. 

Mr.  Pinch  was  jogging  along,  full  of  pleasant 
thoughts  and  cheerful  influences,  when  he  saw, 
upon  the  path  before  him,  going  in  the  same  direc- 
tion with  himself,  a  traveller  on  foot,  who  walked 
with  a  light,  quick  step,  and  sang  as  he  went — fi)r 
certain  in  a  very  loud  voice,  but  not  unmusically. 
He  was  a  young  fellow,  of  some  five  or  six-and- 
twenty  perhaps,  and  was  drest  in  such  a  free  and 
fly-away  fashion,  that  the  long  ends  of  his  loose 
red  neckcloth  were  streaming  out  behind  him 
quite  as  often  as  before;  and  the  bunch  of  bright 
winter  berries  in  the  button-hole  of  his  velveteen 
coat,  was  as  visible  to  Mr.  Pinch's  rearward  ob- 
servation, as  if  he  had  worn  that  garment  wrong 
side  foremost.  He  continued  to  sing  with  so 
much  energy,  that  he  did  not  hear  the  sound  of 
wheels  until  it  was  close  behind  him  ;  when  he 
turned  a  whimsical  face  and  very  merry  pair  t,r 
blue  eyes  on  Mr.  Pinch,  and  checked  himsLll 
directly. 

"  Why,  Mark !"  said  Tom  Pinch,  stopping 
"  who  'd  have  thought  of  seeing  you  here  ?  Well 
this  is  surprising  I" 

Mark  touched  his  hat,  and  said,  with  a  verv 
sudden  decrease  of  vivacity,  that  he  was  going  tc 
Salisbury. 

"  And  how  spruce  you  are,  too  !"  said  Mr.  Pinch. 
surviying  him  with  great  pleasure.  "  Really  ] 
didn't  think  you  were  half  such  a  tight-made 
fellow,  Mark  !" 

"  Thankee,  Mr.  Pinch.  Pretty  well  for  that,  1 
believe.  It's  not  my  fault,  you  know.  With  re- 
gard to  being  spruce,  sir,  that 's  where  it  is,  you 
see."    And  here  he  looked  particularly  gloomy. 

"  Where  what  is?"  Mr.  Pinch  demanded. 

"  Where  the  aggravation  of  it  is.  Any  man 
may  be  in  good  spirits  and  good  temper  when 
he  's  well  drest.  There  aint  much  credit  in  that 
If  I  was  very  ragged  and  very  jolly,  then  I  shoiih' 
begin  to  feel  I  had  gained  a  point,  Mr.  Pinch." 

"So  you  werr  dinging  Just  now   to  bear  uti  n 


34 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


It  were,  against  being  well  dressed,  eh,  Mark  ?" 
Si; id  Pinch. 

"Your  conversation's  always  etjuyl  to  print,  sir," 
rtjoined  Mark,  with  a  broad  grin.    "  Tiiat  was  it." 

"  Well  I"  cried  Pinch,  "  you  are  the  strangest 
young  man,  Mark,  I  ever  knew  in  my  life.  I 
always  thought  so;  but  now  1  am  quite  certain 
ol  it.  I  am  going  to  Salisbury,  too.  Will  you 
got  in?     I  shall  be  very  gi.id  ot"  your  company." 

The  young  fellow  made  his  acknowledgments 
ni)d  accepted  the  offer ;  stepfiing  into  the  carriage 
directly,  and  seating  himself  on  the  very  edge  of 
the  seat  with  his  body  halfoutof  it,  to  express  his 
being  the.e  on  sufferance,  and  by  the  politeness 
of  Mr.  Pinch.  As  they  went  along,  the  conversa- 
tion proceeded  after  this  manner. 

"  I  more  than  half  believed,  just  now,  seeing 
you  so  very  smart,"  said  Pinch,  "  that  you  must 
be  going  to  be  married,  Mark." 

"  Well,  sir,  I  've  thought  of  that,  too,"  he  re- 
plied. "There  might  be  some  credit  in  being 
jolly  with  a  wife,  'specially  if  the  children  had 
the  measles  at.d  that,  and  was  very  fractious  in- 
deed. But  I'm  a'most  afraid  to  try  it.  I  don't 
see  my  way  clear." 

"  You  're  not  very  fond  of  anybody,  perhaps  ?" 
said  Pinch. 

"  Not  particular,  sir,  I  think." 

"  But  the  way  would  be,  you  know.  Mark, 
according  to  your  views  of  things,"  said  Mr.  Pinch, 
'  to  marry  somebody  you  did'nt  like,  and  who 
was  very  disagreeable." 

"  So  it  would,  sir,  but  that  might  be  carrying 
out  a  principle  a  little  too  far,  mightn't  it  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  might,"  said  Mr.  Pinch.  At  wiiich 
they  both  laughed  gail}'. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  sir,"  said  Mark,  "  you  don't 
half  know  me,  though.  I  don't  believe  there  ever 
wa.i  a  man  as  could  come  out  so  strong  under 
circumstances  that  would  make  other  men  miser- 
able, as  I  could,  if  I  could  only  get  a  chance. 
But  I  can't  get  a  chance.  It's  my  opinion,  that 
nobody  never  will  know  half  of  what 's  in  me, 
unless  something  very  unexpected  turns  up.  And 
I  don't  see  any  prospect  of  that.  I  'm  a  going  to 
leave  the  Dragon,  sir." 

"  Going  to  leave  the  Dragon  I"  cried  Mr.  Pinch, 
looking  at  him  with  great  astonishment.  "  Why, 
Mark,  you  take  my  breath  away  !" 

"  Yes,  sir,''  he  rejoined,  looking  straight  before 
him  and  a  long  way  off,  as  men  do  sometimes 
when  they  cogitate  profoundly.  "What's  the 
use  of  my  stopping  at  the  Dragon  ?  It  an't  at  all 
the  sort  of  place  for  me.  When  I  left  London 
>'l  'm  a  Kentish  man  by  birth,  though),  and  took 
that  sitivation  here,  I  quite  made  up  my  mind 
that  it  was  the  dullest  little  out-of-the-way  corner 
m  England,  and  that  there  would  be  some  credit 
in  being  jolly  under  such  circumstances.  But, 
Lord,  there's  no  dulness  at  the  Dragon  !  Skittles, 
cricket,  quoits,  nine-pins,  comic  songs,  choruses, 
company  round  the  chimney  corner  every  win- 
ler's  evening — any  man  could  be  jolly  at  tiie 
Dragon.     There's  no  credit  in  that." 

"  But  if  common  report  be  true  for  once,  Mark, 
.iH  I  think  it  is,  being  able  to  confirm  it  by  what 
i  know  myself,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "you  are  the 
rutise  of  half  this  merriuKMit,  and  set  ii  going." 

"  TiHTc  may  he  something  in  that  too,  sir," 
ouawcred  Mark.     "  l!iil  that's  no  consolation.'' 

"  Weill"  M.iiii  .Mr.  I'liic.li.  iiller  a  soil  sik-ncc, 


his  usually  subdued  tone  being  even  more  sub- 
dued than  ever.  "  1  can  hardly  think  enough  of 
what  you  tell  me.  Why,  what  will  become  of 
Mrs.  Lupin,  Mark?" 

Murk  looked  more  fixedly  before  him,  and  fir- 
therotf  still,  as  he  answered  that  he  didn't  sup- 
pose* it 'would  be  much  of  an  object  to  her.  There 
were  plenty  of  smart  young  fellows  as  would  be 
glad  of  the  place.     He  knew  a  dozen  himself. 

"  That 's  probable  enough,"  said  Mr.  Pinch 
"  but  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  Mrs.  Lupin  would 
be  glad  of  them.  Why,  I  always  supposed  that 
Mrs.  Lupin  and  you  would  make  a  match  of  it, 
Mark  :  and  so  did  every  one,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"I  never,"  Mark  replied,  in  some  confusion, 
"said  nothing  as  was  in  a  direct  way  courting- 
like  to  her,  nor  she  to  me,  but  I  don't  know  what 
I  mightn't  do  one  of  these  odd  times,  and  what 
she  mightn't  say  in  ans\^er.  Well,  sir,  that 
wouldn't  suit." 

"  Not  to  be  landlord  of  the  Dragon,  Mark  ?" 
cried  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  No  sir,  certainly  not,"  returned  the  other, 
withdrawing  his  gaze  from  the  horizon,  and  look- 
ing at  his  fellow-traveller.  "Why,  that  would  be 
the  rnin  of  a  man  !.ke  nie.  I  go  and  sit  down 
comfortably  for  life,  and  no  man  never  finds  me 
out.  What  would  be  the  credit  of  the  landlord 
of  the  Dragon's  being  jolly  ?  why,  he  couldn't 
l-elp  it,  if  he  tried." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Lupin  know  you  are  going  to  leave 
her?"   Mr.  Pinch  inquired. 

"  I  haven't  broke  it  to  her  yet,  sir ;  but  I  mu^t. 
I  'm  looking  out  this  morning  for  something  new 
and  suitable,"   he  said,  nodding  towards  the  citj'. 

"  Wiiat  kind  of  thing  now?"  Mr.  Pinch  de- 
manded. 

"I  was  thinking,"  Mark  replied,  "  of  some- 
thing in  the    grave-diirging  wa}-." 

"  Good  Gracious,  Mark  !"  cried  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  It 's  a  good  damp,  wormy  sort  of  busincw, 
sir,"  said  Mark,  shaking  his  htaci,  argunientative- 
ly,  "  and  there  might  be  some  credit  in  being 
jolly,  with  one's  mind  in  that  pursuit,  unless 
grave-diggers  is  usually  given  that  way  ;  which 
would  be  a  drawback.  You  don't  happen  to 
know  how  that  is,  in  general,  do  you,  sir  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "  I  don't  indeed.  I 
never  thought  upon  the  subject." 

"  In  case  of  that  not  turning  out  as  well  as  one 
could  wish,  you  know,"  said  Alark,  musing  again, 
"  there  's  other  businesses.  Undertaking  now. 
That's  gloomy.  There  might  be  credit  to  be 
gained  there.  A  broker's  man  in  a  poor  neigh- 
bourhood wouldn't  be  bad  perhaps.  A  jailer  sees 
a  deal  of  misery.  A  doctor's  man  is  in  the  very 
midst  of  murder.  A  bailiff's  an't  a  lively  oflice 
nat'rally.  Even  a  tax-gatherer  must  find  his 
feelings  rather  worked  ujmn  at  times.  'I'liere 's 
lots  oftradcs,  in  which  I  should  have  an  opportu- 
nity, I  think  ?" 

Mr.  Pinch  was  so  perfectly  overwhelmed  by 
these  remarks  that  he  could  do  nothing  but  occa- 
eionally  exchange  a  word  or  two  on  some  indillir 
ent  subject,  and  cast  sidelong  glances  at  the  brii;  hi 
face  of  his  odd  friend  (who  seemed  quite  nncun 
scious  of  his  observation),  until  they  roaclnd  a 
certain  corner  of  the  road,  close  upon  the  out 
skirts  of  the  city,  when  Mark  said  he  would  jump 
down  there,  if  he  pleased. 

"  But  bless  my  soul,  Mark,"  s-iid  "•'      "inch, 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


35 


who  m  the  progress  of  his  observation  just  then 
made  the  discovery  that  the  bosom  of  his  compa- 
nion's shirt  was  as  much  exposed  as  if  it  were 
midsummer,  and  was  ruffled  by  every  breath 
of  air,  "  why  don't  you  wear  a  waistcoat?" 

"  What's  the  good  of  one,  sir?"  asked  Mark. 

"Good  of  one?"  said  Mr.  Pinch.  "Why,  to 
keep  your  chest  warm." 

"  Lord  love  you,  sir  !"  cried  Mark,  "  you  don't 
know  me.  My  chest  don't  want  no  warming. 
Even  if  it  did,  what  would  no  waistcoat  bring  it 
to?  Inflammation  of  the  lungs,  perhaps?  VVell, 
there  'd  be  some  credit  in  being  jolly,  with  an  in- 
flammation of  the  lungs." 

As  Mr.  Pinch  returned  no  other  answer  than 
such  as  was  conveyed  in  his  drawing  his  breath 
very  hard,  and  opening  his  eyes  very  wide,  and 
nodding  his  head  very  much,  Mark  thanked  him 
for  his  ride,  and  without  troubling  him  to  stop, 
jumped  lightly  down.  And  away  he  fluttered, 
with  his  red  neck-kerchief,  and  his  open  coat, 
down  a  cross  lane :  turning  back  from  time  to 
time  to  nod  to  Mr.  Pineli,  and  looking  one  of  the 
most  careless,  good-liumoured,  comical  i'cUows  in 
life.  His  late  companion,  with  a  thoughtful  face, 
pursued  his  way  to  Salisbury. 

Mr.  Pinch  had  a  shrewd  notion  that  Salisbury 
was  a  very  desperate  sort  of  place;  an  exceeding 
wild  and  dissipated  city ;  and  when  he  had  put 
up  tlie  horse,  and  given  the  hostler  to  understand 
that  he  would  look  in  again  in  the  course  of  an 
hour  or  two  to  see  him  take  his  corn,  he  set  forth 
on  a  stroll  about  the  streets  with  a  vague  and  not 
unpleasant  idea  that  they  teemed  with  all  kinds 
of  mystery  and  bedevilment.  To  one  of  his  quiet 
habits  this  little  delusion  was  greatly  assisted  by 
the  circumstance  of  its  being  market-day,  and  the 
thoroughfares  about  the  market-place  being  filled 
with  carts,  horses,  donkeys,  baskets,  wagons,  gar- 
den-stuff, meat,  tripe,  pies,  poultry,  and  hucksters' 
wares  of  every  opposite  description  and  possible 
variety  of  character.  Then  there  were  young 
farmers  and  old  farmers,  with  smock  frocks, 
brown  great-coats,  drab  great-coats,  red  worsted 
comforters,  leather-leggings,  wonderful  shaped 
hats,  hunting-whips,  and  rough  sticks,  standing 
about  in  groups,  or  talking  noisily  together  on  the 
tavern  steps, or  paying  and  receiving  huge  amounts 
of  greasy  wealth,  with  the  assistance  of  such 
bulky  pocket-books  that  when  they  were  in  their 
pockets  it  was  apoplexy  to  get  them  out,  and  when 
they  were  out,  it  was  spasms  to  get  them  in  again. 
Also  there  were  farmers'  wives  in  beaver  bonnets 
and  red  cloaks,  riding  shaggy  horses  purged  of 
all  earthly  passions,  who  went  soberly  into  all 
manner  of  places  without  desiring  to  know  why, 
and  who,  if  required,  would  have  stood  stock  still 
in  a  china-shop,  with  a  complete  dinner-service  at 
each  hoof  Also  a  great  many  dogs,  who  were 
strongly  interested  in  the  state  of  the  market  and 
the  bargains  of  their  masters  ;  and  a  great  confu- 
tion  pf  tongues,  both  brute  and  human. 

Mr.  Pinch  regarded  everything  exposed  for  sale 
witn  great  delight,  and  was  particularly  struck 
by  the  itinerant  cutlery,  which  he  considered  of 
the  very  keenest  kind,  insomuch  that  he  purchased 
a  pocket  knife  with  seven  blades  in  it,  and  not  a 
cut  (as  he  afterwards  found  out)  among  them. 
When  he  had  exhausted  the  market-place,  and 
watched  the  farmers  safe  into  the  market  dinner, 
he  went  back  to  look  after  the  horse.     Having 


seen  him  eat  unto  his  heart's  content,  he  issued 
forth  again,  to  wander  round  the  town  and  legale 
himself  with  the  shop  windows  ;  previously  taking 
a  long  stare  at  the  bank,  and  wondering  in  what 
direction  under-ground,  the  caverns  might  be, 
where  they  kept  the  money ;  and  turning  to  look 
back  at  one  or  two  young  men  who  passed  him, 
whom  he  knew  to  be  articled  to  solicitors  in  the 
town  ;  and  who  had  a  sort  of  fearful  interest  in 
his  eyes,  as  jolly  dogs  who  knew  a  thing  or  two, 
and  kept  it  up  tremendously. 

But  the  shops.  First  of  all,  there  were  the  jew- 
ellers' shops,  with  all  the  treasures  of  the  earth 
displayed  therein,  and  such  large  silver  vvatches 
hanging  up  in  every  pane  of  glass,  that  if  they 
were  anything  but  first-rate  goers  it  certainly  was 
not  because  the  works  could  decently  complain  of 
want  of  room.  In  good  sooth  they  v^ere  big 
enough,  and  perhaps,  as  the  saying  is,  ugly 
enough,  to  be  the  most  correct  of  all  mechanical 
performers ;  in  Mr.  Pinch's  eyes,  however,  they 
were  smaller  than  Geneva  ware;  and  when  he 
saw  one  very  bloated  watch  announced  as  a  re- 
peater, gifted  with  the  uncommon  power  of  strik- 
ing every  quarter  of  an  hour  inside  the  pocket  of 
its  happy  owner,  he  almost  wished  that  he  were 
rich  enough  to  buy  it. 

But  what  were  even  gold  and  silver,  precious 
stones  and  clockwork,  to  the  bookshops,  whence  a 
pleasant  smell  of  paper  freshly  pressed  came  issu- 
ing forth,  awakening  instant  recollections  of  some 
new  grammar  had  at  school,  long  time  ago,  with 
"  Master  Pinch,  Grove  House  Academy,"  inscrib- 
ed in  faultless  writing  on  the  fly-leaf!  That  whiff 
of  russia  leather,  too,  and  all  those  rows  on  rows 
of  volumes,  neatly  ranged  within  —  what  happi 
ness  did  they  suggest !  And  in  the  window  were 
the  spick-and-span  new  works  from  London,  with 
the  title-pages,  and  sometimes  even  the  first  page 
of  the  first  chapter,  laid  wide  open :  tempting  un- 
wary men  to  begin  to  read  the  book,  and  then,  in 
the  impossibility  of  turning  over,  to  rush  blindly 
in,  and  buy  it !  Here,  too,  were  the  dainty  front- 
ispiece and  trim  vignette,  pointing  like  handposts 
on  the  outskirts  of  great  cities  to  the  rich  stock 
of  incident  beyond ;  and  store  of  books,  with 
many  a  grave  portrait  and  time-honoured  name, 
whose  matter  he  knew  well,  and  would  have  given 
mines  to  have,  in  any  form,  upon  the  narrow  shelf 
beside  his  bed  at  Mr.  Pecksniff's.  What  a  heart, 
breaking  shop  it  was  ! 

There  was  another ;  not  quite  so  bad  at  first, 
but  still  a  trying  shop  ;  where  children's  books 
were  sold,  and  where  poor  Robinson  Crusoe  stood 
alone  in  his  might,  with  dog  and  hatchet,  goat- 
skin cap  and  fowling-pieces:  calmly  surveying 
Philip  Quarll  and  the  hostof  imitators  round  him, 
and  calling  Mr.  Pinch  to  witness  that  he,  of  all 
the  crowd,  impressed  one  solitary  foot-print  on  the 
shore  of  boyish  memory,  whereof  the  tread  c-t 
generations  should  not  stir  the  lightest  grain  of 
sand.  And  there,  too,  were  the  Persian  Tales, 
with  flying  chests,  and  students  of  enchanted 
books  shut  up  for  years  in  caverns  :  and  there,  too, 
was  Abudah,  the  merchant,  with  the  terrible  little 
old  woman  hobbling  out  of  the  box  m  iiis  bee* 
room  :  and  there  the  mighty  talisman — tne  rare 
Arabian  Nights — with  Cassim  Baba,  divided  ny 
four,  like  the  ghost  of  a  dreadful  sum,  hanging 
up,  all  gory,  in  the  robbers'  cave.  Which  match 
less  wonders,  coming  fast  on  Mr.  Pinch's  mind. 


36 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES    OF 


did  so  rub  up  and  chafe  that  wonderful  lamp  with- 
in him,  that  when  he  turned  his  face  towards  the 
busy  street,  a  crowd  of  phantoms  waited  on  his 
pleasure,  and  he  lived  again,  with  new  delight, 
tl.e  happy  days  before  the  Pecksniff  era. 

He  had  less  interest  now  in  the  chemists'  shops, 
with  their  great  glowing  bottles  (with  smaller  re- 
positories of  brightness  in  their  very  stoppers); 
and  in  their  agreeable  compromises  between  med- 
icine and  perfumery,  in  the  shape  of  toothsome 
lozenges  and  virgin  honey.  Neither  had  he  the 
least  regard  (but  he  never  had  much)  for  the  tai- 
lors', where  the  newest  metropolitan  waistcoat 
patterns  were  hanging  up,  which  by  some  strange 
transformation  always  looked  amazing  there,  and 
never  appeared  at  all  like  the  same  thing  any- 
where else.  But  he  stopped  to  read  the  playbill 
at  the  theatre,  and  surveyed  the  doorway  with  a 
kind  of  awe,  which  was  not  diminished  when  a 
sallow  gentleman  with  long  dark  hair  came  out, 
and  told  a  boy  to  run  home  to  his  lodgings  and 
bring  down  hia  broad-sword.  Mr.  Pinch  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot  on  hearing  this,  and  might 
have  stood  tJiere  until  dark,  but  that  the  old  ca- 
thedral bell  began  to  ring  for  vesper  service,  on 
wiiich  he  tore  himself  away. 

Now,  the  organist's  assistant  was  a  friend  of 
Mr.  Pinch's,  which  was  a  good  thing,  for  he  too 
was  a  very  quiet,  gentle  soul,  and  had  been,  like 
Tom,  a  kind  of  old-fashioned  boy  at  school, 
though  well-liked  by  the  noisy  fellows  too.  As 
good  luck  would  have  it  (Tom  always  said  he  had 
great  good  luck)  the  assistant  chanced  that  very 
afternoon  to  be  on  duty  by  himself,  with  no  one 
in  the  dusty  organ-loft  but  Tom :  so  while  he 
played,  Tom  helped  him  with  the  stops ;  and 
finally,  the  service  being  just  over,  Tom  took  the 
organ  himself.  It  was  then  turning  dark,  and 
the  yellow  light  that  streamed  in  through  the  an- 
cient windows  in  the  choir  was  mingled  with  a 
murky  red.  As  the  grand  tones  resounded 
through  the  church,  they  seemed  to  Tom,  to  find 
an  echo  in  the  depth  of  every  ancient  tomb,  no 
less  than  in  the  deep  mystery  of  his  own  heart. 
Great  thoughts  and  hopes  came  crowding  on  his 
mind  as  the  rich  music  re. led  upon  the  air,  and 
yet  among  them — something  more  grave  and 
solemn  in  their  purpose,  but  the  same — were  all 
the  images  of  that  day,  down  to  its  very  lightest 
recollection  of  childhood.  The  feeling  that  the 
sounds  awakened,  in  the  moment  of  their  exist- 
ence, seemed  to  include  his  whole  life  and  being  ; 
and  as  the  surrounding  realities  of  stone  and  wood 
and  glass  grew  dimmer  in  the  darkness,  these 
visions  grew  bo  much  the  brighter  that  Tom 
might  have  forgotten  the  new  pupil  and  the  ex- 
pectant master,  and  have  sat  there  pouring  out 
his  grateful  heart  till  midnight,  but  for  a  very 
earthy  old  verger  insisting  on  locking  up  the  ca- 
thedral forthwith.  So  he  took  leave  of  his  friend, 
with  many  thanks,  groped  his  way  out,  as  well 
as  he  could,  into  the  now  lamp-lighted  streets, 
and  hurried  off  to  get  liis  dinner. 

All  the  farmers  being  by  this  time  jogging 
liomewards,  there  was  nobody  in  the  sanded  par- 
lour of  the  tavern  where  he  had  left  the  horse ; 
"o  ho  had  his  little  table  drawn  out  close  before 
(tie  fire,  and  fell  to  work  upon  a  well-cooked  steak 
und  sriK)kitig  hot  potatoes,  with  a  strong  appre- 
niatior.  of  their  excellence,  and  a  very  keen  sense 


of  enjoyment.  Beside  him,  too,  there  stood  d 
jug  of  most  stupendous  Wiltshire  beer  ;  and  the 
effect  of  the  whole  was  so  transcendent,  that  he 
was  obliged  every  now  and  then  to  lay  down 
his  knife  and  fork,  rub  his  hands,  and  think 
about  it.  By  the  time  the  cliecse  and  celery 
came,  Mr.  Pinch  had  taken  a  book  out  of  hie 
pocket,  and  could  afford  to  trifle  with  tlie  viands; 
now  eating  a  little,  now  drinking  a  little,  now 
reading  a  little,  and  now  stoppuig  to  wonder 
what  sort  of  a  young  man  the  new  pupil  wou'd 
turn  out  to  be.  He  had  passed  from  this  latter 
theme  and  was  deep  in  his  book  again,  when  the 
door  opened,  and  another  guest  came  in,  bringing 
with  him  such  a  quantity  of  cold  air,  that  he  po- 
sitively seemed  at  first  to  put  the  fire  out. 

"Very  hard  frost  to-night,  sir,"  said  the  new 
comer,  courteously  acknowledging  Mr.  Pinch's 
withdrawal  of  the  little  table,  that  he  might  have 
place.     Don't  disturb  yourself,  I  beg." 

Though  he  said  this  with  a  vast  amount  of 
consideration  for  Mr.  Pinch's  comfort,  he  dragged 
one  of  the  great  leather-bottomed  chairs  to  tlie 
very  centre  of  the  hearth,  notwithstanding ;  and 
sat  down  in  front  of  the  fire,  with  a  foot  on  each  hob. 

"  My  feet  are  quite  numbed.  Ah  !  Bitter  cold 
to  be  sure." 

"  You  have  been  in  the  air  some  considerable 
time,  I  dare  say  ?"  said  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  All  day.     Outside  a  coach,  too." 

"  That  accounts  for  his  making  the  rot»m  so 
cool,"  thought  Mr.  Pinch.  "  Poor  fellow !  How 
thoroughly  chilled  he  must  be  I" 

The  stranger  became  thoughtful,  likewise,  and 
sat  for  five  or  ten  minutes  looking  at  the  fire  in 
silence.  At  length  he  rose  and  divested  himself 
of  his  shawl  and  great-coat,  which  (far  different 
from  Mr.  Pinch's)  was  a  very  warm  and  thick 
one  ;  but  he  was  not  a  whit  more  conversational 
out  of  his  great-coat  than  in  it,  for  he  sat  down 
again  in  the  same  place  and  attitude,  and  leaning 
back  in  his  chair,  ''I'gan  to  bite  his  nails.  H« 
was  young — one-!.i  twenty,  perhaps — and  hand 
some;  with  a  keen  irk  eye,  and  a  quickness  of 
look  and  manner  wlmh  made  Tom  sensible  of  a 
great  contrast  in  liis  own  bearing,  and  caused 
bim  to  feel  even  more  shy  than  usual. 

There  was  a  clock  in  the  room,  which  the 
stranger  often  turned  to  look  at.  Tom  made 
frequent  reference  to  it  also :  partly  from  a  ner- 
vous sympathy  with  his  taciturn  companion ;  and 
partly  because  the  new  pupil  was  to  inquire  for 
him  at  half  after  six,  and  the  hands  were  getting 
on  towards  that  hour.  Whenever  the  stranger 
caught  him  looking  at  this  clock,  a  kind  of  con 
fusion  came  upon  Tom  as  if  he  had  been  found 
out  in  something ;  and  it  was  a  perception  of  his 
uneasiness  which  caused  theyounger  jnan  to  say, 
perhaps,  with  a  smile: 

"  We  both  appear  to  be  rather  particular  about 
the  time.  The  fact  is,  I  have  an  engagement  to 
meet  a  gentleman  here." 

"So  have  I,"  said  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  At  half-past  six,"  said  the  stranger. 

"  At  half-past  six,"  said  Tom  in  the  very  same 
breath  ;  whereupon  the  otiier  looked  at  him  with 
some  surprise. 

"  T])e  young  gentleman,  I  expect,"  remarkfd 
Tom,  timidly,  "  was  to  inquire  at  that  time  for  a 
person  of  the  name  of  Pinch." 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


37 


"  Dear  me  I"  cried  the  other,  jumping  up.  "And 
I  have  bee..  Ateping  the  fire  from  you  all  this 
while  !  I  had  no  idea  you  were  Mr.  Pinch.  I  am 
the  Mr.  Martin  for  wiiom  you  were  to  inquire. 
Pray  excuse  me.  How  do  you  do?  Oh,  do  draw 
nearer,  pray  !" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Tom,  "  thank  you.  I  am 
not  at  all  cold;  and  you  are;  and  we  have  a  cold 
ride  before  us.  Well,  if  you  wish  it,  I  will.  I — I 
am  very  glad,"  said  Tom,  smiling  with  an  em- 
barrassed frankness  peculiarly  his,  and  which  was 
as  plainly  a  confession  of  his  own  imperfections, 
and  an  appeal  to  the  kindness  of  the  person  he 
addressed,  as  if  he  had  drawn  one  up  in  simple 
language  and  committed  it  to  paper  :  "  I  am  very 
glad  indeed  that  you  turn  out  to  be  the  party  I 
expected.  I  was  thinking,  but  a  minute  ago,  that 
I  could  wish  him  to  be  like  you." 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,"  returned  Martin, 
shaking  hands  with  him  again  ;  "  for  I  assure  you, 
I  was  thinking  there  could  be  no  such  luck  as  Mr. 
Pinch's  turning  out  like  you." 

"  No,  really  I"  said  Tom,  with  great  pleasure. 
"  Are  you  serious  ?" 

"  Upon  my  word  I  am,"  replied  his  new  ac- 
quaintance. "  You  and  1  will  get  on  excellently 
well,  I  know  :  which  it's  no  small  relief  to  me  to 
feel,  for  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  am  not  at  all  the 
sort  of  fellow  who  could  get  on  with  everybody, 
and  that's  the  point  on  which  I  had  the  greatest 
doubts.  But  they're  quite  relieved  now. — Do  me 
the  favour  to  ring  the  bell,  will  you  ?" 

Mr.  Pinch  rose,  and  complied  with  great  alac- 
rity— the  handle  hung  just  over  Martin's  head,  as 
he  warmed  himself — and  listened  with  a  smiling 
face  to  what  his  friend  went  on  to  say.     It  was  : 

"  If  you  like  punch,  you'll  allow  me  to  order  a 
glass  a-piece,  as  hot  as  it  can  be  made,  that  we 
may  usher  in  our  friendship  in  a  becoming  man- 
ner. To  let  you  into  a  secret,  Mr.  Pinch,  I  never 
was  so  much  in  want  of  something  warm  and 
cheering  in  my  life ;  but  I  didn't  like  to  run  the 
chance  of  being  found  drinking  it,  without  know- 
ing what  kind  of  person  you  were ;  for  first  im- 
pressions, you  know,  often  go  a  long  way,  and 
last  a  long  lime." 

Mr.  Pinch  assented,  and  the  punch  was  ordered. 
In  due  course  it  came :  hot  and  strong.  After 
drinking  to  each  other  in  the  steaming  mixture, 
they  became  quite  confidential. 

"  I'm  a  sort  of  relation  of  Pecksniff's,  you 
know,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Indeed  !"  cried  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  Yes.  My  grandfather  is  his  cousin,  so  he's 
kith  and  kin  to  me,  somehow,  if  you  can  make 
that  out.     /  can't." 

"  Then  Martin  is  your  Christian  name  ?"  said 
Mr.  Pinch,  thoughtfully.     "  Oh  !" 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  returned  his  friend  :  "  I  wish 
it  was  my  surname,  for  my  own  is  not  a  very 
pretty  one,  and  it  takes  a  long  time  to  sign. 
Chu7zlewit  is  my  name." 

"  Dear  me  !"  cried  Mr.  Pinch,  with  an  involun- 
tary start. 

"You're  not  surprised  at  my  having  two  names, 
Isuppose?"  returned  the  other,  setting  his  glass 
to  his  lips.     "  Most  people  have." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "not  at  all.  Oh  dear 
no !  Well !"  And  then  remembering  that  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  p'-'vately  cautioned  him  to  say  no- 


I  thing  in  reference  to  the  old  gentleman  of  the 
same  name  who  had  lodged  at  the  Dragon,  but  to 
reserve  all  mention  of  that  person  for  him,  he  had 
no  better  means  of  hiding  his  confusion,  than  by 
raising  his  own  glass  to  his  mouth.  They  hrf)ked 
at  each  other  out  of  their  respective  tumblers  for  a 
few  seconds,  and  then  put  them,  down  empty. 

"  I  told  them  in  the  stable  to  be  ready  tor  us  ten 
minutes  ago,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  glancing  at  the 
clock  again.     "  Shall  we  go  ?" 

"  If  you  please,"  returned  the  other. 

"  Would  you  like  to  drive  /"  said  Mr.  Pinch  ; 
his  whole  face  beaming  with  a  consciousness  oftho 
splendour  of  his  offer.     "  You  shall,  if  you  wish." 

"  Why,  that  depends,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Martin, 
laughing,  "upon  what  sort  of  horse  you  have. 
Because  if  he's  a  bad  one,  I  would  rather  keep 
my  hands  warm  by  holding  them  comfortably  in 
my  great-coat  pockets." 

He  appeared  to  think  this  such  a  good  joke, 
that  Mr.  Pinch  was  quite  sure  it  must  be  a  capital 
one.  Accordingly,  he  laughed  too,  and  was  fully 
persuaded  that  he  enjoyed  it  very  much.  Thtu 
he  settled  his  bill,  and  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  paid  for  the 
punch ;  and  having  wrapped  themselves  up,  to  the 
extent  of  their  respective  means,  they  went  out 
together  to  the  front  door,  where  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
property  stopped  the  way. 

"  I  won't  drive,  thanlc  you,  Mr  Pinch,"  said 
Martin,  getting  into  the  sitter's  plice.  "  By  the 
bye,  there's  a  box  of  mine.  Can  we  mauage  to 
take  it?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Tom.  "  Put  it  in,  Dick, 
anywhere !" 

It  was  not  precisely  of  that  convenient  size 
which  would  admit  of  its  being  squeezed  into  any 
odd  corner,  but  Dick  the  hostler  got  it  in  some- 
how,  and  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  helped  him.  It  was  all 
on  Mr.  Pinch's  side,  and  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  said  lie 
was  very  much  afraid  it  would  encumber  him  ;  to 
which  Tom  said,  "Not  at  all;"  though  it  forced 
him  into  such  an  awkward  position,  that  he  had 
much  ado  to  see  anything  but  his  own  knees.  But 
it  is  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good ;  and 
the  wisdom  of  the  saying  was  verified  in  this  in- 
stance ;  for  the  cold  air  came  from  Mr.  Pinch's 
side  of  the  carriage,  and  by  interposing  a  perfect 
wall  of  box  and  man  between  it  and  the  new 
pupil,  he  shielded  that  young  gentleman  effecv 
tually  :  which  was  a  great  comfort. 

It  was  a  clear  evening,  with  a  bright  moon. 
The  whole  landscape  was  silvered  by  its  light  and 
by  the  hoar-frost;  and  everything  looked  exquj. 
sitely  beautiful.  At  first,  the  great  serenity  ana 
peace  through  which  they  travelled,  disposed  them 
both  to  silence  ;  but  in  a  very  short  time  the  puntn 
within  them  and  the  healthful  air  without,  made 
them  loquacious,  and  they  talked  incessantly. 
When  they  were  half-way  home,  and  stopped  to 
give  the  horse  some  water,  Martin  (who  was  very 
generous  with  his  money)  ordered  another  glass 
of  punch,  which  they  drank  between  tliein,  ana 
which  had  not  the  effect  of  making  them  less  coii 
versational  than  before.  Their  principal  topic  ot 
discourse  was  naturally  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  his 
family  ;  of  whom,  and  of  the  great  obligations  tliey 
had  heaped  upon  him,  Tom  Pinch,  with  the  tears 
standing  in  his  eyes,  drew  such  a  picture,  an 
would  have  inclined  any  one  of  common  feeling 
almost  to  revere  them  :  and  of  which  Mr.  Pec*" 


38 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


sniff  had  not  the  slightest  foresio;ht  or  precon- 
ceived idea,  or  lie  certainly  (being  very  humble) 
woidd  not  have  sent  Tom  I'iii-ch  to  bring  the  pupil 
lioiiie. 

In  this  way  they  went  on,  and  on,  and  on — in 
the  language  of  the  story-books — until  at  last  the 
village  lights  appeared  before  them,  and  the  church 
5pire  cast  a  long  reflection  on  the  grave-yard  grass  : 
as  if  it  were  a  dial  (alas,  the  truest  in  the  world  !) 
marking,  whatever  light  shone  out  of  Heaven,  the 
flight  of  days  and  weeks  and  years,  by  some  new 
shadow  on  that  solemn  ground. 

"A  pretty  church  1"  said  Martin,  observing  that 
his  companion  slackened  the  slack  pace  of  the 
horse,  as  they  approached. 

"Is  it  not?"  cried  Tom,  with  great  pride. 
There  's  the  sweetest  little  organ  there  you  ever 
heard.     I  play  it  for  them." 

"  Indeed  ?"  said  Martin.  "  It  is  hardly  worth 
the  trouble,  I  should  think.  What  do  you  get  for 
that,  now  ?" 

"Notiiing,"  answered  Tom. 

"  Well,"  returned  nis  friend,  "  you  are  a  very 
strange  fellow  I" 

To  which  remark  there  succeeded  a  brief  si- 
lence. 

"When  I  say  nothing,"  observed  Mr,  Pinch, 
cheerfully,  "  I  am  wrong,  and  don't  say  what  I 
mean,  because  I  get  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  from 
it,  and  the  means  of  passing  some  of  the  happiest 
hours  I  know.  It  led  to  something  else  the  other 
day — but  you  will  not  care  to  hear  about  that,  I 
^are  say  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  shall.     What?" 

"  It  led  to  my  seeing,"  said  Tom,  in  a  lower 
Voice,  "  one  of  the  loveliest  and  most  beautiful 
Tdces  you  can  possibly  picture  to  yourself" 

"  And  yet  I  am  able  to  picture  a  beautiful  one," 
said  his  friend,  thoughtfully,  "  or  should  be,  if  I 
have  any  memory." 

"She  came,"  said  Tom,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  other's  arm,  "  for  the  first  time,  very  early  in 
the  morning,  when  it  was  hardly  light;  and  when 
I  saw  her,  over  my  shoulder,  standing  just  within 
the  porch,  I  turned  quite  cold,  almost  believing 
her  to  be  a  spirit.  A  moment's  reflection  got  tiie 
better  of  that,  of  course,  and  ''ortunately  it  came  to 
my  relief  so  soon,  that  I  didn't  leave  off  playing." 

"  Why  fortunately  ?" 

"  Why  ?  Because  she  stood  there,  listening. 
I  had  niy  spectacles  on,  and  saw  her  through  the 
chinks  in  the  curtains  as  plainly  as  I  see  you ; 
and  she  was  beautiful.  After  a  while  slie  glided 
off,  and  I  continued  to  play  until  she  was  out  of 
hearing." 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?" 

"  Don't  you  see  ?"  responded  Tom,  "  Because 
she  might  suppose  I  hadn't  seen  her,  and  might 
return." 

"And  did  she?" 

"Certainly  she  did.  Next  morning,  and  next 
evening,  too :  but  always  when  there  was  no  peo- 
ple about,  and  always  alone.  I  rose  earlier  and 
Bat  there  hitor,  that  when  she  came,  she  might 
find  the  church  door  open,  and  the  organ  playing, 
and  might  not  be  disappointed.  She  strolled  that 
Way  for  some  days,  and  always  staid  to  listen. 
But  she  is  gone  now,  and  of  all  unlikely  things  in 
(his  wide  world,  it  is  perhaps  the  most  improbable 
that  I  shall  ever  look  upon  her  face  again." 


"  You  don't  know  anything  more  about  her  7' 

"  No." 

"  And  you  never  followed  her,  when  she  went 
away  ?" 

"Why  should  I  distress  her  by  doing  that?" 
said  Tom  Pinch.  "  Is  it  likely  that  she  wanted 
my  company  ?  She  came  to  hear  the  organ,  not 
to  see  me ;  and  would  you  have  had  me  scare  he? 
from  a  place  she  seemed  to  grow  quite  fond  of/ 
Now,  Heaven  bless  her  I"  cried  Tom,  "  to  have 
given  her  but  a  minute's  pleasure  every  day,  I 
would  have  gone  on  playing  the  organ  at  those 
times  until  I  was  an  old  man  :  quite  contented  if 
she  sometimes  thought  of  a  poor  I'ellow  like  me, 
as  a  part  of  the  music;  and  more  than  recom- 
pensed  if  she  ever  mixed  n)e  up  with  anything 
she  liked  as  well  as  she  liked  that !" 

The  new  pupil  was  clearly  very  much  amazed 
by  Mr.  Pinch's  weakness,  and  would  probably 
have  told  him  so,  and  given  him  some  good  ad- 
vice, but  for  their  opportune  arrival  at  Air.  Peck- 
sniff's door  :  the  front  door  this  time,  on  account 
of  the  occasion  being  one  of  ceremony  and  rejoic- 
ing. The  same  man  was  in  waiting  for  ttre  horse 
who  had  been  adjured  by  Mr.  Pinch  in  the  morn- 
ing not  to  yield  to  his  rabid  desire  to  start;  and 
after  delivering  the  animal  into  his  charge,  and 
beseeching  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  in  a  whisper  never  to 
reveal  a  syllable  of  what  he  had  just  told  him  in 
the  fulnecs  of  his  heart,  Tom  led  the  pupil  in,  for 
iiistant  presentation. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had  clearly  not  expected  them  for 
hours  to  come :  for  he  was  surrounded  by  open 
books,  and  was  glancing  from  volume  to  volume, 
with  a  black  lead-pencil  in  his  mouth,  and  a  pair 
of  compasses  in  his  hand,  at  a  vast  number  of 
mathematical  diagrams,  of  such  extraordinary 
shapes  that  they  looked  like  designs  for  fireworks. 
Neither  had  Miss  Charity  expected  them,  tor  she 
was  busied,  with  a  capacious  wicker  basket  before 
her,  in  making  impracticable  nightcaps  for  the 
poor.  Neither  had  Miss  Mercy  expected  them, 
for  she  was  sitting  upon  her  stool,  tying  on  the — 
oh,  good  gracious  I — the  petticoat  of  a  large  doll 
that  she  was  dressing  for  a  neighbour's  child: 
really,  quite  a  grown-up  doll,  which  made  it  more 
confusing:  and  had  its  little  bonnet  dangling  by 
the  riband  from  one  of  her  fair  curls,  to  which  she 
had  fastened  it,  lest  it  should  be  lost,  or  sat  upon. 
It  would  be  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  to  conceive 
a  fiiinily  so  thoroughly  taken  by  surprise  as  the 
Pecksniffs  were,  on  this  occasion. 

"Bless  my  life!"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  looking 
up,  and  gradually  exchanging  his  abstracted  face 
for  one  of  joyful  recognition,  "  Here  already  '. 
Martin,  my  dear  boy,  I  am  delighted  to  welcome 
you  to  my  poor  house !" 

With  this  kind  greeting,  Mr.  Pecksniff  fairly 
took  him  to  his  arms,  and  patted  hirn  several  times 
upon  the  back  with  his  right  hand  the  while,  as 
if  to  express  that  his  feelings  during  the  embrace 
were  too  much  for  utterance. 

"  But  here,"  he  said,  recovering, "  are  my  daugh- 
ters, Martin  :  my  two  only  children,  \\  hoin  (if  you 
ever  saw  them)  you  have  not  beheld — ah,  these 
sad  family  divisions! — since  you  were  infants  to- 
gether. Nay,  my  deais,  why  blush  at  being  de 
tected  in  your  cvcry-day  pursuits?  We  had  pre 
pared  to  give  you  the  reception  of  a  visitor.  Mar 
tin,  in  our  lillle  room  of  stale,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 


MARTIN    C  MUZZLE  WIT. 


sv 


snifT,  S5rniluig,  "  but  I  like  this  better — I  like  tins 
better  I" 

Oil,  blessed  star  of  Innocence,  wherever  you 
may  be,  how  did  you  jflitter  in  your  home  of 
ether,  when  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs  put  forth, 
each  her  lily  hand,  and  g-ave  the  same,  with 
mantling-  cheeks,  to  Martin !  How  did  you 
twinkle,  as  if  flntteriny  with  sympathy,  when 
Mercy,  reminded  of  the  bonnet  in  her  hair,  hid 
her  fair  face  and  turned  her  head  aside :  the 
while  her  gentle  sister  plucked  it  out,  and  smote 
her,  with  a  sister's  sotl  reproof,  upon  her  buxom 
shoulder ! 

"  And  how,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  turning  round 
after  the  contemplation  of  these  passages,  and 
taking  Mr.  Pinch  in  a  friendly  manner  by  the 
elbow,  "  how  has  our  friend  here  used  you,  Mar- 
tin .'" 

"  Very  well,  indeed,  sir.  We  are  on  the  best 
terms,  I  assure  you." 

"Old  Tom  Pinch  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  looking- 
on  him  with  affectionate  sadness.  "  Ah  '.  It  seems 
b'Jt  yesterday  that  Thomas  was  a  boy,  fresh  from 
a  scholastic  course.  Yet  years  have  passed,  I 
think,  since  Thomas  Pinch  and  I  first  walked 
the  world  together !" 

Mr.  Pinch  could  say  nothing-.  He  was  too 
much  moved.  But  he  pressed  his  master's  hand, 
and  tried  to  thank  him. 

"  And  Thomas  Pinch  and  I,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, in  a  deeper  voice,  "  will  walk  it  yet,  in 
mutual  faithfulness  and  friendship !  And  if  it 
comes  to  pass  that  either  of  us  be  run  over,  in 
any  of  those  busy  crossings  which  divide  the 
streets  of  life,  the  other  will  convey  him  to  the 
hospital  in  Hope,  and  sit  beside  his  bed  in 
Bounty  !" 

"  Well,  well,  well !"  he  added,  in  a  happier 
tone,  as  he  shook  Mr.  Pinch's  elbow,  hard.  "No 
more  of  this !  Martin,  my  dear  friend,  that  you 
may  be  at  home  within  these  walls,  let  me  show 
you  how  we  live,  and  where.     Come !" 

With  that  he  took  up  a  lighted  candle,  and, 
attended  by  his  young  relative,  prepared  to  leave 
the  room.     At  the  door,  he  stopped. 

"  You  '11  bear  us  company,  Tom  Pinch  ?" 
I       Ay,  cheerfully,  though  it  had  been  to  death, 
would  Tom  have  followed  him  :  glad  to  lay  down 
his  life  for  such  a  man  ! 

"  This,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  opening-  the  door 
of  an  opposite  parlour,  "is  the  little  room  of  state, 
I  mentioned  to  you.  My  girls  have  pride  in  it, 
Martin !  Tliis,"  opening  another  door,  "  is  the 
little  cliamber  in  which  my  works  (slight  things 
at  best)  have  been  concocted.  Portrait  of  my- 
self by  Spiller.  Bust  by  Spoker.  The  latter  is 
Considered  a  good  likeness.  I  seem  to  recognise 
soniething  about  the  left-hand  corner  of  the  nose, 
myself" 

Martin  thought  it  was  very  like,  but  scarcely 
intellectual  enough.  Mr,  Pecksniff  observed  that 
the  same  fault  had  been  found  with  it  before.  It 
was  remarkable  it  should  have  struck  his  young 
relation  too.  He  was  glad  to  see  he  had  an  eye 
'  for  art. 

"  Various  books  you  observe,''  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, waving  his  hand  towards  the  wall,  "  con- 
nected with  our  pursuit.  I  have  scribbled  my- 
seli,  but  have  not  yet  published.  Be  careful  how 
you  come  up  stairs.  This,"  opening  another 
dour,  "  is    my  chamber.     I  read  nere  when  the 


fimily  suppose  I  have  retired  to  rest.  SonictiMie.i 
I  injure  my  liealtli,  rather  more  than  I  cm  qniie 
justify  to  myself,  by  doing  so;  but  art  is  l^uii 
and  time  is  short.  Every  facility  you  see  toi 
jottingf  down  crude  notions,  even  here." 

These  latter  words  were  explained  by  his  point- 
ing to  a  small  round  table  on  which  were  a  lamp, 
divers  sheets  of  paper,  a  piece  of  India-rubb(  r, 
and  a  case  of  instruments:  all  put  ready,  in  ca.-o 
an  architectural  idea  should  come  into  Mr.  Peck- 
snift"'s  head  in  the  night ;  in  which  event  lie  would 
instantly  leap  out  of  bed,  and  fix  it  for  ever. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  opened  another  door  on  the  same 
floor,  and  shut  it  again,  all  at  once,  as  if  it  were 
a  Blue  Chamber.  But  before  he  had  well  done 
so,  he  looked  smilingly  round,  and  said,  "  Why 
not?" 

Martin  couldn't  say  why  not,  because  he  didn't 
know  anything  at  all  about  it.  So  Mr.  Pecksniff 
answered  himself,  by  throwing  open  the  door,  and 
saying: 

"  My  daughters'  room.  A  poor  first-floor  to 
us,  but  a  bower  to  them.  Very  neat.  Very  airy. 
Plants  you  observe ;  hyacinths ;  books  again ; 
birds."  These  birds,  by  the  bye,  comprised  in 
all  one  staggering  old  sparrow  without  a  tail, 
which  had  been  borrowed  expressly  from  the 
kitchen.  "Such  trifles  as  girls  love,  are  here. 
Nothing  more.  Those  who  seek  heartless  splen 
dour,  would  seek  here  in  vain." 

With  that  he  led  them  to  the  floor  above. 

"This,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  throwing  wide  the 
door  of  the  memorable  two-pair  front ;  "  is  a  room 
where  some  talent  has  been  developed,  I  believe. 
This  is  a  room  in  which  an  idea  for  a  slce})le 
occurred  to  me,  that  I  may  one  day  give  to  the 
world.  We  work  here,  my  dear  Martin.  Some 
architects  have  been  bred  in  this  room  :  —  a  few, 
I  think,  Mr.  Pinch?" 

Tom  fully  assented ;  and,  what  is  more,  fully 
believed  it. 

"  You  see,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  passing-  tlie 
candle  rapidly  from  roll  to  roll  of  paper,  "  some 
traces  of  our  doings  here.  Salisbury  Cathedra! 
from  the  north.  From  the  south.  From  the  east. 
From  the  west.  From  the  south-east.  From  the 
nor'-west.  A  bridge.  An  alms-house.  A  jail 
A  church.  A  powder-magazine.  A  wine-cellar 
A  portico.  A  summer-house.  An  ice-house 
Plans,  elevations,  sections,  every  kind  of  thing. 
And  this,"  he  added,  having  by  this  time  reached 
another  large  chamber  on  the  same  story  with 
fl)ur  little  beds  in  it,  "  this  is  your  room,  of  which 
Mr.  Pinch  here,  is  the  quiet  sharer.  A  southern 
aspect;  a  charming  prospect;  Mr.  Pincn  s  little 
library,  you  perceive;  everything  agr; cable  and 
appropriate.  If  there  is  any  additional  comfort 
you  would  desire  to  have  here  at  any  time,  pray 
mention  it.  Even  to  strangers — fir  less  to  you, 
my  dear  Martin — there  is  no  restriction  on  that 
point." 

It  was  undoubtedly  true,  and  may  be  stated  m 
corroboration  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  that  any  pupil 
had  the  most  liberal  permission  to  mention  any 
thing  in  this  way  that  suggested  itself  to  his 
fancy.  Some  young  gentlemen  had  gone  on  men 
tioning  the  very  same  thing  for  five  years  without 
ever  being  stopped. 

"  ']"he  duaiestio  assistants,"  said  Mr.  Peck 
sniff,  "  sleep  above  ;  nnd  that  is  all."  After  whicti 
and  listening  complacently  as  he  went,  to  me  er 


40 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


iMmiums  passed  by  his  young-  friend  on  the  ar- 
riuigenitnts  generally,  he  led  the  way  to  the 
Diirlour  agHiii. 

Here  a  grc;it  change  had  taken  place  ;  for  fes- 
tive preparations  on  a  rather  extensive  scale  were 
already  completed,  and  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs 
v\ere  awaiting  their  return  with  hospitable  looks. 
T  liere  were  two  bottles  of  currant  wine — white 
and  red  ;  a  dish  of  sandwiches  (very  long  and  very 
slim);  another  of  apples;  another  of  captains' 
biscuits  (which  are  always  a  moist  and  jovial  sort 
of  viand) ;  a  plate  of  oranges  cut  up  small  and 
gritty  ;  with  powdered  sugar,  and  a  highly  geolo- 
gical home-made  cake.  The  magnitude  of  these 
preparatiotis  quite  took  away  Tom  Pinch's  breath  : 
f(>r  thougli  the  new  pupils  were  usually  let  down 
stiftly,  as  one  may  say,  particularly  in  the  wine 
department,  which  had  so  many  stages  of  declen- 
sion, that  sometimes  a  young  gentleman  was  a 
whole  fortnight  in  getting  to  the  pump;  still  this 
was  a  banquet:  a  sort  of  Lord  Mayor's  feast  in 
private  life  :  a  something  to  think  of,  and  hold  on 
by,  afterwards. 

To  this  entertainment,  which,  apart  from  its 
own  intrinsic  merits,  had  the  additional  choice 
quality  that  it  was  in  strict  keeping  with  the  night, 
being  botli  light  and  cool,  Mr.  Pecksniff  besought 
the  company  to  do  full  justice. 

"Martin,"  he  said,  "  will  seat  himself  between 
you  two,  my  dears,  and  Mr.  Pinch  will  come  by 
me.  Let  us  dri)ik  to  our  new  inmate,  and  may 
we  be  happy  fog<thcr!  Martin,  my  dear  friend, 
my  love  to  you!  Mr.  Pinch,  if  you  spare  the 
bottle  we  shall  quarrel." 

And  trying  (in  his  regard  for  the  feelings  of 
the  rest)  to  look  as  if  the  wine  were  not  acid  and 
didn't  make  him  wink,  Mr.  Pecksniff  did  honour 
to  his  own  toast. 

"This,"  he  said,  in  allusion  to  the  party,  not 
the  wine,  "  is  a  mingling  that  repays  one  for  nmch 
'disappointment  and  vexation.  Let  us  be  merry." 
Here  he  took  a  captain's  biscuit.  "It  is  a  poor 
heart  that  never  rejoices  ;  and  our  hearts  are  not 
poor  ?     No  I" 

With  such  stimulants  to  merriment  did  he  be- 
guile the  time,  and  do  the  honours  of  the  table; 
while  Mr.  Pinch,  perhaps  to  assure  himself  that 
what  he  saw  and  heard  was  holiday  reality,  and 
not  a  charming  dream,  ate  of  everything,  and  in 
particular  disposed  of  the  slim  sandwiches  to  a 
surprising  exfent.  Nor  was  he  stinted  in  his 
drauglits  of  wine  ;  but  on  the  contrary,  remem- 
bering Mr.  Pecksniff's  spec  eh,  attacl^ed  tfie  bottle 
with  such  vigour,  that  every  time  he  filled  his  glass 
anew,  Miss  Charity,  despite  licr  amiaiile  resolves, 
could  not  repress  a  fi,\ed  and  stony  glare,  as  if  her 
eyes  had  rested  on  a  ghost.  Mr.  Pecksniff  also 
became  thoughtful  at  those  moments,  not  to  say 
dejected  :  but,  as  he  km  w  the  vintage,  it  is  very 
likely  he  may  have  been  speculatiui:  on  llie  proba- 
ble condition  of  Mr.  Pinr-li  upon  the  morrow,  and 
discussing  within  liimsi  If  the  lust  remedies  for 
colic. 

Martin  and  the  young  ladles  were  excellent 
friends  already,  and  compared  recollections  of 
,;ieii  ehildish  days,  to  their  inulual  liveliness  and 
entertainment.  Miss  Mrrcy  lauf^hed  immensely 
at  everything  that  was  siid;  and  sonutliiies,  alter 
ijiancing  at  the  hippy  face  of  Mr.  Pinch,  was 
•iei/cd  with  such  fits  of  niirlh  as  hrouirhl  her  to 
«ne    ver)    confines    o/'  hysterics.      Put,    for    these 


bursts  of  eaiety,  her  sister,  in  her  better  sense, 
reproved  her;  observing,  in  an  angry  whisjiei, 
that  it  was  far  from  being  a  theme  for  jest;  ana 
that  she  had  no  patience  with  the  creature  ;  thougn 
it  generally  ended  in  her  laughing  too — but  mucn 
more  moderateh- — and  saying,  that  indeed  it  waii 
a  little  too  ridiculous  and  intolerable  to  be  serious 
about. 

At  length  it  became  high  time  to  remember  the 
first  clause  of  that  great  discovery  made  by  the 
ancient  philosopher,  tor  securing  health,  riches, 
and  wisdom  ;  the  infallibility  of  which  has  been 
for  generations  verified  by  the  enormous  fortunes, 
constantly  amassed  b}'  chimney-sweepers  and 
other  persons  who  get  up  early  and  go  to  bed  be- 
times. The  young  ladies  aciordingly  rose,  and 
having  taken  leave  of  Mr.  Cliuzzlewit  with  much 
sweetness,  and  of  their  father  with  much  duty, 
and  of  Mr.  Pinch  with  much  condescension,  re- 
tired to  their  bovver,  Mr.  Pecksniff  insisted  on 
accompanying  his  j'oung  friend  up-stairs,  for  per 
sonal  superintendence  of  his  comlbrts;  and  taking 
him  by  the  arm,  conducted  him  once  more  to  his 
bedroom,  followed  by  Mr.  Pinch,  who  bore  the 
light. 

"  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Pecksniff,  seating  himself 
with  folded  arms  on  one  of  the  spare  beds.  "I 
don't  see  any  snuffers  in  that  candlestick,  will 
you  oblige  me  by  going  down,  and  asking  for  a 
piur  ?" 

Mr.  Pinch,  only  too  happy  to  be  useful,  went 
off  directly. 

"  You  will  excuse  Thomas  Pinch's  want  of  pol 
ish,  Martin,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  a  smile  of 
patronage  and  pity,  as  soon  as  he  had  left  tlic 
room.     "  He  means  well." 

"He  is  a  very  good  fellow,  sir." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  "Yes.  Tho- 
mas  Pinch  means  well.  He  is  very  grateful.  ] 
have  never  regretted  having  befriended  Thomas 
Pinch." 

"  I  should  think  you  never  would,  sir." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "No.  I  hope  not 
Poor  fellow,  he  is  always  disposed  to  do  iiis  best, 
but  he  is  not  gifted.  You  will  make  him  useful 
to  you,  Martin,  if  you  please.  If  Thomas  has  a 
fault,  it  is  that  he  is  sometimes  a  little  apt  to  for- 
get bis  position.  But  that  is  soon  checked.  VVor 
thy  soul !  You  will  find  him  ea.sy  to  manage 
Good  night  l"^ 

"  Good  night,  sir." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Pinch  had  returned  with  the 
snuffers. 

"  And  good  night  to  you,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said 
Pecksniff.  "  And  sound  sleep  to  you  both.  Bless 
you  !     Bless  you  !" 

Invoking  this  benediction  on  the  heads  of  his 
young  friends  with  great  lervour,  he  withdrew  fn 
his  own  room;  while  they,  being  lirid,  soon  tell 
asleep.  If  Martin  dreamed  at  all,  some  clue  to 
the  matter  of  his  visions  may  possibly  be  gathertd 
from  the  after-pages  of  this  history,  'i'hose  of 
Thomas  Pinch  were  all  of  holidays,  church  or 
gans,  and  seraphic  Pecksniffs.  It  was  some  lime 
before  Mr.  Pecksniff  dreamed  at  all,  or  even 
sought  his  pillow,  as  ho  sat  tor  full  two  hours  be- 
fore the  fire  in  his  own  chamber,  looking  at  the 
coals  and  thinking  dee|)ly.  But  be,  trK),  slept  ami 
dreamed  at  last.  Thus  in  the  quiet  hours  of  the 
night,  one  house  shuts  in  as  many  incojur.'nl  and 
incongruous  fancies  as  a  madman's  head. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


41 


CHAPTER  VI. 

COMPRISES,  AMONG  OTHER  IMPORTANT  MATTERS,  PECKSNIFFIAN  AND 
ARCHITECTURAL,  AN  EXACT  RELATION  OF  THE  PROGRESS  MADE  bV 
MR.  PINCH  IN  THE  CONFIDENCE  AND  FRIENDSHIP  OF  THE  NEW  PUPIL. 


It  was  morning  ;  and  the  beautiful  Aurora,  of 
whom  so  much  huUi  lieen  written,  said,  and  sung-, 
did,  with  her  rosy  fingers,  nip  and  tweak  Miss 
Pecksniff's  nose.  It  was  the  frolicksome  custom 
of  tlie  Goddess,  in  her  intercourse  with  the  fair 
Cherry,  so  to  do;  or  in  more  prosaic  phrase,  the 
tip  of  tliat  feature  in  the  sweet  girl's  countenance, 
was  always  very  red  at  breakfast-time.  For  the 
most  part,  indeed,  it  wore,  at  that  season  of  the 
day,  a  scraped  and  frosty  look,  as  if  it  had  been 
rasped  ;  wliile  a  similar  phenomenon  developed 
itself  in  her  humour,  which  was  then  observed  to 
be  of  a  siiarp  and  acid  quality,  hs  though  an  extra 
lemon  (figuratively  speaking)  had  been  squeezed 
into  the  nectar  of  her  disposition,  and  had  rather 
damaged  its  flavour. 

This  additional  pungency  on  the  part  of  the 
fair  young  creature  led,  on  ordinary  occasions,  to 
such  slight  consequences  as  the  copious  dilution 
of  Mr.  Pinch's  tea,  or  to  his  coming  off  uncom- 
monly short  in  respect  of  butter,  or  to  otiier  the 
like  results.  But  on  the  morning  after  the  Instal- 
lation  Banquet,  she  suffered  him  to  wander  to  and 
fro  among  tlie  eatables  and  drinkables,  a  perfectly 
free  and  unchecked  man  ;  so  utterly  to  Mr.  Pinch's 
wonder  and  confusion,  that  like  the  wretched  cap- 
tive who  recovered  his  liberty  in  his  old  age,  he 
Could  make  but  little  use  of  his  enlargement,  and 
fell  into  a  strange  kind  of  flutter  for  want  of  some 
kind  hand  to  scrape  his  bread,  and  cut  him  off  in 
the  article  of  sugar  with  a  lump,  and  pay  him 
tiiose  other  little  attentions  to  which  lie  was  accus- 
tuined.  There  was  something  almost  awful,  too, 
Tbout  the  self-possession  of  tlie  new  pupil ;  who 
"  troubled"  Mr.  Pecksniff  for  the  loaf,  and  helped 
himself  to  a  rasher  of  that  gentleman's  own  par- 
ticular and  private  bacon,  with  all  the  coolness  in 
life.  He  even  seemed  to  think  that  he  was  doing 
quite  a  regular  thing,  and  to  expect  that  Mr. 
Pinch  would  follow  his  example,  since  he  took 
occasion  to  observe  of  that  young  man  "  tliat  he 
didn't  get  on  :"  a  speech  of  so  tremendous  a  cha- 
racter, that  Tom  cast  down  his  eyes  involuntarily, 
and  felt  as  if  he  himself  had  committed  some  hor- 
rible deed  and  heinous  breach  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
confidence.  Indeed,  the  agony  of  having  such  an 
indiscreet  remark  addressed  to  him  before  the 
assembled  family,  was  breakfast  enough  in  itself, 
and  would,  without  any  other  matter  of  reflection, 
have  settled  Mr.  Pinch's  business  and  quenched 
his  appetite,  for  one  meal,  though  he  had  been 
never  so  hungry. 

The  young  ladies,  however,  and  Mr.  Pecksniff 
likewise,  remained  in  the  very  best  of  spirits  in 
spite  of  these  severe  trials,  though  with  something 
of  a  mysterious  understanding  among  themselves. 
When  the  meal  was  nearly  over,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
smilingly  explained  the  cause  of  their  common 
satisfaction. 

"  It  is  not  often,"  he  said,  "  Martin,  that  my 
daughters  and  I  desert  our  quiet  home  to  pursue 
the  giddy  round  of  pleasures  that  revolves  abroad. 
But  we  think  of  doing-  so  to-day." 

"  Indeed,  sir  1"  cried  the  new  pupil. 


"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  tapping  his  leA 
hand  with  a  letter  which  he  held  in  iiis  riijht  "  I 
have  a  summons  here  to  repair  to  London  ;  on 
prolessional  business,  my  dear  Martin;  strictly  on 
professional  business  ;  and  I  promised  my  girls, 
long  ago,  that  whenever  that  happened  agiiin,  they 
should  accompany  me.  We  shall  go  forth  to- 
night by  tlie  heavy  coach  —  like  the  dove  of  old, 
my  dear  Martin — and  it  will  be  a  week  before  we 
again  deposit  our  olive-branches  in  the  passage. 
When  I  say  olive-branches,"  observed  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, in  explanation,  "  I  mean,  our  unpretending 
luggage." 

"  I  hope  the  young  ladies  will  enjoy  their  trip,"' 
said  Martin. 

"  Oh  !  that  I  'm  sure  we  shall !"  cried  Mercy, 
clapping  her  hands.  "  Good  gracious.  Cherry,  my 
darling,  the  idea  of  London  1" 

"Ardent  child  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  gazing  on 
her  in  a  dreamy  way.  "  And  yet  tiiere  is  a  me- 
lancholy sweetness  in  these  youthful  hopes  !  It 
is  pleasant  to  know  that  they  never  can  be  realised. 
I  remember  thinking  once  myself,  in  the  days  of 
my  childhood,  that  pickled  onions  grew  on  trees, 
and  that  every  elepiiant  was  born  with  an  impreg- 
nable castle  on  his  back.  I  have  not  found  the 
fact  to  be  so ;  far  from  it ;  and  yet  those  visions 
have  comforted  me  under  circumstances  of  trial. 
Even  when  I  have  had  the  anguish  of  discovering 
that  I  have  nourished  in  my  breast  an  ostrich,  am' 
not  a  human  pupil  —  even  in  that  hour  of  agony, 
they  have  soothed  me." 

At  tills  dread  allusion  to  John  Westlock,  Mr. 
Pinch  precipitately  choked  in  his  tea;  for  he  had 
that  very  morning  received  a  letter  from  him,  as 
Mr.  Pecksniff  very  well  knew. 

"  You  will  take  care,  my  dear  Martin,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  resuiuing  his  former  cheerfulness, 
"  that  the  house  does  not  run  away  in  our  absence. 
We  leave  you  in  charge  of  everything.  Tiicre  is 
no  mystery ;  all  is  free  and  open.  Unlika  the 
young  man  in  the  Eastern  tale — who  is  described 
as  a  one-eyed  almanack,  if  I  am  not  mistaken. 
Mr.  Pinch  ?"  — 

"A  one-eyed  calender,  I  think,  sir,"  faltered  Tom, 

"  They  are  pretty  nearly  the  same  thing,  I  be- 
lieve," said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  smiling  compassion- 
ately ;  "  or  they  used  to  be  in  my  time.  Unlike 
that  j'oung  man,  my  dear  Martin,  you  are  forbid- 
den to  enter  no  corner  of  this  house  ;  but  are  re- 
quested to  make  yourself  perfectly  at  home  iu 
everv  part  of  it.  You  will  be  jovial,  my  dear 
Martin,  and  will  kill  the  fatted  calf  if  you  please  I" 

There  was  not  the  least  objection,  doubtless,  to 
the  young  man's  slaughtering  and  appropriating 
to  his  own  use  any  calf,  fat  or  lean,  that  he  might 
happen  to  find  upon  the  premises ;  but  as  no  such 
animal  chanced  at  that  time  to  be  grazing  on  Mr 
Pecksniff's  estate,  tiiis  request  must  be  considerer 
rather  as  a  polite  compliment  than  a  substantial 
hospitality.  It  was  the  finishing  ornament  of  the 
conversation  ;  for  when  he  had  delivered  it,  Mr 
Pecksniff  rose,  and  led  the  way  to  that  hotbed  uf 
architectural  genius,  the  two-pair  front. 


42 


LIFE    AND   ADVENIDRES   OF 


"Let  me  see,"  he  said,  searching  amonc-  the 
("lapers,  "  how  you  can  best  employ  yourself,  Mar- 
tin, wiiile  I  am  absent.  Suppose  yon  were  to 
g'i  ve  me  your  idea  of  a  monument  to  a  Lord  Mayor 
uf  London  ;  or  a  tomb  for  a  sheriff;  or  your  notion 
of  a  cow-house  to  be  erected  in  a  nobleman's  park. 
Do  you  know,  now,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  folding 
his  hands,  and  looking  at  his  young  relation  with 
an  air  of  pensive  interest,  "  that  I  should  very 
niucli  like  to  see  your  notion  of  a  covi'-house  ?" 

But  Martin  by  no  means  appeared  to  relish  this 
suggestion. 

"A  punip,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "is  very  chaste 
practice.  I  have  found  that  a  lamp-post  is  calcu- 
lated to  refine  the  mind  and  give  it  a  classical 
tendency.  An  ornamental  turnpike  has  a  remark- 
able effect  upon  the  imagination.  What  do  you 
say  to  beginning  with  an  ornamental  turnpike  ?" 

"  Whatever  Mr,  Pecksniff  pleased,"  said  Mar- 
tin, doubtfully. 

"Stay,"  said  that  gentleman.  "Come!  as 
you're  ambitious,  and  are  a  very  neat  draughts- 
man, you  shall — ha  ha  I — you  shall  try  your  hand 
on  these  proposals  for  a  grammar-school :  regu- 
lating your  plan,  of  course,  by  the  printed  parti- 
culars Upon  my  word,  now,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
merrily,  "  I  shall  be  very  curious  to  see  what  you 
make  of  the  grammar-school.  Who  knows  but  a 
young  man  of  your  taste  might  hit  upon  some- 
thing impracticable  and  unlikely  in  itself,  but 
which  I  could  put  into  shape  ?  For  it  really  is,  my 
dear  Martin,  it  really  is  in  the  finishing  touches 
alone,  that  great  experience  and  long  study  in 
these  matters  tell.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  New  it  really 
will  be,"  continued  Mr.  Pecksniff,  clapping  his 
young  friend  on  the  back  in  his  droll  humour, 
'•  an  amusement  to  me,  to  see  what  you  make  of 
the  griirnmar-school." 

Martin  readily  undertook  this  task,  and  Mr. 
Pecksniff  forthwith  proceeded  to  entrust  him  with 
the  materials  necessary  for  its  execution  :  dwelling 
meanwhile  on  the  magical  effect  of  a  few  finishing 
touches  from  the  hand  of  a  master  ;  which,  indeed, 
as  some  people  said,  (and  these  were  the  old  ene- 
mies again  I)  was  unquestionably  very  surprising, 
and  almost  miraculous;  as  there  were  cases  on 
record  in  which  the  master'y  introduction  of  an 
additional  back  window,  or  a  kitchen  door,  or 
half-a-dozen  steps,  or  even  a  water-spout,  had 
made  the  design  of  a  pupil  Mr.  Pecksniff's  own 
work,  and  had  brought  substantial  rewards  into 
(hat  gentleman's  pocket.  But  such  is  the  magic 
pf  genius,  which  changes  all  it  handles  into  gold  ! 

"  When  your  mind  requires  to  be  refreshed,  by 
change  of  occufintion,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  Tho- 
mas Pinch  will  instruct  you  in  the  art  of  survey- 
ing the  back  gnrden,  or  in  ascertaining  the  dead 
level  of  the  road  between  this  Ijouse  and  the  finger- 
post, or  in  any  other  practical  and  pleasing  pur- 
suit There  are  a  cart-load  of  loose  bricks,  and  a 
score  or  two  of  old  fiower-pots,  in  the  back  yard 
If  you  could  pile  them  up,  my  dear  Martin,  into 
unv  form  which  would  remind  me  on  my  return — 
pay  of  St.  Peter's  at  Rome,  or  the  Mosque  of  St. 
Sophia  at  Constantinople — it  would  be  at  once 
improving  to  you  and  agreeable  to  my  feelings. 
And  now,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  conclusion,  "  to 
drop,  for  the  pr.esent,  our  professional  relations, 
und  advert  to  private  matters,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
talk  with  you  in  my  own  room  while  I  pack  jp 
Diy  portmanteau." 


Martin  attended  him;  and  they  remained  in 
secret  conference  together  for  an  hour  or  more; 
leaving  Tom  Pinch  alone.  When  the  young  man 
returned,  he  was  very  taciturn  and  dull,  in  which 
state  he  remained  all  day ;  so  that  Tom,  after 
trying  him  once  or  twice  with  indifferent  conver- 
sation, felt  a  delicacy  in  obtruding  himself  upon 
his  thoughts,  and  said  no  more. 

He  would  not  have  had  leisure  to  say  much, 
had  his  new  friend  been  ever  so  loquacious  :  for 
first  of  all  Mr.  Pecksniff  called  him  down  to 
stand  upon  the  top  of  his  portmanteau  and  repre- 
sent ancient  statues  there,  until  such  time  as  it 
would  consent  to  be  locked;  and  then  Miss  Cha- 
rity called  him  to  come  and  cord  her  trunk  ;  and 
then  Miss  Mercy  sent  for  him  to  come  and  mend 
her  box ;  and  then  he  wrote  the  fullest  possible 
cards  for  all  the  luggage ;  and  then  he  volunteered 
to  carry  it  all  down  stairs  ;  and  at\er  that  to  see  it 
safely  carried  on  a  couple  of  barrows  to  the  old 
finger-post  at  the  end  of  the  lane ;  and  then  to 
mind  it  till  the  coach  came  up.  In  short,  his 
day's  work  would  have  been  a  pretty  heavy  one 
for  a  porter,  but  his  thorough  good-will  made  no- 
thing of  It :  and  as  he  sat  upon  the  luggage  at 
last,  waiting  for  the  Pecksniff's,  escorted  by  the 
new  pupil,  to  come  down  the  lane,  his  heart  was 
light  with  the  hope  of  having  pleased  his  bene- 
factor. 

"  I  was  almost  afraid,"  said  Tom,  taking  a  letter 
from  his  pocket,  and  wiping  his  face,  for  he  was 
hot  with  bustling  about  though  it  was  a  cold  day, 
"  that  I  shouldn't  have  had  time  to  write  it,  and 
that  would  have  been  a  thousand  pities :  postage 
from  such  a  distance  being  a  serious  considera- 
tion, when  one's  not  rich.  She  will  be  glad  to  see 
my  hand,  poor  girl,  and  to  hear  that  Pecksniff  is 
as  kind  as  ever.  I  would  have  asked  John  West- 
lock  to  call  and  see  her,  and  tell  her  all  about  me 
by  word  of  mouth,  but  I  was  afraid  he  might 
speak  against  Pecksniff  to  her,  and  make  her  un- 
easy.  Besides,  they  are  particular  people  where 
she  is,  and  it  might  have  rendered  her  situation 
uncomfortable  if  she  had  had  a  visit  from  a  youiig 
man  like  John.     Poor  Rutli  !" 

Tom  Pinch  seemed  a  little  disposed  to  be  me- 
lancholy for  half  a  minute  or  so,  but  he  found 
comfort  very  soon,  and  pursued  his  ruminations 
thus  : 

"  Pm  a  nice  man,  I  don't  think,  as  John  used 
to  say  (John  was  a  kind,  merry-hearted  fellow  :  I 
wish  he  had  liked  Pecksniff  bitter)  to  be  feeling 
low,  on  account  of  the  distance  between  us,  when 
I  ought  to  be  thinking,  instead,  of  my  extraordi- 
nary good-luck  in  having  ever  got  here.  I  must 
have  been  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  my  mouth, 
I  am  sure,  to  have  ever  conic  across  Pecksnifil 
And  here  have  I  fallen  again  into  my  usual  good- 
luck  with  the  new  pupil  I  Such  an  affable,  gener- 
ous, free  fellow,  as  he  is,  I  never  saw.  N\'liy,  we 
v.cre  companions  directly  !  and  he  a  relation  of 
Pecksniff's  too,  and  a  clever,  dashing  youth  who 
might  cut  his  way  through  the  world  as  if  it  were 
a  cheese  !  Here  he  comes  while  the  words  are  on 
my  lips,"  said  Tom  ;  "  walkiiig  down  the  lane  as 
if  the  lane  belonged  to  him." 

In  truth,  the  new  j)upil,  not  at  all  disconcerted 
by  the  honour  of  having  Miss  INlercv  Pecksniff  on 
his  arm,  or  by  the  affectionate  adieiix  of  that  young 
lady,  approached  as  Mr.  Pinch  spoke,  followed  by 
Miss  Charity  and  Mr.  Pecksniff.     As  the  coacli 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


43 


appeared  nt  the  same  moment,  Tom  lost  no  time 
rn  entrciting  the  gentleman  last  mentioned  to 
undertake  the  delivery  of  his  letter. 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  glancing  at  the 
superscription.  "  For  your  sister,  Thomas.  Yes, 
oh  yea,  it  shall  be  delivered,  Mr.  Pinch.  Make 
yonr  mind  easy  upon  that  score.  Siie  shall 
certainly  have  it,  Mr.  Pinch." 

He  made  the  pjromise  with  so  much  condescen- 
sion :md  patronage,  that  Tom  felt  he  had  asked  a 
gre  it  deal  (tliis  had  not  occurred  to  his  mind  be- 
fore), and  thanked  him  earnestly.  The  Miss 
Pecksniffs,  according  to  a  custom  they  had,  were 
amused  beyond  description,  at  the  mention  of  Mr. 
Pinch's  sister.  Oh,  the  fright!  The  bare  idea 
of  a  Miss  Pinch  !  Good  heavens  ! 

Tom  was  greatly  pleased  to  see  them  so  merry, 
for  he  took  it  as  a  token  of  their  favour  and  good- 
humoured  regard.  Therefore  he  laughed  too  and 
rubbed  his  hands,  and  wished  them  a  pleasant 
journey  and  safe  return,  and  was  quite  brisk. 
Even  wlien  tlie  coach  had  rolled  away  with  the 
olive-branches  in  the  boot  and  the  family  of  doves 
inside,  he  stood  waving  his  hand  and  bowing :  so 
much  gratified  by  the  unusually  courteous  de- 
meanour of  the  young  ladies,  that  he  was  quite 
regardless,  for  the  moment,  of  Martin  Chuzzlewit, 
who  stood  leaning  thoughtfully  against  the  finger- 
post, and  who,  after  disposing  of  his  fair  charge, 
had  haidly  lifted  !)is  eyes  from  the  ground. 

The  perfect  silence  which  ensued  upon  the 
bustle  and  departure  of  the  coach,  together  with 
llie  sharp  air  of  the  wintry  afternoon,  roused 
them  both  at  the  same  time.  They  turned,  as  by 
mutual  consent,  and  moved  off,  arm-in-arm. 

"  How  melancholy  you  are  !"  said  Tom  ;  "  what 
is  the  matter  ?" 

"Nothing  worth  speaking  of,"  said  Martin, 
"Very  little  more  than  was  the  matter  yesterday, 
and  much  more,  I  hope,  than  will  be  the  matter 
lo-morrow.     I  'm  out  of  spirits.  Pinch." 

"  Well,"  cried  Tom,  "now  do  you  know  I  am 
in  capital  spirits  to-day,  and  scarcely  ever  felt 
more  disposed  to  be  good  company.  It  was  a 
very  kind  thing  in  your  predecessor,  John,  to 
write  to  me,  was  it  not  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,"  said  Martin,  carelessly  :  "  I  should 
have  thought  he  would  have  had  enough  to  do  to 
enjoy  himself,  without  thinking  of  you.  Pinch." 

"Just  what  I  felt  to  be  so  very  likely,"  Tom 
rejoined :  "  but  no,  he  keeps  his  word,  and  says, 
'  My  dear  Pinch,  I  oflen  think  of  you,'  and  all 
sorts  of  kind  and  considerate  things  of  that  de- 
^cription." 

He  must  be  a  devilish  good-natured  fellow," 
said  Martin,  somewhat  peevishly  :  "  because  he 
can't  mean  that,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  suppose  he  can,  eh  ?"  said  Tom,  look- 
ing wistfully  in  his  companion's  face.  "  He  says 
so  to  please  me,  you  think  ?" 

"  Why,  is  it  likely,"  rejoined  Martin,  with 
greater  earnestness,  "  that  a  young  man  newly- 
escaped  from  this  kennel  of  a  place,  and  fresh  to 
all  the  delights  of  being  his  own  master  in  Lon- 
don, can  iiafe  much  leisure  or  inclination  to  think 
fivourably  of  anything  or  anybody  he  has  left  be- 
hind him  here  >  I  put  it  to  you,  Pinch,  is  it  natural?" 

After  a  short  reflection,  Mr.  Pinch  replied,  in  a 
more  subdued  tone,  that  to  be  sure  it  was  unrea- 
sonable to  expect  any  such  thing,  and  that  he  had 
no  doubt  Martin  knew  best. 


"Of  course  I  know  best,"  Martin  observed. 
"  Yes,  I  feel  that,"  said  Mr.  i'nich,  mildly.  "  I 
said  so."  And  when  he  had  made  tuis  rejoinder 
they  fell  into  a  blank  silence  again,  which  lasted  un- 
til they  reached  home  :  by  wiiich  tinic  it  was  dark. 
Now,  Miss  Charity  Pecksnitf,  in  ccjiisidcration 
of  the  inconvenience  of  carrying  tlicm  with  her 
in  the  coach,  and  the  impossibility  of  preserving 
them  by  artificial  means  until  the  family's  return, 
had  set  forth,  in  a  couple  of  plates,  the  fragments 
of  yesterday's  feast.  In  virtue  of  which  liberal 
arrangement,  tliey  had  the  happiness  to  find 
awaiting  them  in  the  parlour,  two  chaotic  heaps 
of  the  remains  of  last  night's  pleasure,  consisting 
of  certain  filmy  bits  of  oranges,  some  mummied 
sandwiches,  various  disrupted  masses  of  the  geo- 
logical cake,  and  several  entire  captain's  biscuits. 
That  choice  liquor  in  which  to  steep  tliese  dainties 
might  not  be  wanting,  the  remains  of  the  two 
bottles  of  currant-wine  had  been  poured  together 
and  corked  with  a  curl-paper ;  so  that  every  ma/, 
terial  was  at  hand  tor  making  quite  a  heavy  night 
of  it. 

Martin  Chuzzlewit  beheld  these  roystering  pre- 
parations with  infinite  contempt,  and  stirring  the 
fire  into  a  blaze  (to  the  great  destruction  of  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  coals),  sat  moodily  down  before  it,  in 
the  most  comfortable  chair  he  could  find.  That 
he  might  the  better  squeeze  himself  into  the 
small  corner  that  was  left  for  him,  Mr.  Pinch  took 
up  his  position  on  Miss  Mercy  PecksnilF's  stool, 
and  setting  his  glass  down  upon  the  hearth-rug 
and  putting  his  plate  upon  his  knees,  began  to 
enjoy  himself. 

If  Diogenes  coming  to  life  again  could  have 
rolled  himself,  tub  and  all,  into  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
parlour,  and  could  have  seen  Tom  Pinch  as  he 
sat  on  Mercy  Pecksniff's  stool,  with  his  plate  and 
glass  before  him,  he  could  not  have  faced  it  out, 
though  in  his  surliest  mood,  bnt  must  have  smiled 
good-temperedly.  The  perfect  and  entire  satis- 
faction of  Tom;  his  surpassing  appreciation  of 
the  husky  sandwiches,  which  crumbled  m  his 
mouth  like  sawdust;  the  unspeakable  relish  with 
which  he  swallowed  the  thin  wine  by  drops,  and 
smacked  his  lips,  as  though  it  were  so  rich  and 
generous  that  to  lose  an  atom  of  its  fruity  flavour 
were  a  sin ;  the  look  with  whicli  he  paused  some 
times,  with  his  glass  in  his  hand,  proposing  silent 
toasts  to  himself;  and  the  anxious  siiade  thai 
came  upon  his  contented  face  when  after  wander 
ing  round  the  room,  exulting  in  its  uninvaded 
snugness,  his  glance  encountered  the  dull  brow 
of  his  companion  ;  no  cynic  in  the  world,  though 
in  his  hatred  of  its  men  a  very  gritTin,  could  hava 
withstood  these  things  in  Thomas  Pincii. 

Some  men  would  have  slapped  him  on  the  back 
and  pledged  him  in  a  bumper  of  the  currant-wine, 
though  it  had  been  the  sharpest  vinegar — ay,  and 
liked  its  flavour  too;  some  would  have  seized  him 
by  his  honest  hand,  and  thanked  him  for  the  lesson 
that  his  simple  nature  taught  them.  Some  would 
have  laughed  with,  and  others  would  have  laughed 
at  him  ;  of  whif'h  last  class  was  Martin  Chuzzle- 
wit, who,  unable  to  restrain  himself  at  last 
laughed  loud  and  long. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Tom,  nodding  approvinp 
ly.    "Cheer  up!     That 's  c;ipital  I" 

At  which  enconragement,  young  Martin 
lauo-lied  again;  and  said,  as  soon  as  he  had 
breath  and  gravity  en    '^h  • 


14 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  I  never  saw  soch  a  fellow  as  you  arc,  Pinch." 

"  Didn't  you  though  ?"  said  Tom.  "  Weil,  it 's 
very  likclj'  you  do  find  me  strange,  because  I 
have  hardly  seen  anything  of  the  world,  and  you 
have  seen  a  good  deal  I  dure  say  ?" 

"  Pretty  well  for  my  time  of  lite,"  rejuined  Mar- 
tin, drawing-  his  chair  still  nearer  to  the  fire,  and 
spreadmg  his  feet  out  on  the  fender.  "Deuce 
take  it,  I  must  talk  openly  to  somebody.  I  '11 
talk  openly  to  you.  Pinch." 

"  Do  I"  said  Tom.  "  I  shall  take  it  as  being 
very  friendly  of  you." 

"  I  'm  not  in  your  way,  am  I  ?"  inquired  Mar- 
tin, glancing  down  at  Mr.  Pinch,  who  was  by  this 
time  looking  at  the  fire  over  his  leg. 

"  Not  at  all !"  cried  Tom. 

"  You  must  know  then,  to  make  short  of  a  long 
story,"  said  Martin,  beginning  with  a  kind  of  ef- 
fort, as  if  the  revelati  in  were  not  agreeable  to 
him  :  "  that  I  have  been  bred  up  from  childhood 
with  great  expectations,  and  have  always  been 
taught  to  believe  that  I  should  be,  one  day,  very 
rich.  So  I  should  have  been,  but  for  certain  brief 
reasons  which  I  am  going  to  tell  you,  and  which 
have  led  to  my  being  disinherited." 

"  By  your  father  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Pinch,  with 
open  eyes. 

"  By  my  grandfather.  I  have  had  no  parents 
these  many  years.  Scarcely  within  my  remem- 
brance." 

"  Neither  have  I,"  said  Tom,  touching  the 
young  man's  hand  with  his  own  and  timidly 
withdrawing  it  again.     "  Dear  me!" 

"  Why  as  to  that  you  know.  Pinch,"  pursued 
the  other,  stirring  the  fire  again,  and  speaking  in 
his  rapid,  off-hand  way  :  "  it 's  all  very  right  and 
proper  to  be  fond  of  parents  when  we  have  them, 
and  to  bear  them  in  remembrance  after  they're 
dead,  if  you  have  ever  known  anything  of  them. 
But  as  I  never  did  know  anything  about  mine 
personally,  you  know,  I  can't  be  expected  to  be 
very  sentimental  about  'em.  And  I  am  not: 
that's  the  truth." 

Mr.  Pinch  was  just  then  looking  thoughtfully 
at  the  bars.  But  on  his  companion  pausing  in 
this  place,  he  started,  and  said  "  Oh  !  of  course" — 
and  composed  himself  to  listen  again. 

"  In  a  word,"  said  Martin,  "  I  have  been  bred 
and  reared  all  my  life  by  this  grandfather  of  whom 
I  have  just  spoken.  Now,  he  has  a  great  many 
good  points;  there  is  no  doubt  about  that;  I'll 
not  disguise  the  fact  from  you  ;  but  he  has  two 
very  great  faults,  which  are  the  staple  of  his  bad 
pide.  In  the  first  place,  he  has  the  most  confirmed 
obstinacy  of  character  you  ever  met  with  in  any 
human  creature.  In  the  second,  he  is  most  abo- 
minably selfish." 

"  Is  he  indeed  ?"  cried  Tom. 

"  In  those  two  respects,"  returned  the  other, 
"there  never  was  such  a  man.  I  have  often  heard 
from  those  who  know,  that  they  have  been,  time 
out  of  mind,  the  failinirs  of  our  family;  and  I  be- 
lieve  there  's  some  trulii  in  if.  But  I  can't  say  of 
my  own  knowledge.  All  I  have  to  do,  you  know, 
is  to  be  very  thankful  that  they  haven't  descended 
to  me,  and  to  be  very  careful  that  I  don't  contract 
'em.' 

"  To  be  sure  "  said  Mr.  Pinch.  "  Very  proper." 

'  Well,  sir,"  resu-ned  Martin,  stirring  the  fire 
once  more,  and  drawing  his  chair  still  closer  to 
't.  "his  Rclfiiiiness  n'a)"-:s  hini  exacting,  you  see  ; 


and  his  obstinacy  makes  him  resolute  in  h;s  ex 
actions.  The  consequence  is  that  he  has  always 
exacted  a  great  deal  from  me  in  the  way  of  re 
spect,  and  submission,  and  self-denial  when  his 
wishes  were  in  question,  and  so  forth.  I  have 
borne  a  great  deal  from  him,  because  I  have  hem 
under  obligations  to  him  (if  one  can  ever  be  sad 
to  be  under  obligations  to  one's  own  grandfather  i, 
and  because  I  have  been  really  attached  to  him  ; 
but  we  have  had  a  great  many  quarrels  for  all 
that,  for  I  could  not  accommodate  myself  to  his 
ways  very  often — not  out  of  the  least  reference  to 

myself   you     understand,    but    because "    he 

stammered  here,  and  was  rather  at  a  loss. 

Mr.  Pinch  being  about  the  worst  man  in  the 
world  to  help  anybody  out  of  a  dilBculty  of  this 
sort,  said  nothing. 

"  Well !  as  you  understand  me,"  resumed  Mar- 
tin  quickly,  "  I  needn't  hunt  for  the  precise  ex- 
pression  I  want.  Now,  I  come  to  the  cream  of 
my  story,  and  the  occasion  of  my  being  here.  I 
am  in  love.  Pinch." 

Mr.  Pinch  looked  up  into  his  face  with  in- 
creased interest. 

"  I  say  I  am  in  love.  I  am  in  love  with  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  girls  the  sun  ever  shone  upon. 
But  she  is  wholly  and  entirely  dependent  upon 
the  pleasure  of  my  grandfather ;  and  if  he  were 
to  know  that  she  favoured  my  passion,  she  would 
lope  her  home  and  everything  she  possesses  in  the 
world.  There  is  nothing  very  selfish  in  that  love, 
I  think  ?" 

"  Selfish !"  cried  Tom.  "  You  have  acted 
nobly.  To  love  her  as  I  am  sure  you  do,  and  }'ef 
in  consideration  for  her  state  of  dependence,  not 
even  to  disclose " 

"What  are  you  talking  about.  Pinch?"  said 
Martin  pettishly  :  "  don't  make  yourself  ridicu- 
lous, my  good  fellow  !  What  do  you  mean  by  not 
disclosing  ?" 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  answered  Tom.  "  I  thought 
you  meant  that,  or  I  wouldn't  have  said  it." 

"  If  I  didn't  tell  her  I  loved  her,  where  would 
be  the  use  of  my  being  in  love?"  said  Martin: 
"  unless  to  keep  myself  in  a  perpetual  state  of 
worry  and  vexation  ?" 

"  That 's  true,"  Tom  answered.  "  Well  !  I  can 
guess  what  she  said  when  you  told  her  ?"  he 
added,  glancing  at  Martin's  handsome  face. 

"Why,  not  exactly,  Pincii,"  he  rejoined,  with 
a  slight  frown  :  "  because  she  has  some  girlish 
notions  about  duty  and  gratitude,  and  all  the  rest 
of  it,  which  are  rather  hard  to  fathom;  but  in  the 
main  you  arc  right.  Her  heart  was  mine,  I  found." 

".Tust  what  I  supposed,"  said  Tom.  "Quite 
natural !"  and,  in  his  great  satisfaction,  he  took  a 
long  sip  out  of  his  wine-glass. 

"  Although  I  had  conducted  myself  from  tl>c 
first  with  the  utmost  circumspection,"  pursued 
Martin,  "  I  had  not  managed  matters  so  well  hot 
that  my  grandfather,  who  is  full  of  jealousy  and 
distrust,  suspected  me  of  loving  her.  He  said 
nothing  to  her,  but  straightway  attacked  me  in 
private,  and  charged  me  with  designing  to  cor 
rupt  the  fidelity  to  himself  (there  you  observe  his 
selfishness),  of  a  young  creature  whom  he  had 
train,''d  and  educated  to  be  his  only  disinterested 
and  fiithful  companion  when  he  should  have  dis 
l>os<.d  of  me  in  marriage  to  his  heart's  content 
I'pon  that,  I  took  fire  immediately,  and  told  hiin 
that  with  his  good  leave  I  would  dispose  of  my 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


45 


self  in  marriage,  and  would  rather  not  be  knocked 
down)  by  him  or  any  other  auctioneer  to  any  bid- 
der whomsoever." 

Mt.  Pinch  opened  his  eyes  wider  and  looked  at 
the  fire  harder  tlian  he  had  done  yet. 

"  You  may  be  sure,"  said  Martin,  "  that  this 
nettled  him,  and  that  he  began  to  be  the  very  re- 
verse of  complimentary  to  myself.  Interview  suc- 
ceeded interview ;  words  engendered  words,  as 
they  always  do ;  and  the  upshot  of  it  was,  that  1 
was  to  renounce  her,  or  be  renounced  by  him. 
Now  you  must  bear  in  mind,  Pinch,  that  I  am  not 
only  desperately  fond  of  her  (for  though  she  is 
poor,  her  beauty  and  intellect  would  reflect  great 
credit  on  anybody,  I  don't  care  of  what  pretensions, 
who  might  become  her  husband),  but  that  a  chief 
ingredient  in  my  composition  is  a  most  determin- 
ed  " 

"Obstinacy,"  suggested  Tom  in  perfect  good 
faith.  But  the  suggestion  was  not  so  well  receiv- 
ed as  he  had  expected  ;  for  the  young  man  imme- 
diately rejoined,  with  some  irritation, 

"  What  a  fellow  you  are.  Pinch  !" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Tom,  "  I  thought 
you  wanted  a  word." 

"  I  didn't  want  that  word,"  he  rejoined.  "  I  told 
you  obstinacy  was  no  part  of  my  character,  did  I 
not  ?  I  was  going  to  say,  if  you  had  given  me 
leave,  that  a  chief  ingredient  in  my  composition 
is  a  most  determined  firmness." 

"  Oh  !"  cried  Tom,  screwing  up  his  mouth,  and 
nodding.     "  Yes,  yes  ;  I  see  1" 

"  And  being  firm,"  pursued  Martin,  "  of  course 
I  was  not  going  to  yield  to  him,  or  give  way  by 
BO  much  as  the  thousandth  part  of  an  inch." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Tom. 

"  On  the  contrary,  the  more  he  urged,  the  more 
I  was  determined  to  oppose  him," 

"  To  be  sure  !"  said  Tom. 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  Martin,  throwing  him- 
self back  in  his  chair,  with  a  careless  wave  of 
both  hands,  as  if  the  subject  were  quite  settled, 
and  nothing  more  could  be  said  about  it — "  There 
is  an  end  of  the  matter,  and  here  am  I !" 

Mr.  Pinch  sat  staring  at  the  fire  for  some  min- 
utes with  a  puzzled  look,  such  as  he  might  have 
assumed  if  some  uncommonly  difficult  conundrum 
had  been  proposed,  which  he  found  it  impossible 
to  guess.     At  length  he  said  : 

"  Pecksniff^,  of  course,  you  had  known  before  ?" 

"  Only  by  name.  No,  I  had  never  seen  him,  flir 
my  grandfather  kept  not  only  himself  but  me,  aloof 
from  all  his  relations.  But  our  separation  took 
place  in  a  town  in  the  adjoining  county.  From 
that  place  I  came  to  Salisbury,  and  there  I  saw 
Pecksniff's  advertisement,  which  I  answered,  hav- 
ing always  had  some  natural  taste,  I  believe,  in 
the  matters  to  which  it  referred,  and  thinking  it 
might  suit  me.  As  soon  as  I  found  it  to  be  his,  I 
was  doubly  bent  on  coming  to  him  if  possible,  on 
account  of  his  being " 

"Such  an  excellent  man,"  interposed  Tom,  rub- 
bing his  hands :  "  so  he  is.  You  were  quite 
right." 

"  Why  not  so  much  on  that  account,  if  the  truth 
must  be  spoken,"  returned  Martin,  "  as  because 
my  grandfather  has  an  inveterate  dislike  to  him, 
and  after  the  old  man's  arbitrary  treatment  of  me 
I  had  a  natural  desire  to  run  as  directly  counter 
to  ali  his  opinions  as  I  could      Weill  as  I  said 


before,  here  I  am.  My  engagement  with  the 
young  lady  I  have  been  tilling  yuu  about,  is  likely 
to  be  a  tolerably  long  one ;  for  neither  her  pros- 
pects, nor  mine,  are  very  bright ;  and  of  course  I 
shall  not  think  of  marrving  until  I  am  well  able 
to  do  so.  It  would  never  do,,  you  know,  for  me 
to  be  plunging  myself  into  poverty  and  shabbi- 
ness  and  love  in  one  room  up  three  pair  of  stairs, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  To  say  nothing  of  her,"  remarked  Tom  Pinch, 
in  a  low  voice. 

"Exactly  so,"  rejoined  Martin,  rising  to  warm 
his  back,  and  leaning  against  the  cljinmey-piece. 
"  To  say  nothing  of  her.  At  the  same  time,  of 
course  it 's  not  very  hard  upon  her  to  be  obliged 
to  yield  to  the  necessity  of  the  case  :  first,  because 
she  loves  me  very  much;  and  secondly,  because 
I  have  sacrificed  a  great  deal  on  her  account,  and 
might  have  done  much  better,  you  know." 

It  was  a  very  long  time  before  Tom  said  "  Cer. 
tainly  ;"  so  long,  that  he  might  have  taken  a  nap 
in  the  interval,  but  he  did  say  it  at  last. 

"Now,  there  is  one  odd  coincidence  connected 
W'ith  this  love-story,"  said  Martin,  "  which  bringi 
it  to  an  end.  You  remember  what  you  told  ma 
last  night  as  we  were  coming  here,  about  your 
pretty  visitor  in  the  church  ?" 

"  Surely  I  do,"  said  Tom,  lising  from  his  stod, 
and  seating  himself  in  the  chair  from  which  the 
other  had  lately  risen,  that  he  migiit  see  his  fiice. 
"  Undoubtedly." 

"  That  was  she." 

"  I  knew  what  you  were  going  to  say,"  cried 
Tom,  looking  fixedly  at  him,  and  speaking  very 
softly.     "  You  don't  tell  me  so  ?" 

"  That  was  she,"  repeated  the  young  man.  "  Af- 
ter what  I  have  heard  from  Pecksniff,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  she  came  and  went  with  my  grandfa- 
ther.— Don't  you  drink  too  much  of  that  sour 
wine,  or  you  'U  have  a  fit  of  some  sort.  Pinch,  I 
see." 

"  It  is  not  very  wholesome,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
Tom,  setting  down  the  empty  glass  he  had  for 
some  time  held.     "  So  that  was  she,  was  it?" 

Martin  nodded  assent :  and  adding,  with  a  rest 
less  impatience,  that  if  he  had  been  a  few  days 
earlier  he  would  have  seen  her ;  and  that  now  she 
might  be,  for  anything  he  knew,  hundreds  of  miles 
away ;  threw  himself^  after  a  few  turns  across  the 
room,  into  a  chair,  and  chafed  like  a  spoilt  child. 

Tom  Pinch's  heart  was  very  tender,  and  he 
could  not  bear  to  see  the  most  indifferent  pierson 
in  distress ;  still  less  one  who  had  awakened  an 
interest  in  him,  and  who  regarded  him  (either  in 
fact,  or  as  he  supposed)  with  kindness,  and  in  a 
spirit  of  lenient  construction.  Whatever  his  own 
thoughts  had  been  a  few  moments  before — and 
to  judge  from  his  face  they  must  have  been  pretty 
serious — he  dismissed  them  instantly,  and  gave 
his  young  fi-iend  the  best  counsel  and  comfort  that 
occurred  to  him. 

"  All  will  be  well  in  time,"  said  Tom,  "  I  have 
no  doubt;  and  some  trial  and  adversity  just  now 
will  only  serve  to  make  you  more  attached  (u 
each  other  in  better  days.  I  have  always  read 
that  the  truth  is  so,  and  I  have  a  feeling  within 
me,  which  tells  me  how  natural  and  right  it  is 
that  it  should  be.  What  never  ran  smooth  yet," 
said  Tom,  with  a  smile,  which  despite  the  nome 
liness  of  his  face,  was  pleasanter  to  see  than  man^ 


46 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


a  proud  boauty's  brightest  glance  :  "  what  never 
ran  smooth  yet,  can  hardly  be  expected  to  change 
its  char;.ctcr  for  us  ;  so  we  must  take  it  as  we  find 
it,  and  f .  hion  it  into  the  very  best  sliape  we  can, 
by  patif  nee  and  g-ood  humour.  I  have  no  power 
at  all;  1  needn't  tf  11  you  that;  but  I  have  an  ex- 
cellent wiii ;  and  if  I  could  ever  be  of  use  to  you, 
m  any  w.iy  whatever,  how  glad  I  should  be  !" 

"Thanli  yon,"  said  Martin,  shaking  his  hand. 
**  You  're  a  good  fellow,  upon  my  word,  and 
Bpeak  very  kindly.  Of  course,  you  know,"  he 
added,  after  a  moment's  pause,  as  he  drew  his 
chair  towards  the  fire  again,  "  I  should  not  hesi- 
tate to  avail  myself  of  your  services  if  you  could 
help  me  at  all ;  but  mercy  on  us !" — Here  he 
rumpled  his  hair  impatiently  with  his  hand,  and 
looked  at  Tom  as  if  he  took  it  rather  ill  that  he 
was  not  somebody  else — "  You  might  as  well  be 
a  toasting-iork  or  a  frying-pan.  Pinch,  for  any 
help  you  can  render  me." 

"  Except  in  the  inclination,"  said  Tom,  gently. 

"Oh  !  to  be  sure.  I  meant  that,  of  course.  If 
inclination  went  for  anything,  I  shouldn't  want 
help.  I  tell  you  what  you  may  do,  though,  if  you 
will — at  the  present  moment  too." 

"  What  is  tliat  ?"  demanded  Tom. 

"Reu.d  to  me." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted,"  cried  Tom,  catching  up 
the  candle,  with  enthusiasm.  "  Excuse  my  leav- 
ing you  in  tlie  dark  for  a  moment,  and  I'll  fetch 
a  book  directly.  What  will  you  like?  Shak- 
speare  ?" 

"  Ay  !"  replied  his  friend,  yawning  and  stretch- 
ing himself.  "  He  '11  do.  I  am  tired  with  the 
bustle  of  to-day,  and  the  novelty  of  everything 
about  me ;  and  in  such  a  case,  there's  no  greater 
luxury  in  the  world,  I  think,  than  being  read  to 
Bleep.  You  won't  mind  my  going  to  sleep,  if  I 
can  ?" 

"  Not  at  all !"  cried  Tom. 

"Then  begin  as  soon  as  you  like.  You  need  n't 
leave  off  when  you  see  me  getting  drowsy  (unless 


you  feel  tired),  for  it's  pleasant  to  wake  gradually 
to  the  sounds  again.     Did  you  ever  try  that  ?" 

"No,  I  never  tried  that,"  said  Tom. 

"  Well !  You  can,  you  know,  one  of  these  days 
when  we  're  both  in  the  right  humour.  Don't 
mind  leaving  me  in  the  dark.     Look  sharp  ?" 

Mr.  Pinch  lost  no  time  in  moving  away,  and 
in  a  minute  or  two  returned  with  one  of  the  pre. 
cious  volumes  from  the  shelf  beside  his  bed.  Mar- 
tin had  in  the  meantime  made  himself  as  comfort- 
able  as  circumstances  would  permit,  by  construct- 
ing before  the  fire  a  temporary  sofa  of  three  chairs 
with  Mercy's  stool  for  a  pillow,  and  lying  down 
at  full  length  upon  it. 

"  Don't  be  too  loud,  please,"  he  said  to  Pinch. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Tom. 

"  You  're  sure  you  're  not  cold  ?" 

"  Not  at  all !"  cried  Tom. 

"  I  am  quite  ready  then." 

Mr.  Pinch  accordingly,  after  turning  over  the 
leaves  of  his  book  with  as  much  care  as  if  they 
were  living  and  highly  cherished  creatures,  made 
his  own  selection,  and  began  to  read.  Before  he 
had  completed  fifty  lines,  his  friend  was  snoring. 

"Poor  fellow  !"  said  Tom,  softly,  as  he  stretched 
out  his  head  to  peep  at  him  over  the  backs  of  the 
chairs.  "  He  is  very  young  to  have  so  much 
trouble.  How  trustful  and  generous  in  him  to 
bestow  all  this  confidence  in  me.  And  that  was 
sue,  was  it !" 

But  suddenly  remembering  their  compact,  he 
took  up  the  poem  at  the  place  where  he  had  hft 
off,  and  went  on  reading;  always  forgetting  to 
snulT  the  candle,  until  its  wick  looked  like  a 
mushroom.  He  gradually  became  so  much  inte- 
rested, that  he  quite  forgot  to  replenish  the  fire 
and  was  only  reminded  of  his  neglect  by  Martin 
Chuzzlewit  starting  up  after  the  lapse  of  an  heur 
or  so,  and  crying  with  a  shiver : 

"  Why,  it's  nearly  out,  I  declare  !  No  wonder 
I  dreamed  of  being  frozen.  Do  call  for  some 
coals.     What  a  fellow  you  are.  Pinch  1" 


CHAPTER  VII. 


IN  WHICH  MR.  CHEVY  SLYME  ASSERTS  THE  INDEPENDENCE  OF  HIS 
SPIRIT;    AND  THE  BLUE  DRAGON  LOSES  A  LIMB. 


Martin  bep^an  to  work  at  the  grammar-school 
next  morning,  with  so  much  vigor  and  expedition, 
that  Mr.  Pinch  had  new  reason  to  do  homage  to 
the  natural  endowments  of  that  young  gentleman, 
and  to  acknowledge  his  infinite  superiority  to 
liimself.  The  new  pupil  received  Tom's  compli- 
ments very  graciously  ;  and  having  by  this  time 
conceived  a  real  regard  for  him,  in  his  own  pecu- 
liar way,  predicted  that  they  should  always  be  the 
very  best  of  friends,  and  that  neither  of  them,  he 
was  certain  (imt  particularly  Tom),  would  ever 
have  reasoii  to  regret  the  day  on  which  they  be- 
came acijuaiiited.  Mr.  Pinch  was  (Relighted  to 
hear  him  say  this,  and  fell  so  much  fluttered  by 
his  kind  assurnnces  of  fricndshii)  and  protection, 
mat  he  was  at  a  loss  how  to  cxiircss  llie  jdiMsiire 
tiev  afforded   him.     And   indeed   it   iiniy   he  oh- 


served  of  this  friendship,  such  as  it  was,  that  it 
had  within  it  more  likely  materials  of  endurance 
than  many  a  sworn  brotherhood  that  has  been 
rich  in  promise;  for  so  long  as  the  one  party 
found  a  pleasure  in  patronising,  and  the  other  in 
being  patronised  (which  was  the  very  essence  of 
their  respective  characters),  it  was  of  all  possible 
events  among  the  least  probable,  that  the  t«vir. 
demons.  Envy  and  Pride,  would  ever  arise  be- 
tween them.  So  in  many  cases  of  friendship,  or 
what  passes  for  it,  the  old  axiom  is  reversed,  and 
like  c^itigs  to  unlike  more  than  to  like. 

They  were  both  very  busy  on  the  afternoon 
succeeding  the  family's  departure — Martin  with 
the  grammar-school,  and  Tom  in  balancing  cer 
tniii  receipts  of  rents,  and  di'ducling  Mr.  PccV 
snitrs  commission  from  the  same;  in  which  ai> 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


47 


struse  employment  he  was  much  distracted  by  a 
habit  bis  new  friend  had  of  wiiistling'  aloud,  while 
he  was  drawing — when  they  were  not  a  little 
startled  by  the  unexpected  obtrusion  into  that 
sanctuary  of  genius,  of  a  hum;in  head,  which  al- 
though a  shaggy  and  somewhat  alarming  head,  in 
appearance,  smiled  atfably  upon  them  from  the 
doorway,  in  a  manner  that  was  at  once  waggish, 
conciliatory,  and  expressive  of  approbation. 

"  I  am  not  industrious  myself,  gents  both,"  said 
the  head,  "but  I  know  how  to  appreciate  that 
quality  in  others.  I  wish  I  may  turn  gray  and 
ugly,  if  it  isn't,  in  my  opinion,  next  to  genius,  one 
of  the  very  charmingest  qualities  of  the  human 
mind.  Upon  my  soul,  I  am  grateful  to  my  friend 
Pe(  ksnitf  for  helping  me  to  the  contemplation  of 
Buch  a  delicious  picture  as  you  present.  You  re- 
mind me  of  VVhittington,  afterwards  thrice  Lord 
Mayor  of  London.  1  give  you  my  unsullied  word 
of  honour,  that  you  very  strongly  remind  me  of 
that  historical  character.  You  are  a  pair  of  VVIiit- 
tingtons,  gents,  without  the  cat;  which  is  a  most 
agreeable  and  blessed  exception  to  me,  for  I  am 
not  attached  to  the  feline  species.  My  name  is 
Tigg  ;  how  do  you  do  ?" 

Martin  looked  to  Mr.  Pinch  for  an  explanation  ; 
and  Tom,  who  had  never  in  his  life  set  eyes  on 
Mr.  Tigg  before,  looked  to  that  gentleman  himself. 

"  Chevy  Sly  me  ?"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  interrogatively, 
and  kissing  his  left,  hand  in  token  of  friendship. 
"  You  will  understand  me  when  I  say  that  I  am 
the  accredited  agent  of  Chevy  Slyme — that  I  am 
the  ambassador  from  the  court  of  Chiv  ?  Ha  ha  !" 

"Heyday  1"  asked  Martin,  starting  at  the  men- 
lion  of  a  name  he  knew.  "  Pray,  what  does  he 
tvant  with  me  ?" 

"  If  your  name  is  Pinch" — Mr.  Tigg  began. 

"  It  is  not,"  said  Martin,  checking  himself. 
♦That  is  Mr.  Pinch." 

"  If  that  is  Mr.  Pinch,"  cried  Tigg,  kissing  his 
hand  again,  and  beginning  to  f  )llow  his  head  into 
the  room,  "he  will  permit  me  to  say  that  I  greatly 
esteem  and  respect  his  character,  which  has  been 
most  highly  commended  to  me  by  my  friend 
Pecksnitf ;  and  tliat  I  deeply  appreciate  his  talent 
for  the  organ,  notwithstanding  that  I  do  not,  if  I 
may  use  the  expression,  grind,  myself.  If  that  is 
Mr.  Pinch,  I  will  venture  to  express  a  hope  that  I 
see  him  well,  and  that  he  is  suffering  no  inconve- 
nience from  the  easterly  wind  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Tom.     "  I  am  very  well  " 

"That  is  a  comfort,"  Mr.  Tigg  rejoined. 
"  Then,"  he  added,  shielding  his  lips  with  the 
palm  of  his  hand,  and  applying  them  close  to  Mr. 
Pinch's  ear,  "  I  have  come  for  the  letter." 

"  For  the  letter  ?"  said  Tom,  aloud.  "  What 
letter  ?" 

"  The  letter,"  whispered  Tigg,  in  the  same  cau- 
tious  manner  as  before,  "  which  my  friend  Peck- 
sniff addressed  to  Chevy  Slyme,  Esquire,  and  left 
with  you." 

"  He  dida't  leave  any  letter  with  me,"  said  Tom. 

"Hush!"  cried  the  other.  "It's  all  the  same 
liing,  though  not  so  delicately  done  by  my  friend 
Pecksnitf  as  I  could  have  wished — the  money." 

"The  money  !"  cried  Tom,  quite  scared. 

"Exactly  so,"  said  Mr.  Tigg.  With  which  he 
Tapped  Tom  twice  or  thrice  upon  the  breast  and 
nodded  several  times,  as  though  he  would  sav, 
that  he  saw  thev  understood  each  other;  that  it 


was  unnecessary  to  mention  the  circumstance  be- 
fore a  third  person  ;  and  that  he  would  take  it  as 
a  particular  favour  if  Tom  would  slip  the  amount 
into  his  hand,  as  quietly  as  possible. 

Mr.  Pinch,  however,  was  so  very  much  astound- 
ed by  tills  (to  him)  inexplicable  deportment,  tli.il 
he  at  once  openly  declared  there  must  be  som* 
mistake,  and  that  he  had  been  entrusted  with  no 
commission  whatever  having  any  reference  to  Mr. 
'I'igg,  or  to  his  friend  either. — Mr.  Tigg  received 
this  declaration  with  a  grave  request  that  .Mr. 
Pinch  would  have  the  goodness  to  make  it  again ; 
and  on  Tom's  repeating  it  in  a  still  more  empha- 
tic and  unmistakeable  manner,  checked  it  off,  sen- 
tence for  sentence,  by  nodding  his  head  solemnly 
at  the  end  of  each.  When  it  had  come  to  a  close 
for, the  second  time,  Mr.  Tigg  sat  himself  down 
in  a  chair  and  addressed  the  young  men  as  fol- 
lows : 

"  Then  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  gents  both.  There 
is  at  this  present  moment  in  this  very  place,  a  per- 
fect constellation  of  talent  and  genius,  who  is  in- 
volved, through  what  I  cannot  but  designate  as 
the  culpable  negligence  of  my  friend  Pecksniff, 
in  a  situation  as  tremendous,  perhaps,  as  the  so- 
cial intercourse  of  the  nineteenth  century  will 
readily  admit  of.  There  is  actually  at  this  in- 
stant, at  the  Blue  Dragon  in  this  village — an  ale- 
house, observe  ;  a  common,  paltry,  low-minded, 
clodhopping  pipe-smoking  alehouse  —  an  indivi- 
dual,  of  whom  it  may  be  said,  in  the  language  of 
the  Poet,  that  nobody  but  himself  can  in  any  way 
come  up  to  him;  who  is  detained  there  for  his 
bill.  Ha  !  ha  !  For  his  bill.  I  repeat  it — for  his 
bill.  Now"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  "we  have  heard  of 
Fox's  Book  of  Martyrs,  I  believe,  and  we  have 
heard  of  the  Court  of  Requests,  and  the  Star 
Chamber;  but  I  fear  the  contradiction  of  no  man 
alive  or  dead,  when  I  assert  that  my  friend  Chevy 
Slyme  being  held  in  pawn  for  a  bill,  bea.'s  any 
:i  mount  of  cock-fighting  with  which  I  am  ac- 
quainted." 

Martin  and  Mr.  Pinch  looked,  first  at  each 
other,  and  afterwards  at  Mr.  Tigg,  who  with  his 
arms  folded  on  his  breast  surveyed  them,  half  in 
despondency  and  half  in  bitterness. 

"  Don't  mistake  me,  gents  both,"  he  said, 
stretching  forth  his  right  hand.  "  If  it  had  been 
for  anything  but  a  bill,  I  could  have  borne  it,  and 
could  still  have  looked  upon  mankind  with  some 
feeling  of  respect:  but  when  such  a  man  as  my 
friend  Slyme  is  detained  for  a  score — a  thing  in 
itself  essentially  mean  ;  a  low  performance  on  a 
slate,  or  possibly  chalked  upon  the  back  of  a  door 
— I  do  fe^  that  there  is  a  screw  of  such  magni- 
tude loose  sjmewhere,  that  the  whole  framework 
of  society  is  shaken,  and  the  very  first  principle? 
of  things  can  no  longer  be  trusted.  In  short, 
gents  both,"  said  Mr.  Tigg  with  a  passionate 
flourish  of  his  hands  and  head,  "  when  a  i.iaii 
like  Slyme  is  detained  for  such  a  thing  as  a  bill,  1 
reject  the  superstitions  of  ages,  and  believe  no- 
thing. I  don't  even  believe  that  I  don't  believe 
curse  me  if  I  dol" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  I  am  sure."  said  Tom,  aftei 
a  pause,  "  but  Mr.  Peeksnilf  said  nothing  to  mc 
about  it,  and  I  couldn't  act  without  his  instrue 
tions.  Wouldn't  it  be  better,  sir,  if  you  were  t<> 
go  to — to  wherever  you  came  t'rom — _yourselr',  anc 
remit  the  money  to  your  friend  ?" 


48 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  How  can  that  be  done,  when  I  am  detained 
also  r'  said  Mr.  Tig-g;  "and  when  moreover, 
owing  to  the  astounding,  and  I  must  add,  guilty 
negligence  of  my  friend  Pecksniff,  I  iiave  no 
nioney  for  coacli-liire  ?" 

Tom  thought  of  reminding  the  gentleman  (who, 
no  doubt,  in  his  agitation  had  torgotten  it)  that 
there  was  a  piost-othce  in  the  land  ;  and  that  pos- 
sibly if  he  wrote  to  some  friend  or  agent  for  a 
remittance,  it  might  not  be  lost  upon  the  road  ;  or 
at  all  events  that  the  chance,  however  desperate, 
was  worth  trusting  to.  But  as  his  good-nature 
presently  suggested  to  him  certain  reasons  for 
abstaining  from  this  hint,  he  paused  again,  and 
tlien  asked : 

"  Did  you  say,  Sir,  that  you  were  detained 
also  ?" 

"Come  here,"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  rising.  "You 
have  no  objection  to  my  opening  this  window  for 
A  moment  V" 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Tom. 

''  Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  lifting  the  sash. 
"  You  see  a  fellow  down  tliere  in  a  red  neckcloth 
and  no  waistcoat  V" 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  cried  Tom.  "  That 's  Mark 
Tapley." 

"  Mark  Tapley,  is  it  ?"  said  the  gentleman. 
"Then  Mark  Tapley  had  not  only  the  great 
politeness  to  follow  me  to  this  house,  but  is  wait- 
uig  now,  to  see  me  home  again.  And  for  that 
»ct  of  attention.  Sir,"  added  Mr.  Tigg,  stroking 
his  moustache,  "  I  can  tell  you,  that  Mark  Tapley 
had  better  in  his  infancy  have  been  fed  to  suffoca- 
tion by  Mrs.  Tapley,  than  preserved  to  this  time." 

Mr.  Pmch  was  not  so  dismayed  by  this  terri- 
ble threat,  but  that  he  had  voice  enough  to  call  to 
Mark  to  come  in,  and  up  stairs ;  a  summons 
which  he  so  speedily  obeyed,  that  almost  as  soon 
as  Tom  and  Mr.  Tigg  had  drawn  in  their  heads 
and  closed  the  window  again,  he  tho  denounced 
appeared  before  them. 

"Come  here,  Mark  !"  said  Mr.  Pinch.  "Good 
gracious  me  i  what 's  the  matter  between  Mrs. 
Lupin  and  this  gentleman  ?" 

"  What  gentleman.  Sir  ?"  said  Mark.  "  I  don't 
see  no  gentleman  here,  S'',  excepting  you  and 
the  new  gentleman,"  to  whom  he  made  a  rough 
kind  of  bow — "and  there's  nothing  wrong  be- 
tween Mrs.  Lupin  and  either  of  you,  Mr.  Pinch, 
I  am  sure."  • 

"  Nonsense,  Mark  !"  cried  Tom.  "  You  see 
Mr " 

"  Tigg,"  interposed  that  gentleman.     "  Wait 
bit     I  shall  crush  him  soon.     All  in  good  time  I" 

"Oh,  Aun  .'"  rejoined  Mark,  with  an  air  of 
careless  defiance.  "  Yes,  I  sec  him.  I  could  see 
him  a  little  better,  if  he'd  shave  himself,  and  get 
his  hair  cut." 

Mr.  Tigg  shook  his  head  with  a  ferocious  look, 
and  smote  himself  once  ujion  the  breast. 

"It's  no  use,"  said  Mark.  "  If  you  knock 
ever  so  much  in  that  quarter,  you  '11  get  no 
answer.  I  know  better.  There 's  notliing  there 
but  piidding:  and  a  greasy  sort  it  is." 

"Nay,  Mnrk,"  urged  Mr.  Pinch,  interposing  to 
prevent  hostilities,  "  tell  me  what.  I  ask  you. 
You  're  not  out  of  temper,  I  iiope?" 

"Out  of  temper.  Sir!"  cried  Mark,  with  a 
prin  ;  "  why  no,  Sii.  There  's  u  little  credit — not 
nuch — in  being  jolly,  when  such  fellows  as  him 


is  a  going  about  like  roaring  lions:  if  there  is 
any  breed  of  lions,  at  least,  as  is  all  roar  and 
mane.  What  is  there  between  him  and  Mrs. 
Lupin,  Sir  ?  Why,  there 's  a  score  betweeA  him 
and  Mrs.  Lupin.  And  I  think  Mrs.  Lupin  lets 
him  and  his  friend  off  very  easy  in  not  charging 
'em  double  prices  ibr  being  a  disgrace  to  tlie 
Dragon.  That 's  my  opinion.  I  wouldn't  have 
any  such  Peter  the  Wild  Boy  as  him  in  my  house. 
Sir,  not  if  I  was  paid  race-week  prices  for  it 
He  's  enough  to  turn  the  very  beer  in  the  casks 
sour,  with  liis  looks:  he  is!  So  he  would,  if  it 
had  judgment  enough." 

"  You  're  not  answering  my  question,  you 
know,  Mark,"  observed  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  Mark,  "  I  don't  know  as 
there  's  much  to  answer  further  than  that.  Him 
and  his  friend  goes  and  stops  at  the  Moon  and 
Stars  till  they  've  run  a  bill  there  ;  and  then  comes 
and  stops  with  us  and  does  the  same.  The  run- 
ning of  bills  is  common  enough,  Mr.  Pinch ;  it 
an't  that  as  we  object  to ;  it 's  the  ways  of  this 
chap.  Nothing  's  good  enough  for  him ;  all  the 
women  is  dying  for  iiim  he  thinks,  and  is  over- 
paid if  he  winks  at  'em :  and  all  the  men  was 
made  to  be  ordered  about  by  him.  This  not  be- 
ing aggravation  enougli,  he  says  this  morning  to 
me,  in  his  usual  captivating  way,  '  We  're  going 
to-night,  my  man.'  '  Are  you,  sir  ?'  says  I.  '  Per- 
haps you  'd  like  the  bill  got  ready,  sir  ?'  '  Oh, 
no,  my  man,'  )ie  says;  'you  needn't  mind  that 
I'll  give  Pecksniff  orders  to  see  to  that'  In 
reply  to  which,  the  Dragon  makes  answer, 
'  Thankee,  sir,  you  're  very  kind  to  honour  us  eo 
far,  but  as  we  don't  know  any  particular  good  of 
you,  and  you  don't  travel  with  luggage,  and  Mr. 
Pecksniff  an't  at  home  (which  perhaps  you  mayni 
happen  to  be  aware  of,  sir),  we  should  prefer 
something  more  satisfactory  ;'  and  that 's  where 
the  matter  stands.  And  I  ask,"  said  Mr.  Tapley. 
pointing,  in  conclusion,  to  Mr.  Tigg,  with  his  hat, 
"  any  lady  or  gentleman,  possessing  ordinary 
strength  of  mind,  to  say,  whether  he 's  a  dis- 
agreeable-looking chap  or  notl" 

"  Let  me  inquire,"  said  Martin,  interposing  be- 
tween this  candid  specc^i  and  the  delivery  of  some 
blighting  anathema  by  Mr.  Tigg,  "what  the 
amount  of  this  debt  may  be." 

"  In  point  of  money,  Sir,  very  little,"  answered 
Mark.  "  Only  just  turned  of  three  pounds.  But 
it  an't  that;  it 's  the " 

"  Yes,  yes,  you  told  us  so  before,"  said  Martin 
"  Pinch,  a  word  with  you." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  Tom,  retiring  with  him 
to  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"  Why,  simply  —  1  am  ashamed  to  say  —  that 
tliis  Mr.  Slyme  is  a  relation  of  mine,  of  whom  1 
never  lieard  anything  pleasant ;  and  that  I  don't 
want  him  here  just  now,  and  tliink  he  would  be 
cheaply  got  rid  of,  perhaps,  for  three  or  four 
pounds.  You  haven't  enough  money  to  pay  this 
bill,  I  suppose  ?" 

Tom  shook  liis  head  to  an  extent  that  left  no 
doubt  of  his  entire  sincerity. 

"That's  unlbrtun>it;>,  for  I  am  poor  too;  and 
in  ca.se  you  had  had  it,  I  'd  have  borrowed  it  of 
you.  But  if  we  told  this  landlady  we  would  aea 
licr  paid,  I  suppose  that  would  answer  the  saiiM 
purpose  ?" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


4^ 


"  Oh  dear,  yes  I"  said  Tom.  "  She  knows  me, 
bless  you  1" 

"  Tlien,  let  us  go  down  at  once  and  tell  her  so ; 
for  the  sooner  we  are  rid  of  their  company  tlie 
hetler  As  yon  have  condacted  the  conversation 
vvitii  this  gentleman  hitiierto,  perliaps  you'll  tell 
hiin  what  we  purpose  doing;  will  you  ?" 

.Mr.  Pinch  eomplying,  at  once  imparted  the 
intelligeiice  to  Mi.  Tigsj,  who  shook  him  warmly 
by  the  iund  in  return,  assuring  him  that  his  faith 
ill  anything  and  everything  was  again  restored. 
ll  was  not  so  much,  he  said,  for  the  temporary 
relief  of  this  assistance  that  he  prized  it,  as  for  its 
vindication  of  tlie  high  principle  that  Nature's 
Nobs  felt  with  Nature's  Nobs,  and  true  greatness 
of  soul  svmpalliised  with  true  greatness  of  soul, 
uU  the  world  over.  It  proved  to  him,  he  sa'd,  that 
like  him  they  admired  genius,  even  when  it  was 
coupled  with  the  alloy  occasionally  visible  in  the 
metal  of  his  friend  81yme;  and  on  behalf  of  that 
friend,  he  thanked  them,  as  warmly  and  heartily 
as  if  the  cause  were  his  own.  Being  cut  short 
ui  these  speeches  ijy  a  general  move  towards  the 
stairs,  he  took  possession,  at  the  street-door,  of  tlie 
lapel  of  Mr.  Pinch's  coat,  as  a  security  against 
further  interruption,  and  entertained  that  gentle- 
man with  some  highly  improving  discourse  until 
they  reached  tlie  Dragon,  whither  they  were 
closely  followed  by  Mark  and  the  new  pupil. 

The  rosy  hostess  scarcely  needed  Mr.  Pinch's 
word  as  a  preliminary  to  the  release  of  her  two 
visitors,  of  whom  she  was  glad  to  be  rid  on  any 
terms  :  indeed,  their  brief  detention  had  originated 
mainly  with  Mr.  Tupley,  who  entertained  a  con- 
stitutional dislike  to  gentlemen  out-at-elbows  who 
flourished  on  false  pretences;  and  had  conceived 
a  particular  aversion  to  Mr.  Tigg  and  his  friend, 
as  choice  specimens  of  the  species.  The  business 
m  hand  thus  easily  settled,  Mr.  Pinch  and  Martin 
would  have  withdrawn  immediately,  bat  for  the 
tirgent  entreaties  of  Mr.  Tigg  that  he  would  allow 
liim  the  honour  of  presenting  them  to  his  friend 
Slyme,  which  were  so  very  ditficull  of  resistance 
that,  yielding  partly  to  these  persuasions  and 
partly  to  their  own  curiosity,  they  suiFered  them- 
selves to  be  usher.'d  into  the  presence  of  that 
distinguished  gentleman. 

He  was  brood  in<j  over  the  remains  of  yesterday's 
decanter  of  brandy,  and  was  engaged  in  the 
thoughttijl  occupation  of  making  a  chain  of  i\n<rs 
on  the  top  of  tiie  table  with  tiie  wet  foot  of  his 
drinking-glass.  Wretched  and  forlorn  as  he 
looked,  Mr.  Slyme  had  once  been,  in  his  way,  the 
clioicest  of  swaggerers:  putting  forth  his  preten- 
sions, boldly,  as  a  man  of  infinite  taste  and  most 
undoubted  proiiiise.  The  stock-in-trade  requisite 
to  set  up  an  amateur  in  this  department  of  busi- 
ness, is  very  slight  and  easily  got  together;  a 
trick  of  the  nose  and  a  curl  of  the  lip  suiiicient  to 
Compound  a  tolerable  sneer,  being  ample  pro- 
visi  >n  for  any  exigency.  But,  in  an  evil  hour, 
this  ofF-shoot  of  the  Chuzzlewit  trunk,  being  lazy, 
and  il!  qualified  for  any  regular  pursuit,  and  hav- 
ing dissipated  such  means  as  he  ever  possessed, 
had  formally  established  himself  as  a  professor  of 
Taste  for  a  livelihood  ;  and  finding,  too  late,  that 
something  more  than  his  old  amount  of  qualifica- 
tions was  necessary  to  sustain  him  in  this  calling, 
had  quickly  fallen  to  his  present  level,  where  he 
retained  nothing  of  his  old  sell   but  his  boastful- 


ness  and  his  bile,  and  seemed  to  have  nv  existence 
separate  or  apart  from  his  friend  Tigg.  And  now 
so  abject  and  pititul  was  he — at  once  so  maudlin, 
insolent,  beggarly,  and  proud — that  even  his  friend 
and  parasite,  standing  erect  beside  him,  swelled 
into  a  man  by  contrast. 

"Chiv,"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  clapping  him  on  tho 
back,  "  my  friend  Pecksniff  not  being  at  home,  I 
have  arranged  our  trifling  piece  of  busini^ss  wit!) 
Mr,  Pinch  and  friend.  Mr.  Pinch  and  t'ri«;nd,  Mr. 
Chevy  Slyme — Chiv,  Mr   Pinch  and  friend  1" 

"These  are  agreeable  circumstances  in  which 
to  be  introduced  to  strangers,"  said  Chevy  SlynT', 
turning  his  bloodshot  eyes  towards  Tom  Pincii. 
"  I  am  the  most  miserable  man  in  tho  world,  I 
believe !" 

Tom  begged  he  wouldn't  mention  it,  and  find- 
ing him  in  this  condition,  retired,  after  an  awk- 
ward pause,  followed  by  Martin,  But  Mr.  Tiirg 
so  urgently  conjured  them,  by  coughs  and  signs, 
to  remain  in  the  shadow  of  the  door,  that  tliey 
stopped  there, 

"  I  swear,"  cried  Mr,  Slyme,  giving  the  table 
an  imbecile  blow  with  his  fist,  and  then  feebly 
leaning  his  head  upon  his  hand,  while  some 
drunken  drops  oozed  trom  his  eyes,  "  that  I  am 
the  wretchedcst  creature  on  record.  Society  is  in 
a  conspirac}'  against  me,  I  'm  the  most  literary 
man  alive.  I  'm  full  of  scholarship  ;  I  'in  full  of 
genius  ;  I  'm  full  of  inlbrmation  ;  I  'm  full  of  novel 
views  on  every  subject ;  yet  look  at  my  coiiaitiun  ■ 
I  'm  at  this  moment  obliged  to  two  strangers  for 
a  tavern  bill !" 

Mr.  Tigg  replenished  his  friend's  glass,  pressed 
it  into  his  hand,  and  nodded  an  intimatior.  to  the 
visitors  that  they  would  see  him  in  a  belle;-  aSj)ect 
immediately, 

"  Obliged  to  two  strangers  for  a  tavern  bill, 
eh!"  repeated  Mr.  Slyme,  after  a  sulky  apj-.lica. 
tion  to  his  glass.  "  Very  pretty  !  And  crowds  of 
impostors,  the  while,  becoming  famous  :  men  who 
are  no  more  on  a  level  with  me  than —  Tigs:  I 
take  }'ou  to  witness  that  I  am  the  most  persecuted 
hound  on  the  face  of  the  earth." 

With  a  whine,  not  unlike  the  cry  of  t!ie  animal 
he  named,  in  its  lowest  state  of  humili  itioii,  be 
raised  his  glass  to  his  mouth  again.  He  tound 
some  encouragement  in  it ;  for  when  ho  set  it 
down,  he  laughed  scornfully.  Upon  th.it  Mr.'l'irfg 
gesticulated  to  the  visitors  once  more,  ar.d  win 
great  expression  :  implying  that  now  tiie  time  wis 
come  when  they  would  see  Chiv  in  his  greatness, 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  1"  laughed  Mr.  Slyme.  "  (.»)lig.  d 
to  two  strangers  for  a  tavern  bill  1  Yet  I  think 
I  've  a  rich  uncle,  Tigg,  who  could  buy  up  the 
uncles  of  fifty  strangers?  Have  I,  or  have  I 
not?  I  come  of  a  good  family,  I  believe?  Di 
I,  or  do  I  not  ?  I  'm  not  a  man  of  common  cri'.nt 
city  or  accomplishments,  I  think.  Am  I,  or  aij- 
I  not  ?" 

"  You  are  the  American  aloe  of  the  humai 
race,  my  dear  Chiv,"  said  Mr.  Tig-g,  "  which  oidj 
blooms  once  in  a  hundred  years  I" 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  I"  laughed  Mr,  Slyme,  airijin. 
"  Obliged  to  two  strangers  for  a  tavern  bill  1  1 1 
Obliged  to  two  architect's  appienticos  —  fellows 
who  measure  earth  with  iron  chains,  and  build 
houses  like  bricklayers.  Give  me  thts  names  of 
those  two  apn'eniioes.  How  dare  they  cblig* 
I  me  I" 


50 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


IVIr.  Tigg  was  quite  lost  in  admiration  of  this 
Doble  trail  in  his  friend's  character;  as  he  made 
known  to  Mr.  Pinch  in  a  neat  little  ballet  of  ac- 
tion, spontaneously  invented  f.r  the  purpose. 

"  I  '11  let  'em  know,  and  I  '11  let  all  men  know," 
cri(  d  C  hevj  Slime,  "  that  I  'ni  none  of  the  mean, 
grovelling,  tame  characters  they  meet  with  com- 
monly. I  have  an  independent  spirit.  I  have  a 
heart  that  swells  in  my  bosom.  I  have  a  soul  that 
rises  superior  to  base  considerations." 

"O,  Chiv,  Cliiv,"  murmured  Mr.  Tigg,  "you 
have  a  nobly  independent  nature,  Chiv  I" 

"  You  go  and  do  your  duty,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Slyme, 
angrilj',  "and  borrow  money  for  travelling  ex- 
penses ;  and  whoever  you  borrow  of,  let  'cm  know 
tliat  I  possess  a  liaughty  spirit,  and  a  proud  spirit, 
and  have  infernally  finely-touched  chords  in  my 
nature,  which  won't  brook  patronage.  Do  you 
hear?  Tell  'em  I  hate  'em,  and  that  that's  the 
way  I  preserve  my  self  respect ;  and  tell  'em  that 
no  man  ever  respected  himself  more  than  I  do  I" 

He  might  have  added  that  he  hated  two  sorts 
of  men  ;  all  those  who  did  him  favours,  and  all 
those  who  were  better  off  than  himself;  as  in 
either  case  their  position  was  an  insult  to  a  man 
of  his  stupendous  merits.  But  he  did  not ;  for 
with  the  apt  closing  words  above  recited,  Mr. 
Slynie — of  too  haughty  a  stomach  to  work,  to  beg, 
to  burrow,  or  to  steal;  yet  mean  enough  to  be 
worked  or  borrowed,  bejiged  or  stolen  ft,  by  any 
catspaw  that  would  serve  his  turn  :  too  insolent  to 
Uric  the  hand  that  fed  him  in  his  need,  yet  cur 
enough  to  bile  and  tear  it  in  the  dark — vsitli  these 
apt  closing  words,  Mr.  Slynic  fell  rorwar<i  with 
Ills  head  upon  the  table,  and  so  declined  into  a 
sodden  sleep. 

"  Was  there  ever,"  cried  Mr.  Tigg,  joining  the 
young  men  at  the  door,  and  shutting  it  carefully 
behind  him,  "such  an  independent  spirit  as  is 
possessed  by  tliat  extraordinary  creature  ?  Was 
Ihere  ever  such  a  Roman  as  our  friend  Chiv  ?  Was 
there  ever  a  man  of  fueh  a  purely  classical  turn 
of  thought,  and  of  such  a  toga-like  simplicity  of 
nature  ?  Was  there  ever  a  man  with  such  a  flow 
of  eloquence?  Might  he  not,  gents  both,  I  ask, 
have  sat  upon  a  tripod  in  tl'e  ancient  times,  and 
prophesied  to  a  perfectly  unlimited  extent,  if  pre- 
viously supplied  with  gin-and-water  at  the  public 
cost  ?" 

Mr.  Pinch-was  about  to  contest  this  latter  posi- 
tion with  his  usual  mildness,  when,  observing  that 
his  companion  had  already  gone  down-stairs,  he 
prepared  to  follow  him. 

"You  are  not  going,  Mr.  Pinch  ?"  said  Tigg. 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Tom.  "Yes.  Don't 
come  down." 

"  Do  you  know  that  I  should  like  one  little  word 
m  private  with  you,  Mr.  Pinch  ?"  said  Tigg,  fol- 
lowing him.  "One  minuve  of  your  company  in 
the  skittle-ground  would  very  much  relieve  my 
mind.     Might  1  beseech  that  favour?" 

"Oh,  certainly,"  replied  Tom,  "  if  you  really 
wish  it."  So  he  accompanied  Mr.  Tigg  to  the 
retreat  in  question  :  on  arriving  at  which  place 
that  gentleman  took  from  his  hat  what  seemed  to 
be  the  fossil  remains  of  an  antediluvian  jjocket- 
handkerchief,  and  wiped  his  eyes  therewith. 

"You  have  nrit  beheld  me  this  day,"  said  Mr. 
Tigg,  "  in  a  favourable  light." 

•*  Dom't  meiiti(jn  that,"  said  Tom,  "  I  beg." 


"  But  you  have  not"  cried  Tigg.  "  1  must  pe, 
sist  in  that  opinion.  If  you  could  have  seen  nic, 
Mr.  Pinch,  at  the  head  of  my  regiment  on  the 
coast  of  Africa,  charging  in  the  form  oi  a  licillo'.v- 
square  with  the  women  and  children  and  the  regi- 
mental plate-chest  in  the  centre,  you  would  not 
have  known  me  for  the  same  man.  You  would 
have  respected  me,  sir." 

Tom  had  certain  ideas  of  his  own  upon  \hc 
subject  of  glory  ;  and  consequently  he  was  m-t 
quite  so  much  excited  by  tiiis  picture  as  Mr.  Tigg 
could  have  desired. 

"  But  no  matter  !"  said  that  gentleman.  "  The 
school-boy  writing  home  to  his  parents  aid  .).•- 
scribing  the  milk-and-water,  said  'This  is  indeed 
weakness.'  I  repeat  that  assertion  in  ref'ere::CL  to 
myself  at  the  present  moment:  and  I  ask  yvi 
pardon.     Sir,  you  have  seen  my  friend,  Slyme  ?" 

"No  doubt,"  said  Mr.  I'inch. 

"  Sir,  you  have  been  impressed  by  my  friend 
Slyme  ?" 

"  Not  very  pleasantly,  I  must  say,"  answered 
Tom,  after  a  little  hesitation. 

"  I  am  grieved  but  not  surprised,"  cried  "Mr. 
Tigg,  detaining  him  by  both  lapels,  "to  hear  that 
you  have  come  to  ihi.t  conclusion  ;  for  it  is  my 
own.  But,  Mr  Pinch,  though  1  am  a  rough  and 
tlioiighlless  man,  I  can  honour  Mind.  1  lioriour 
Mind  in  following  my  frif  nd.  To  you  of  all  rnfn, 
?Ir.  Pinch,  I  have  a  right  to  make  appeal  on 
Mind's  behair,  when  it  has  not  the  ail  to  pusli  ita 
fortune  in  the  world.  And  sf>,  sir — not  for  niy.'.elfi 
wlio  have  no  claim  upon  you,  but  for  my  crushtd, 
my  sensitive  and  independent  friend,  w  ho  has — 1 
ask  the  loan  of  three  half  crowns.  1  ask  you  for 
the  loan  of  three  half-crowns,  di>tinclly,  and  wifli- 
out  a  blush.  1  ask  it,  almost  as  a  right.  Aiid 
when  I  add  that  they  will  be  returned  ty  jn  si, 
this  week,  I  feel  that  you  will  blame  me  foi  that 
sordid  stipulation." 

Mr.  Pinch  took  from  his  pocket  an  old-fashiorv- 
ed  red-leatlirr  purse  with  a  stetl-clasp,  which  had 
probably  (jnce  belonged  to  his  deceased  grandmo- 
ther. It  held  one  half  sovereign  and  no  more.  All 
Tom's  worldly  wealth  until  next  quarttr-day. 

"  Slav  !"  cried  Mr.  Tigg,  w  ho  had  watched  this 
proceeding  keenly.  "  I  was  just  about  to  s.iy,^ 
that  for  tie  convenience  of  posting  you  had  bet- 
ter make  it  g(>Id.  Thank  you.  A  general  direc- 
tion, I  supiiost,  to  .Mr.  Pinch,  at  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
— will  that  find  you  ?" 

"That'll  find  n)e,"  said  Tom.  "You  had  Ut- 
ter put  Esquire  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's  name,  if  yiu 
please.  Direct  to  me,  you  know,  at  Selh  Piek. 
snitf's.  Esquire." 

"  At  Seth  Pecksniff's,  Esquire,"  repeated  ;\Ir, 
Tigg,  taking  an  exact  note  of  it,  with  a  '^tump  of 
pencil.     "We  said  this  week,  I  believi'  .'" 

"Yes:  or  Mond.iy  will  do,"  replied  Tom. 

"No,  no,  I  beg  your  pardon.  Motiday  will  riot 
do,"  said  Mr.  Tigg.  "  If  v\e  stipulated  liir  this 
week,  Saturday  is  the  latest  day.  Did  we  stipu- 
late for  this  week  ?" 

"Since  yo"  are  so  particular  about  it,"  said 
Tom,  "  I  think  wl  did." 

Mr.  Tigg  added  tjiis  condition  to  his  memor;  n. 
dum  ;  read  the  entry  over  to  him.self  with  a  severe 
frown  ;  and  that  the  transaction  might  jt  the  ni'.re 
correct  and  Imsiness-like,  appended  his  initials  lo 
the  whole.     That  done,  he  assured  Mr.  Pinen  llmt 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


51 


everything'  was  now  perfectly  regular  ;  and,  aRcr 
squeezing  ills  liiind  with  gTe:it  lurvour,  departed. 

Tom  entertained  enough  suspicion  that  Martin 
might  possibly  turn  this  interview  into  a  jest,  to 
n  nder  him  desirous  to  avoid  the  company  of  that 
young  gentleman  for  the  present.  With  this  view 
he  look  a  few  turns  up  and  down  the  skittle-ground, 
Hiiil  did  not  le-enter  the  liouse  until  Mr.  'I'igg  and 
his  Iriend  liad  quitted  it,  and  the  new  pupil  and 
M..rk  were  watching  their  departure  from  one  of 
liie  windows. 

"  I  was  just  a  saying,  sir,  that  if  one  could  live 
t')'  it,"  observed  IVIark,  pointing  after  their  late 
guesis,  "  that  would  be  tiie  sort  of  service  for  me. 
Wailing  on  sucli  individuals  as  them,  would  be 
better  than  grave-digging,  sir." 

"And  staying  here  would  be  better  tlian  either, 
Mark,"  replied  Tom.  "  So  take  my  advice,  and 
continue  to  swim  easily  in  smootli  water." 

"  It's  too  late  to  take  it  now,  sir,"  said  Mark. 
"  I  have  broke  it  to  her,  sir.  I  am  off  to-morrow 
morning." 

"Oti"!"  cried  Mr.  Pinch,  "where  to?" 

"  I  shall  go  up  to  London,  sir  " 

"  What  to  be  /"  asked  Mr.  Pinch. 

"  Well !  1  don't  know  yet,  sir.  Nothing  turned 
up  tha'.  day  I  opened  my  mind  to  you,  as  was  at 
all  likely  to  suit  me.  All  them  trades  I  thought 
ol'  was  a  deal  too  jolly  ;  there  was  no  credit  at  all 
to  be  got  in  any  of 'em.  I  must  look  for  a  private 
service  I  suppose,  sir.  I  might  be  brought  out 
strong,  perhaps,  in  a  serious  family,  Mr.  Pinch." 

"Perhaps  you  mljlit  come  out  rather  loo  strong 
for  a  serious  family's  taste,  Mark." 

"That's  possible,  sir.  If  I  could  get  into  a 
wicked  family,  I  jnijjht  do  myself  justice  :  but  the 
difficulty  is  to  make  .sure  of  one's  ground,  because 
a  young  man  can't  very  well  advertise  that  he 
wants  a  place,  and  wages  an't  so  much  an  object 
as  a  wicked  sitivation  ;  can  he,  sir  ?" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "  1  don't  think 
he  can." 

"  An  envious  family,"  pursued  Mark,  with  a 
thoughtiul  face;  "or  a  quarrelsome  family,  or  a 
malicious  family,  or  even  a  good  out-and-out  mean 
family,  would  open  a  field  of  action  as  I  might  do 
something  in.  Tiie  man  as  would  have  suited  me 
of  all  other  men  was  that  old  gentleman  as  was 
took  ill  here,  ibr  he  really  was  a  trying  customer, 
flowsever,  I  must  wait  and  see  what  turns  up,  sir  ; 
and  hope  for  the  worst." 

"  You  are  determined  to  go  then  ?"  said  Mr. 
Pinch. 

"  My  box  is  gone  already,  sir,  by  the  wagon, 
und  I  'm  going  to  walk  on  lo-morrow  morning, 
and  get  a  lift  by  the  day  coach  when  it  overtakes 
me.  So  I  wish  you  good  b'ye,  Mr.  Pinch — and 
you  too,  sir, — and  all  good  luck  and  happiness  I" 

They  both  returned  his  greeting  laughingly, 
and  walked  home  arm-in-arm;  Mr.  Pinch  impart- 
ing to  his  new  friend,  as  they  went,  such  further 
particulars  of  Mark  Tapley's  wliinisioal  restless- 
ness as  the  reader  is  already  acquainted  with. 

In  the  liieantime  Mark,  having  a  shrewd  notion 
that  his  mistress  was  in  very  low  spirits,  and  that 
he  could  not  exactly  answer  for  the  consequences 
of  any  lengthened  tete  a  tile  in  tiie  bar,  kept  him- 
self obstinately  out  of  her  way  all  the  atlernoon 
and  evening.  In  this  piece  of  generalship  he  was 
Terv  much  assisted  by  the  great  influ.t  of  company 


into  the  tap-room  ;  for  the  news  of  his  intention 
having  gone  abroad,  there  was  a  perfect  throng 
there  all  the  evening,  and  much  drinking  of  healt.'is 
and  clinking  of  mugs.  At  length  the  house  wa!» 
closed  for  the  night ;  and  there  being  now  no  lielp 
tor  it,  Mark  put  the  best  face  he  could  upon  the 
matter,  and  walked  doggedly  to  the  bar-door. 

"  If  I  look  at  her,"  said  Mark  to  hiniselli  "  I  'ni 
done.     I  ftel  that  I  'm  a  going  fast." 

"  You  have  come  at  last,"  said  Mrs.  Lupin. 

Ay,  Mark  said  :  There  he  was. 

"  And  you  are  determined  to  leave  us,  Mark," 
cried  M'^s.  Lupin. 

"  Why,  yes  ;  I  am,"  said  Mark;  keeping  his 
eyes  hard  upon  tlie  floor. 

"  I  thougiit,"  pursued  the  landlady,  with  a  most 
engaging  hesitation,  "that  you  had  been — Ibnd — 
of  the  Dragon  ?" 

"  So  I  am,"  said  Mark. 

"  Then,"  pursued  the  hostess — and  it  really  was 
not  an  unnatural  inquiry — "why  do  you  desert  it  ?" 

But  as  he  gave  no  manner  of  answer  to  this 
question  ;  not  even  on  its  being  repeated  ;  Mrs. 
Lupin  put  his  money  into  his  hand,  and  asked 
him — not  unkindly,  quite  the  contrary — what  he 
would  take. 

It  is  proverbial  that  there  are  certain  things 
which  flesh  and  blood  cannot  bear.  Such  a  ques- 
tion as  tliis,  propounded  in  such  a  manner,  at  such 
a  time,  and  by  such  a  person,  proved  (at  least,  as 
far  as  Mark's  fiesh  and  blood  were  concerned)  to 
be  one  of  them.  He  looked  up  in  spite  of  himself 
directly  ;  and  having  once  looked  up  there  was  no 
looking  down  again  ;  for  of  all  the  tigiit,  plumj), 
buxom,  bright-eyed,  dimple-faced  landladies  that 
ever  shone  on  earth,  there  stood  before  him  then, 
bodily  in  that  bar,  the  very  pink  and  pine-apple. 

"  Why,  I  tell  you  what,"  said  Mark,  throwing 
off  all  his  constraint  in  an  instant,  and  seizing  the 
hostess  round  the  waist — at  which  she  was  not  at 
all  alarmed,  for  she  knew  what  a  g>'od  young  man 
he  was — •"  if  I  took  what  I  liked  most,  I  should 
lake  you.  If  I  only  thought  of  what  was  best  for 
me,  I  should  take  you.  If  I  took  what  nineteen 
young  fellows  in  twenty  would  be  glad  to  take, 
and  would  take  at  any  price,  I  should  take  you. 
Yes,  I  should,"  cried  Mr.  'I'a[)ley,  shaking  his 
head,  expressively  enough,  and  looking  (in  a  mo- 
mentary state  of  forgetfulness)  rather  hard  at  the 
hostess's  ripe  lips.  "And  no  man  wouldn't  won- 
der if  I  did  !♦' 

Mrs.  Lupin  said  he  amazed  her.  She  was 
astonished  how  he  could  say  such  things.  She 
had  never  thought  it  of  jiim. 

"  Why,  I  never  th.'.dght  it  of  myself  till  n<.w  1" 
said  Mark,  raisini;  his  e^'ebrows  with  a  look  of 
tlie  merriest  possible  surprise.  "  I  always  expected 
we  should  part,  and  never  have  no  explanation  ;  I 
meant  to  do  it  when  I  come  in  liere  just  now  ; 
but  there  's  sometiiing  about  you,  as  makes  a  man 
sensible.  Then  let  us  have  a  word  or  two  toge- 
ther :  letting  it  be  understood  beforehand —  '  he 
added  this  in  a  grave  tone,  to  prevent  the  poss.bi 
lity  of  any  mistake  —  "  that  I  'm  not  a  going  to 
make  no  love,  you  know." 

There  was  for  just  one  second  a  shade— though 
not  by  any  means  a  dark  one — on  the  landlady's 
opc'n  brow.  But  it  passed  off  instantly,  in  a  laagb 
that  came  from  her  very  heart. 

"  Oh,  very  good  I'*  «he  said  :  "  if  there  m  be  t« 


52 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


no  love-making,  you  had  better  take  your  arm 
away." 

"Lord,  why  sliould  I!"  cried  Mark.  "It's 
quite  innocent." 

"  Of  course  it 's  itmocent,"  returned  the  hostess, 
"  or  1  shouldn't  allow  it." 

"  Very  well !"  said  Mark.     "  Then  let  it  be." 

There  was  so  much  reason  in  this,  that  the 
landlady  laughed  again,  suffered  it  to  remain,  and 
bade  him  say  what  he  had  to  say,  and  be  quick 
about  it.  But  he  was  an  impudent  fellow,  she 
kidded. 

"  Ha  ha  I  I  almost  think  I  am  I"  cried  Mark, 
"though  I  never  thouglit  so  before.  Why,  I  can 
suy  anything  to-night  1" 

"  Say  what  you  're  going  to  say  if  you  please, 
and  be  quick,"  returned  the  landlady,  "for  I  want 
to  get  to  bed." 

"  Why,  then,  my  dear  good  soul,"  said  Mark, 
"and  a  kinder  woman  than  you  are,  never  drawed 
breath — let  me  see  the  man  as  says  she  did — 
what  would  be  tlie  likely  consequences  of  us  two 
being — " 

"  Oh  nonsense  !"  cried  Mrs.  Lupin.  "  Don't 
talk  about  that  any  more." 

"  No  no,  but  it  an't  nonsense,"  said  Mark  ;  "  and 
I  wish  you'd  attend.  What  would  be  the  likely 
Consequence  of  us  two  being  married  ?  If  I  can't 
be  content  and  comfortable  in  this  here  lively 
Dragon  now,  is  it  to  be  looked  for  as  I  should  be 
then  ?  By  no  means.  Very  good.  Then  you, 
even  with  your  good  humour,  would  be  always 
en  the  fret  and  worrit,  always  uncomfortable  in 
your  own  mind,  always  a  thinking  as  you  was 
getting  too  old  for  my  taste,  always  a  picturing 
me  to  yourself  as  being  cliained  up  to  the  Dragon 
d(Jor,  and  wanting  to  brciik  away.  I  don't  know 
that  it  would  be  so,"  said  Mark,  "  but  I  don't  know 
that  it  mightn't  be.  I  am  a  roving  sort  of  chap, 
I  know.  I'm  fond  of  change.  I'm  always  a 
thinking  that  with  my  good  health  and  spirits  it 
would  be  more  creditable  in  me  to  be  jolly  where 
tiiere 's  things  a  going  on,  to  make  one  dismal. 
It  may  be  a  mistake  of  niiin-,  you  see,  but  nothing 
sliort  of  trying  how  it  acts,  wi'l  set  it  right.  Then 
an't  it  best  that  I  should  go?  particular  when 
your  free  way  has  helped  me  out  to  say  all  this, 
and  we  can  part  as  good  friends  as  we  have  ever 
been  since  first'I  entered  this  here  noble  Dragon, 
which"  said  Mr.  Tapley  in  conclusion,  "  has  my 


good  word  and  my  good  wish,  to  the  dav  of  my 
death  !" 

The  hostess  sat  quite  silent  for  a  little  time,  but 
she  very  souJj  put  both  her  hands  in  Mark's  and 
shook  them  htarlily. 

"  For  you  are  a  good  man,"  she  said  ;  looking 
into  his  face  with  a  smile,  which  was  rather  se- 
rious  for  her.  "  And  I  do  believe  have  been  a 
better  friend  to  me  to-night  than  ever  I  have  had 
in  all  my  life." 

"  Oh  I  as  to  that,  you  know,"  said  Mark, "  that 's 
nonsense.  But  love  my  heart  alive  1"  he  added, 
looking  at  her  in  a  sort  of  rapture,  "  if  you  are 
that  way  disposed,  what  a  lot  of  suitable  husbands 
there  is  as  you  may  drive  distracted  1" 

She  laughed  again  at  this  compliment;  and, 
once  more  shaking  him  by  both  hands,  and  bid- 
ding  him,  if  he  should  ever  want  a  friend,  to  re- 
member her,  turned  gaily  from  the  little  bar  and 
up  the  Dragon  staircase. 

"  Humming  a  tune  as  she  goes,"  said  Mark, 
listenitiEf,  "in  case  I  should  think  she's  at  all  put 
out,  and  should  be  made  down-hearted.  Come, 
here  's  some  credit  in  being  jolly,  at  last  1" 

With  that  piece  of  comfort,  very  ruefully  uttered, 
he  went,  in  anything  but  a  jolly  manner,  to  bed. 

He  rose  early  next  morning,  and  was  a-foot 
soon  after  sunrise.  But  it  was  of  no  use ;  the 
whole  place  was  up  to  see  Mark  Tapley  off:  tl>e 
bojs,  the  dogs,  the  children,  the  old  men,  the  busy 
people  and  the  idlers:  there  they  were,  all  calling 
out  "Good  by'e,  Mark,"  after  their  own  manner, 
and  all  sorry  he  was  going.  Somehow  he  had  a 
kind  of  sense  that  his  old  mistress  was  peeping 
from  her  chamber-window,  but  he  couldn't  make 
up  his  mind  to  look  back. 

"Good  by'e  one,  good  by'e  all!"  cried  Mark, 
waving  his  hat  on  the  top  of  his  walking-stick, 
as  he  strode  at  a  quick  pace  up  the  little  streeL 
"Hearty  chaps  them  wlicehvrights  —  hurrah! 
Here  's  tlic  butcher's  dng  a-comingout  of  Ihe  gar. 
den — down,  old  tellow  1  And  Mr.  I'inch  a-going 
to  his  oigan — good  by'e,  sir  !  And  the  terrier- 
bitch  from  over  tiie  way — hie,  then,  lass  And 
children  enough  to  hand  down  human  natur  to 
the  latest  posterity — good  by'e,  boys  and  girls. 
'I'herc 's  some  credit  in  it  now.  I'm  a-coming 
out  strung  at  last.  These  are  the  circumstances 
as  WDuld  try  u  ordinary  mind;  but  I'm  unconi- 
inon  jt'llv  ;  not  quite  as  jolly  as  1  could  wish  to 
be,  but  very  near.     Good  by'e  !  good  by'e  I" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


ACCOMPANIES  MR.  PECKSNIFF  AND  HIS  CFIARMING  DAUGHTERS  TO  THL 
CITY  OF  LONDON;  AND  RELATES  WHAT  FELL  OUT,  UPON  THEIR  WAY 
THITHER. 

as  you  are.  And  tliis,  he  said,  was  quite  naturaL 
and  a  very  beautiful  arrangement ;  not  confined 
to  coaches,  but  extending  itself  into  many  sooinl 
ramifi.-ations.  "For"  (he  observed),  "if  eveiy 
one  were  warm  and  well-ted,  we  should  lose  the 
satisfaction  of  admiring  the  tbrtitude  with  which 
certain  conditions  of  men  bear  cold  and  hunger. 
And  if  we  were  no  better  off  than  anybody  else, 
what  would  become  of  our  sense  of  gratitude 
which,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  with  tears  in  his  cyei 


Whkn  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  the  two  young  ladies 
pot  into  the  heavy  (!oacli  at  the  end  of  the  lane, 
they  found  it  empty,  which  was  a  great  comfort; 
particularly  as  the  outside  was  quite  full,  and  the 
(jusscngers  looktd  very  frosty.  For  as  Mr.  Peck- 
imiff  justly  observed — when  he  and  his  daughters 
had  burrowed  tlieir  feet  deep  in  the  straw,  wrapped 
themselves  to  the  chin,  and  pulled  up  both  win- 
dows--it  is  always  satisfactory  to  feel,  in  keen 
weatJier,  that  many  other  people  are  not  as  warm 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


53 


8!^  i(!  shook  his  fist  at  a  beggar  who  wanted  to 
gii  up  bcliind,  "  is  one  of  the  holiest  feelings  of 
our  common  nature." 

His  children  heard  with  becoming  reverence 
these  moral  precepts  from  the  lips  of  their  father, 
and  sigiiifi<'d  their  ac()uiescence  in  the  same,  by 
eniilcs.  That  he  miglit  the  better  feed  and  cher- 
ish tliat  sacred  flame  of  gratitude  in  his  breast, 
Mr  Pet^ksniff  remarked  that  he  would  trouble  his 
eldest  daughter,  even  in  this  early  stage  of  their 
journey,  f.<r  the  brandy-bottle.  And  from  the 
liarfow  neck  of  that  stone  vessel,  he  imbibed  a 
copious  refreshment. 

"  What  are  we  ?"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  but 
coaches  ?  Some  of  us  are  slow  coaches" — 

"  Goodness,  Pa  I"  cried  Charity. 

"Some  of  us,  I  say,"  resumed  her  parent  with 
increased  emphasis,  "are  slow  coaches;  some  of 
us  are  fast  coaches.  Our  passions  are  the  horses; 
and  rampant  animals  too!" — 

"  Really,  Pa  !"  cried  both  the  daughters  at  once. 
"  How  very  unpleasant!" 

"And  rampant  animals  too!"  repeated  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  with  so  much  determination,  that  he 
may  be  said  to  have  exhibited,  at  the  moment,  a 
eort  of  moral  rampancy  himself: — "  and  Virtue 
is  tlie  drag.  We  start  from  Tlio  Mother's  Arms, 
and  we  run  to  The  Dust  Shovel." 

When  he  had  said  this,  Mr.  Pecksniff,  being 
exhausted,  took  some  further  refreshment.  When 
he  had  done  that,  he  corked  the  bottle  tiglit,  with 
tlie  air  of  a  man  who  had  effectually  corked  the 
Buhject  also;  and  went  to  sleep  for  three  stages. 

The  tendency  of  mankind  when  it  falls  asleep 
in  coaches,  is  to  wake  up  cross  ;  to  find  its  legs  in 
its  way  ;  and  its  corns  an  aggravation.  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff not  being  exempt  from  the  common  lot  of 
humanit}',  found  himself,  at  the  end  of  his  nap, 
BO  decidedly  the  victim  of  these  infirmities,  that 
he  had  an  irresistible  inclination  to  visit  them 
Upon  his  daughters;  which  he  had  already  begun 
lo  do  in  the  shape  of  divers  random  kicks,  and 
•tlier  unexpected  motions  of  his  shoes,  when  the 
loach  stopped,  and  after  a  short  delay,  the  door 
vas  opened. 

"  Now  mind,"  said  a  thin  sharp  voice  in  the 
Jark.  "  I  and  my  son  go  inside,  because  the  roaf 
is  full,  but  you  agree  only  to  cliarge  us  outside 
Drices.  It's  quite  understood  that  we  won't  pay 
iiore.     Is  it  ?" 

"  All  right,  sir,"  replied  the  guard. 

"  Is  there  anybody  inside  now?"  inquired  the 
roice. 

"  Three  passengers,"  returned  the  guard. 

"  Then  I  ask  the  three  passengers  to  witness 
/his  bargain,  if  they  will  be  so  good,"  said  the 
Voice.     "  My  boy,  I  think  we  may  safely  get  in." 

In  pursuance  of  which  opinion,  two  people  took 
their  seats  in  the  vehicle,  which  was  solenmly  li- 
censed by  Act  of  Parliament  to  carry  any  six 
persons  who  could  be  got  in  at  the  door. 

"  'I'hat  was  lueky !"  whispered  the  old  man, 
when. they  moved  on  again.  "  And  a  great  stroke 
of  policy  in  you  to  observe  it.  He,  he,  he  I  We 
couldn't  have  gone  outside.  I  should  have  died 
of  the  rheumatism  !" 

Whether  it  occurred  to  the  dutiful  son  that  he 
had  in  some  degree  over-reached  liimself  by  con- 
tributing to  tne  prolongation  of  his  father's  days; 
or  wnetiier  thu   cold   had  affected  liis  temper ;  is 


doubtful.  But  he  gave  his  father  such  a  nudge  in 
reply,  that  that  good  old  gentleman  was  taken 
with  a  cough  which  lasted  for  full  five  minutes, 
without  intermission,  and  gcaded  Mr.  FecKsuirl 
to  that  pitch  of  irritation,  that  he  said  at  last — 
and  very  suddenly — 

"  There  is  no  room  !  There  is  really  no  room  in 
this  coach  for  any  gentleman  with  a  cold  in  his 
head  !" 

"  Mine,"  said  the  old  man,  after  a  moment'* 
pause,  "  is  upon  my  chest,  Pecksniff." 

The  voice  and  manner,  together,  now  that  he 
spoke  out;  the  composure  of  the  speaker;  the 
presence  of  his  son;  and  his  knowledge  of  Mr 
Pecksniff;  afforded  a  clue  to  his  identity  which  it 
was  impossible  to  mistake. 

"Hem  !  I  thougiit,"  said  Mr. Pecksniff,  return- 
ing to  his  usual  mildness,  *'  that  I  addressed  a 
stranger.  I  find  that  I  address  a  relative.  Mr. 
Anthony  Chuzzlewit  and  his  son  Mr.  Jonas — for 
they,  my  dear  children,  are  our  travelling  compa- 
nions— will  excuse  me  for  an  apparently  harsh 
remark.  It  is  not  my  desire  to  wound  tlie  feel- 
ings of  any  person  with  whom  I  am  connected  in 
fimily  bonds,  I  may  be  a  hypocrite,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  cuttingly,  "  but  I  am  not  a  brute." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !"  said  the  old  man.  "  What  sig- 
nifies that  word,  Pecksniff?  Hypocrite  I  why, 
we  are  all  hypocrites.  We  were  all  hypocrites 
t'other  day.  I  am  sure  I  felt  that  to  be  agreed 
upon  among  us,  or  I  shouldn't  have  called  you 
one.  We  should  not  have  been  there  at  all,  if  we 
had  not  been  hypocrites.  The  only  difference  be- 
tween you  and  the  rest  was — shall  I  tell  you  the 
dilference  between  you  and  the  rest  now,  Peck- 
sniff?" 

"  If  you  please,  my  good  sir;  if  3'ou  please." 

"  Why,  tlie  annoying  quality  in  you,  is,"  said 
the  old  man,  "that  you  never  have  a  confederate 
or  partner  in  your  juggling;  you  would  deceive 
everybod}',  even  those  who  practise  the  same  art ; 
and  have  a  way  with  you,  as  if  you — he,  he,  lie  I 
— as  if  you  really  believed  yourself.  I  'd  lay  a 
handsome  wager  now,"  said  the  old  man,  "  if  I 
laid  wagers,  which  I  don't  and  never  did,  that  you 
keep  up  appearances  by  a  tacit  understanding, 
even  before  your  own  daughters  here.  Now  I, 
when  I  have  a  business  scheme  in  hand,  tell  Jonas 
what  it  is,  and  we  discuss  it  openly.  You're  not 
offended,  Pecksniff?" 

"  Offended,  my  good  sir  I"  cried  that  gentleman, 
as  if  he  had  received  the  highest  compliments  tliat 
language  could  convey. 

"  Are  you  travelling  to  London,  Mr.  Pecksniff?" 
asked  the  son. 

"  Yes,  .Mr.  Jonas,  we  are  travelling  to  Londou 
We  shall  have  the  pleasure  of  your  company  all 
the  way,  I  trust  ?" 

"  Oh  !  eeod,  you  had  better  ask  father  that,' 
said  Jonas.  "I  am  not  a  going  to  commit  my- 
self" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  was,  as  a  matter  of  course,  gre atlw 
entertained  by  this  retort.  His  mirth  having  ciui- 
sided,  Mr.  Jonas  gave  him  to  understand  that  him- 
sclt'  and  parent  were  in  t'act  travelling  to  their 
home  in  the  metropolis :  and  that,  since  the  me- 
morable day  of  the  great  family  gaioeririg,  they 
had  been  tarrying  in  that  part  of  the  couniry 
watching  the  sale  of  certain  eligible  invcstmentii, 
v.hich   they  had  had   in  their  copartnership  eye 


54 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


wlicn  thcj  came  down ;  for  it  was  their  custom, 
Mr.  Jonas  said,  whenever  such  a  thing  was  prac- 
jcable,  to  i<ill  two  birds  with  one  stone,  and  never 
lo  throw  away  sprats,  but  as  bait  for  whales. 
When  lie  had  communicated,  to  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
these  pithy  scraps  of  intelligence,  he  said  "That 
if  it  was  all  the  same  to  him,  he  would  turn  him 
over  to  father,  and  have  a  chat  with  the  gals  ;" 
and  in  furlliiriince  of  this  polite  scheme,  lie  va- 
cated his  se;it  Hdjoining  that  gentleman,  and  estab- 
lished himselt"  in  the  opposite  corner,  next  to  the 
fair  Miss  Mercy. 

The  education  of  Mr.  Jonas  had  been  conducted 
from  his  cradle  on  the  strictest  principles  of  the 
main  chance.  The  very  first  word  he  learnt  to 
spell  was  "gain,"  and  the  second  (when  he  got 
into  two  sylliibles),  "  money."  But  for  two  re- 
suits,  wliich  were  not  clearly  foreseen  perhaps  by 
his  watchful  parent  in  the  beginning,  his  training 
may  be  said  to  have  been  unexceptionable.  One 
of  these  flaws  was,  that  having  been  long  taught 
by  liis  father  to  over-reach  everybody,  he  had  im- 
perceptibly acquired  a  love  of  over-reaching  that 
venerable  monitor  himself.  The  other,  that  from 
his  early  habits  of  considering  everything  as  a 
question  of  property,  he  had  gradually  come  to 
look,  with  impatience,  on  his  parent  as  a  certain 
amount  of  personal  estate,  which  had  no  right 
whatever  to  be  going  at  large,  but  ought  to  be 
secured  in  that  particular  description  of  iron  safe 
A'hich  is  commonly  called  a  colfin,  and  banked  in 
the  grave. 

"  Well,  cousin  I"  said  Mr.  Jonas — "  Because  we 
are  cousins,  you  know  a  few  times  removed — So 
you're  going  to  London  ?" 

Miss  Mercy  replied  in  the  affirmative,  pinching 
her  sister's  arm  at  the  same  time,  and  giggling 
excessively. 

"  Lots  of  beaux  in  London,  cousin  I"  said  Mr. 
Jonas,  slightly  advancing  his  elbow. 

"  Indued,  sir  1"  cried  the  young  lady.  "They 
won't  hurt  us,  sir,  I  dare  say."  And  having  given 
liim  this  answer  with  great  demureness,  she  was 
so  overcome  by  her  own  humour,  that  slie  wus 
fain  to  stifle  her  merriment  in  her  sister's  .shawl. 

"Merry,"  cried  that  m^re  prudent  damsel, 
"really  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  How  can  you  go 
on  so?  you  wild  thing!"  At  which  Miss  Merry 
only  laughed  the  more,  of  course. 

"  I  saw  a  wildncss  in  her  eye,  t'other  day," 
said  Mr.  Jonas,  addressing  Charity.  "  But  you're 
the  one  to  sit  solemn !  I  say — you  were  regularly 
prim,  cousin  1" 

"  Oh  1  The  old-fishioned  friglit  I"  cried  Merry, 
in  a  v^'hisper.  "  Cherry,  my  diar,  upon  my  word 
you  must  sit  next  him.  I  shall  die  outright  if  he 
talks  to  me  anymore;  I  shall  positively  I"  To 
prevent  \yhieli  fiital  consequence,  the  buoyant 
crei.ture  skii)|)ed  out  of  her  scat  as  she  spoke,  and 
^ueezed  liir  sister  into  the  place  from  which  she 
bad  risen, 

"  Don't  mind  crowding  me,"  cried  Mr.  Jonas. 
"I  like  to  b(!  crowded  by  gals.  Come  a  little 
closer,  cousin." 

•'  No,  th:i!ik  you,  sir,"  said  Cliarity. 

"  There's  lliat  other  one  a  laughing  again,"  said 
Mr.  Jonas;  "she's  a  hiughing  at  my  father,  I 
unouldn't  wonder.  If  he  puts  on  that" old  flannel 
mt;htcup  of  his,  I  don't  knnw  what  she'll  do!  Is 
that  inv  liilher  a  snoring,  I'ecki-iuff'.'" 


"  Yes,  Mr.  Jonas." 

"Tread  upon  his  foot,  A'ill  you  be  so  good  ?* 
said  the  young  gentleman.  "  The  foot  next  you  'a 
the  gouty  one." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  hesitating  to  perform  this  friendly 
office,  Mr.  Jonas  did  it  himself;  at  the  same  time 
crying — 

"  Come,  wake  up,  father,  or  you'l!  be  having 
the  nightmare,  and  screccliing  out,  /know. — Do 
you  ever  have  the  nightmare,  cousin  ?"  he  asktd 
his  neighbour,  with  cliaracteristic  gallantry,  as  he 
dropped  his  voice  again. 

"Sometimes,"  answered  Charity.  "Not  often." 

"The  other  one,"  said  Mr.  Jonas,  after  a  pause. 
"  Does  she  ever  have  the  nightmare  ?'' 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Charity.  "  You  had 
better  ask  her." 

"She  laughs  so;"  said  Jnnas;  "there's  no 
talking  to  her.  Only  hark  how's  she  a  going  on 
now  I     You're  the  sensible  one,  cousin  1" 

"Tut,  tut  I"  cried  Charity. 

"  Oh  !   But  you  are  I  You  know  you  are  '" 

"  Mercy  is  a  little  giddy,"  said  Miss  Charity. 
"But  she'll  sober  down  in  lime." 

"  It'll  be  a  very  long  time,  then,  if  she  does  at 
all,"  rejoined  her  cousin.  "  Take  a  little  more 
room." 

"  I  am  afraid  of  crowding  you,"  said  Charity. 
But  she  took  it  notwithstanding  ;  and  after  one  or 
tv. o  remarks  on  the  extreme  heaviness  of  the 
coach,  and  the  number  of  places  it  slopped  at, 
they  fell  into  a  silence  which  remained  unbroken 
by  any  member  of  the  party  until  supper-time. 

Although  Mr.  Jonas  conducted  t'iiarity  to  the 
hotel  and  sat  himself  beside  her  at  the  board,  it 
was  prftty  clear  that  he  had  an  eye  to  "  tile  other 
one"  also,  for  he  often  glanced  across  at  Mercy, 
and  seemed  to  draw  comparisons  between  the 
personal  appearance  of  the  two,  which  were  not 
unfavourable  to  the  superior  plumpness  of  the 
younger  sister.  He  allowed  himself  no  great 
leisure  for  this  kind  of  observation,  however,  be- 
ing busily  engaged  with  the  supper,  which,  as  he 
whispered  in  his  fair  companion's  ear,  was  a  con- 
tract bu-siness,  and  therefore  the  more  ?hc  ale,  the 
better  the  bargain  was.  His  father  and  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, probably  acting  on  the  same  wise  principle, 
demolished  everything  that  came  within  their 
reach,  and  by  that  means  acquired  a  greasy  ex- 
pression of  countenance,  indicating  contentment, 
if  not  repletion,  which  it  was  very  pleasant  to 
contemplate. 

VN'hen  they  could  eat  no  more,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
and  Mr.  Jonas  subscribed  for  two  sixpcnnvworlhs 
of  hot  brandy-and-water,  which  the  latter  gentle, 
man  considered  a  more  politic  order  than  ont 
shillingsworth ;  there  being  a  chance  of  tlieii 
getting  more  spirit  out  of  the  innkt-ejK'r  under 
this  arrangement  than  if  it  were  all  in  one  glass. 
Having  swallowed  his  share  of  the  enlivening 
fluid,  IMr.  Pecksniff,  under  pretence  of  going  to 
see  it'  the  coach  were  ready,  went  secretly  to  the 
bar,  and  had  his  own  little  bottle  tilled,  in  order 
that  he  might  refresh  hiinstlf  at  leisure  in  the 
dark  coach  without  being  ol).-erv(d. 

These  arraniTcineiits  (•iinehuii!d,  and  the  coach 

being   ready,  they  got  into  their  old   places  and 

jojjged   on   again.      But  l)i;fore  he  composed   him 

self  for  .1  nap,  Mr   PeeksnitT  delivered  a  kind  «>/ 

I  grace  after  meat,  in  ihcs*;  v\orda: 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


55 


"  The  process  of  dig'estion,  as  I  have  been  iii- 
jbrined  by  anatomical  friends,  is  one  of  tlie  most 
wonderful  works  of  nature.  I  do  not  know  how 
it  may  be  with  others,  but  it  is  a  great  satisfac- 
tion to  me  to  know,  when  regaling  on  my  humble 
fire,  tliat  I  am  putting  in  motion  the  most  beauti- 
ful machinery  with  wliich  we  have  any  acquaint- 
iiice.  I  really  feel  at  such  times  as  if  I  was  doing 
u  [lublic  service.  When  I  have  wound  myself  up, 
it  I  may  employ  such  a  term,"  said  Mr.  Pecksnitf 
witli  exquisite  tenderness,  "  and  know  that  I  am 
Going,  I  feel  that  in  the  lesson  afforded  by  tlie 
w  )rks  witiiin  me,  I  am  a  Benefactor  to  my  Kind  1" 

As  nothing  could  be  added  to  this,  nothing  was 
said ;  and  Mr.  Pecksniff,  exulting,  it  may  be  pre- 
«mmed,  in  his  moral  utility,  went  to  sleep  again. 

The  rest  of  the  night  wore  away  in  the  usual 
manner.  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  Old  Anthony  kept 
tumbling  against  each  other  and  waking  up  much 
terrified ;  or  crushed  their  heads  in  opposite  cor- 
ners of  the  coach  and  strangely  tattooed  the  surf  ice 
of  their  faces — Heaven  knows  how — in  their  sleep. 
The  coach  stopped  and  went  on,  and  went  on  and 
stopped,  times  out  of  number.  Passengers  got  up 
and  passengers  got  down,  and  fresh  horses  came 
and  went  and  came  again,  with  scarcely  any  in- 
terval between  each  team  as  it  seemed  to  those 
who  were  dozing,  and  with  a  gap  of  a  whole  night 
between  every  one  as  it  seemed  to  those  wlio  were 
broad  awake.  At  length  they  began  to  jolt  and 
rumble  over  horribly  uneven  stones,  and  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff looking  out  of  window  said  it  was  to-morrow 
morning,  and  they  were  there. 

Very  soon  afterwards  the  coach  stopped  at  the 
office  in  the  city ;  and  the  street  in  whicli  it  was 
situated  was  already  in  a  bustle,  that  fully  bore 
out  Mr.  Pecksniff's  words  about  its  being  morn- 
ing, though  for  any  signs  of  day  yet  appearing  in 
the  sky  it  miglit  have  been  midnight.  Tliere  was 
a  dense  fug  too — as  if  it  were  a  city  in  the  clouds, 
which  tliey  had  been  travelling  to  all  night  up  a 
magic  beanstalk  —  and  a  thick  crust  upon  the 
pavement  like  oil-cake ;  which,  one  of  the  out- 
sides  (mad,  no  doubt)  said  to  another  (his  keeper, 
of  course),  was  snow. 

Taking  a  confused  leave  of  Anthony  and  his 
son,  diid  having  the  luggage  of  himself  and  daugh- 
ters at  the  othce  to  be  culled  for  afterwards,  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  with  one  of  the  young  ladies  under 
each  arm,  dived  across  the  street,  and  then  across 
other  streets,  and  so  up  the  queerest  courts,  and 
down  ttie  strongest  alleys  and  under  the  blindest 
archways,  in  a  kind  of  frenzy  :  now  skipping  over 
a  kennel,  now  running  for  his  life  from  a  coach 
and  horses;  now  tliinking  he  had  lost  his  way, 
now  thinking  he  had  found  it;  now  in  a  state  of 
the  highest  confidence,  now  despondent  to  the  last 
dpgree,  but  always  in  a  great  perspiration  and 
flurry  ;  until  at  length  they  stopped  in  a  kind  of 
pived  yard  near  the  Monument.  That  is  to  say, 
Mr.  Pecksr.iff  told  them  so;  for  as  to  anything 
they  could  see  of  the  Monument,  or  anything  else 
but  the  buildings  close  at  hand,  tliey  iniwht  as  well 
nave  been  pliying  blindman's  buff  at  Salisbury. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  looked  about  him  for  a  moment, 
and  then  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  very  dingy 
tdifiee,  even  among  the  choice  coUeclioti  of  ding-y 
edifices  ai  n.nnd  ;  on  the  front  of  which  was  a  little 
ovai  board,  like  a  tea-trav,  with  this  inscription — 
"  Commercial  Boarding  House  :  M.  Todyers  " 


It  seemed  that  M.  Todgers  was  not  up  yet,  for 
Mr.  Pecksniff  knocked  twice  and  rang  llirice, 
without  riiakin;r  any  impression  on  anytiiing  bul 
a  dog  (,ver  the  way.  At  last  a  chain  and  soma 
bolts  were  withdrawn  with  a  rusty  noise,  us  if  tiio 
weather  had  made  the  very  tastenings  hoarse,  and 
a  small  boy  with  a  large  red  head,  and  no  nose  to 
speak  of,  and  a  very  dirty  Wellington  boot  on  his 
left  arm,  appeared;  who  (being  surprised)  rubbed 
tiie  nose  just  mentioned  vvitii  the  back  of  a  shoe- 
brush,  and  said  nothing. 

"Still  a-bed,  my  man?"  asked  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"Siill  a-bed!"  replied  the  boy.  "I  wish  they 
wos  still  a-bed,  They're  very  noisy  a-bed ;  all 
calling  for  their  boots  at  once.  I  thought  you 
wos  the  Paper,  and  wondered  why  you  did  n't 
shove  yourself  through  the  grating  as  usuaL 
What  do  you  want?" 

Considering  his  years,  which  were  tender,  the 
youth  may  be  said  to  have  preferred  this  question 
sternly,  and  in  something  of  a  defiant  manner. 
But  Mr.  Pecksniff,  without  taking  umbrage  at 
his  bearing,  put  a  card  in  his  hand,  and  bade  him 
take  that  up  stairs,  and  show  them  meanwliiie 
into  a  room  where  there  was  a  fire. 

"Or  if  there's  one  in  the  eating-parlour,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  I  can  find  it  myself"  So  he  led 
his  daughters,  without  waiting  for  any  further 
introduction,  into  a  room  on  the  ground  floor 
where  a  table-cloth  (ratiier  a  tight  and  scanty  fit 
in  reference  to  the  table  it  covered)  was  already 
spread  for  breakfast:  displaying  a  mighty  dish  of 
pink  boiled  beef;  an  instance  of  that  particular 
style  of  loaf  which  is  known  to  iiousekeepers  as  a 
slack-baked,  crummy  quartern  ;  a  liberal  provision 
of  cups  and  saucers;  and  the  usual  appendages. 

Inside  the  fender  were  some  half  dozen  pairs  of 
shoes  and  boots,  of  various  sizes,  just  cleansd  and 
turned  with  the  soles  upward  to  dry ;  and  a  pair  of 
short  black  gaiters,  on  one  of  which  was  chalked — 
in  sport,  it  would  appear,  by  some  gentleman  whe 
had  slipped  down  for  the  purpose,  peiidiiitj  his 
toilet,  and  gone  up  again — "  Jinkins's  Particular," 
while  the  other  exhibited  a  sketch  in  profile,  claiiiv 
ing  to  be  the  portrait  of  Jinkins  himself 

M.  Todgers's  Commercial  Boarding-House  wa. 
a  house  of  that  sort  wiiich  is  likely  to  be  dark  at 
any  time ;  but  that  morning  it  was  especially 
dark.  There  was  an  odd  smell  in  the  passage, 
as  if  the  concentrated  essence  of  all  the  dinners 
that  had  been  cooked  in  the  kitchen  since  tJie 
liouse  was  built,  lingered  at  the  top  of  the  kitchen 
stairs  to  that  hour,  and,  like  the  Black  Friar  iu 
Don  Juan,  "wouldn't  be  driven  away."  In  par 
ticular,  there  was  a  sensation  of  cabbage  ;  as  if 
all  the  greens  that  had  ever  been  boiled  there 
were  evergreens,  and  flourished  in  immortal 
strength.  'I'he  parlour  was  wainscoted,  and  coi- 
mmiicated  to  strangers  a  magnetic  and  instiacLive 
consciousness  of  rats  and  mice.  The  staircase 
was  very  gloomy  and  very  broad,  with  balustrades 
so  thick  and  heavy  that  they  would  have  served 
tfir  a  bridge.  In  a  sombre  corner  on  the  lirst 
landing,  stood  a  gruff  old  giant  of  a  clock,  with  a 
preposterous  coronet  of  three  brass  balls  on  hu 
head  ;  whom  few  had  ever  seen — none  ever  looked 
in  the  face  —  and  who  seemed  to  continue  his 
heavy  tick  for  no  other  reason  than  to  warn  heed 
less  people  from  runninor  into  him  accidentally. 
It  had    not  been  papered  or  painted,  hadn't  Ti»<» 


66 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


fers's,  within  the  memory  of  man.  It  was  very 
black,  begrimtd,  and  mouldy.  And,  at  the  t(,f) 
of  the  staircase,  was  an  old,  dieijciiiiii  d,  rickety, 
ill-favoured  skylight,  patcht  d  and  nn  tided  in  i.U 
kinds  of  ways,  which  looked  distrustfully  down 
»t  everythiug  that  passed  below,  and  covered 
Todgers's  up  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of  human  cu- 
cumher-frame,  and  only  people  of  a  peculiar 
growth  were  reared  there. 

Mr.  Pecksnitf  and  his  fair  daughters  had  not 
stood  warming  themselves  at  the  fire  ten  minutes, 
when  the  sound  of  feet  was  heard  upon  the  stairs, 
and  the  presiding  deity  of  the  establishment  came 
hurrying  in. 

31.  'lodgers  was  a  lady  —  rather  a  bony  and 
hard-featured  lady — with  a  row  of  curls  in  front 
of  her  head,  shaped  like  little  barrels  of  beer  ; 
and  on  the  top  of  it  something  made  of  net — you 
couldn't  call  it  a  cap  exactly — which  looked  like 
a  black  cobweb.  She  had  a  little  basket  on  her 
arm,  and  in  it  a  bunch  of  keys  that  jingled  as 
she  came.  In  her  other  hand  she  bore  a  teaming 
tallow  candle,  which,  after  surveying  Mr.  Peck- 
Eiiilf  for  one  instant  by  its  light,  she  put  down 
upon  the  table,  to  the  end  that  she  might  receive 
him  with  the  greater  cordiality. 

"  Mr.  Peeksnitr,"  cried  Mrs.  Todgers.  "  Wei- 
rome  to  London  !  Who  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  visit  as  this,  after  so  —  dear,  dear!  —  so 
many  years  !  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Pecksniff?" 

"  As  well  as  ever ;  and  as  glad  to  see  you,  as 
ever;"  Mr.  Pecksniff  made  response.  "Why, 
you  rire  younger  than  3-00  used  to  be  !" 

"  You  are,  I  am  sure  !"  said  Mrs.  Todgers. 
"  You  're  not  a  bit  changed." 

"What  do  you  say  to  this?"  cried  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, stretching  out  his  hand  towaj-ds  the  young 
ladies.     "  Does  this  make  me  no  older  ?" 

"Not  your  daughters  I"  exeluiined  the  lady, 
raising  her  hands  and  clasping  them.  "Oh,  no, 
Mr.  PecksnifTI  Your  second,  and  her  brides- 
maid !" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  smiled  complacently;  shook  his 
head;  and  said,  "  My  daughters,  Mrs,  Todgers: 
merely  my  daughters." 

"  Ah  !"  sighed  the  good  lady,  "  I  must  believe 
yiiu,  for  now  I  look  at  'em  I  think  I  should  have 
known  'em  anywhere.  My  dear  Miss  Pecksniffs, 
how  happy  your  Pa  has  made  me  I" 

She  hugged  them  both  ;  and  being  by  this  time 
overpowered  by  lier  feelings  or  the  iiicleniency 
of  the  morning,  jerked  a  little  pocket  handker- 
chief out  of  the  little  basket,  and  applied  the 
same  to  her  face. 

"Now,  niy  good  madam,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
"I  know  the  rules  of  yr.ur  establishment,  and 
that  you  only  receive  gentlemen  boarders.  But 
it  occurred  to  me,  when  I  left  home,  that  perhaps 
you  Would  give  my  daughters  houseroorn,  and 
ln;ike  an  exception  in  thi  ir  favcrr." 

"Perhaps?"  cried  Mrs.  Tod^iis  ecstatically. 
"Perhaps'" 

"  I  may  say  tlien,  that  I  was  sure  ynii  would," 
snid  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "I  know  llial  you  have  a 
little  rriom  of  your  ow'n,  and  that  they  can  be 
r<»nirortiil)le  there,  v\  ithout  ajipeaiing  at  the  gen- 
eral tabic ' 


"Dear  girls!"  said  Mrs.  Todgers.  "I  muM 
take  that  liberty  once  more." 

]\Irs.  'I'odgers  meant  by  this  that  she  mutl  em 
brace  them  once  more,  which  she  accordingly 
did,  with  great  ardour.  But  the  truth  was,  that, 
the  house  being  full  with  the  exception  of  ono 
bed,  which  would  now  be  occupied  by  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, she  wanted  time  for  consideration;  and  su 
much  time  too  (for  it  was  a  knotty  point  how  to 
dispose  of  them),  that  even  when  this  second 
embrace  was  over,  she  stood  for  some  nionienls 
gazing  at  the  sisters,  with  affection  b<aniing  in 
one  eye,  and  calculation  shining  out  of  the  otiier. 

"  I  think  I  know  how  to  arrange  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Todgers,  at  length.  "A  so!a  bedstead  in  the  liU 
tie  third  room  which  opens  from  my  own  parlour. 
Oh,  you  dear  girls  !" 

Thereupon  she  embraced  them  once  more, 
observing  that  she  could  not  decide  which  was 
most  like  their  poor  mother  (which  w;.s  highly 
probable:  seeing  that  she  had  never  beheld  thai 
lady),  but  that  she  rather  thought  the  yf>unaesi 
Was;  and  then  she  said  that  as  the  gentlemen 
would  be  down  directly,  and  the  ladies  were 
fatigued  with  travelling,  would  they  step  into  her 
room  at  once  ? 

It  was  on  the  same  floor ;  being  in  fact,  tne 
back  parlour  ;  and  had,  as  Mrs.  Todgers  said,  trie 
great  advantage  (in  London)  of  not  being  over- 
looked ;  as  they  would  see,  vi'hen  the  fog  cleared 
off.  Nor  was  this  a  vain-glorious  boast,  for  it 
commanded  at  a  perspective  of  two  feet,  a  brov.  n 
wall  with  a  black  cistern  on  the  top.  Tlie  sleep- 
ing apartment  designed  for  the  young  hndies  was 
approachrd  from  this  chamber  by  a  mightily  con- 
venient little  door,  which  would  only  open  when 
fallen  against  by  a  strong  person.  It  commanded 
from  a  similar  point  of  sight  another  angle  of  the 
wall,  and  another  side  of  the  cistern.  "  Not  t!)€ 
damp  side,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers.  "  That  is  Mr. 
Jiiikins's." 

In  the  first  of  the.<5e  sanctuaries  a  fire  was  speed- 
ily kindled  by  the  youthful  porter,  who,  whistling 
at  liis  work  in  the  absence  of  Mrs.  Todir-.rs  (not 
to  mention  his  sketching  figures  on  his  corduroys 
with  burnt  firewood),  and  being  ai'terwards  taken 
by  that  lady  in  the  fact,  was  dismissed  with  a  box 
on  his  ears.  Having  prepared  breaklast  for  t!ie 
young  ladies  with  her  own  hands,  she  w  ithdrew 
to  preside  in  the  other  room  ;  where  the  joke  .it 
Mr.  Jinkins's  expense,  seemed  to  be  proceeding 
rather  noisily. 

"I  won't  ask  you  yet,  my  dears,"  said  M/. 
Pecksniff,  looking  in  at  the  door,  "  how  you  like 
London.     Shall  I  ?" 

"  We  haven't  seen  much  of  it,  Pa !"  cried 
Merry. 

"Nothing,  I  hope,"  said  Cherry.  (Both  ver7 
miserably.) 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  FecksnifT,  "  that 's  tr'ie 
We  have  our  pleasure,  and  our  business  too,  !)<•- 
fore  us.     All  in  good  time.     All  in  good  time  l" 

Whether  Mr.  Pecksniff's  bu.snus.-^  in  f.oni'on 
was  as  strictly  professional  as  he  had  given  his 
new  pui)il  to  understand,  we  shall  see,  to  adopt 
ih.it  v.orlhy  mail's  phraseology,  "all  in  gt^oJ 
tune." 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

TOWN   AND    TODGERS'S. 


SoRELV  there  never  was,  in  any  other  borough, 
city,  or  iMmlcl  in  tiie  world,  such  a  sincular  sort 
of  a  place  as  Todtrers's.  And  surely  London,  to 
]ncige.  \ron\  that  part  of  it  which  hemmed  Tod- 
gers's  round,  and  hustled  it,  and  crushed  it,  and 
Ftuck  its  brick-and-mortar  elbows  into  it,  and  kept 
the  air  from  it,  and  stood  perpetually  between  it 
and  the  li<,rht,  was  worthy  of  Todgers's,  and  quali- 
fivid  to  bo  on  terms  of  close  relationship  and  alli- 
ance with  hundreds  and  thousands  of  the  odd 
family  to  which  Todgers's  belonged. 

You  couldn't  walk  in  Todgers's  neighbourhood, 
as  you  could  in  any  other  neighbourliood.  You 
groped  your  way  for  an  hour  through  lanes 
and  bye-ways,  and  court-yards  and  pssatres;  and 
never  once  emerged  upon  anything  thnt  might  be 
reasonably  called  a  street.  A  kind  of  resigned 
distraction  came  over  the  stranger  as  he  trod 
those  devious  mazes,  and,  giving  hims^elf  up  for 
lost,  wenv  m  and  out  and  round  about,  andquietky 
turned  back  again  when  he  came  to  a  dead  wall, 
or  was  stopped  by  an  iron  railing,  and  felt  that 
t!ie  means  of  escape  might  possibly  present  ihem- 
Bvlves  in  their  own  good  time,  but  that  to  antici- 
pate them  was  hopeless.  Instances  were  known 
of  people,  who,  being  asked  to  dine  at  Todgers's, 
liad  travelled  round  and  round  it  for  a  weary  tiuie, 
with  its  very  chimney-pots  in  view  ;  and  finding 
il,  at  last,  impossible  of  attainment,  had  gome 
home  again  with  a  gentle  melancholy  on  their 
spirits,  tranquil  and  uncomphiining.  Nol)ody  liad 
ever  found  Todgers's  on  a  verbnl  direction,  though 
l^.ven  within  a  minute's  walk  of  it.j  Cautious  emi- 
grants from  Scotland  or  the  Nnrth  of  England  had 
been  known  to  reach  it  safely  by  impressing  a 
charity-boy,  town-bred,  and  bringing:  him  along 
with  them  ;  or  by  clinging  tenaciously  to  the  post- 
man;  but  these  were  rare  exceptions,  and  only 
went  to  prove  the  rule,  that  Todgers's  was  in  » 
labyrinth,  whereof  the  mystery  was  known  but 
to  a  chosen  few. 

Several  fruit-brokers  had  their  marts  near 
Todgers's;  and  one  of  the  first  impressions 
wrought  upon  the  stranger's  senses,  was  of 
aranges  —  of  damaged  oranges,  with  blue  and 
green  bruises  on  them,  festering  in  boxes,  or 
mouldering  away  in  cellars.  All  day  long,  a 
stream  of  porters  from  the  wharves  beside  the 
liver,  each  bearing  on  his  back  a  bursting  chest 
of  oranges,  poured  slowly  through  the  narrow 
passages  ;  wf)ile  underneath  the  archway  by  the 
public-house,  the  knots  of  those  who  rested  and 
regiiled  within,  were  piled  from  morning  until 
night.  Strange  solitary  pumps  were  found  near 
Todgers's,  hidino-  themselves  for  the  most  part  in 
blind  allf  vs,  and  keepinn-  company  with  fire-lad- 
Jers.  There  were  churches  also  by  dozens,  with 
niHuy  a  sihosfly  little  church-yard,  all  overgrown 
with  sucli  stran-fjlirig  vegetation  as  springs  up 
Fpontanennsly  from  damp,  and  graves,  and  rub- 
bish. In  some  of  these  ilingv  re.<lirig-places, 
irhinh  bore  much  the  fame  nnalocy  to  green 
chiK'.-liv.iriU,  as  the  pots  of  earth  for  mignonette 
and  wail-ll  ivverin  the  windows  oviTlookintr  lliem, 
tiid  to  ru-tic  gardens — llier^  were  trees  ;  tall  trees  ; 


still  putting  forth  their  leaves  in  each  succeeding 
year,  with  such  a  languishing  remembrance  of 
their  kind  (so  one  might  fancy,  looking  on  theii 
sickly  boughs)  as  birds  in  cages  have  of  thtirsi 
Here,  paralysed  old  watchmen  guarded  the  bodies 
of  the  dead  at  night,  year  after  year,  until  at  hist 
they  joined  that  solemn  brotherhood  ;  and,  saving 
that  they  slept  below  the  ground  a  sounder  sleep 
than  even  they  had  ever  known  above  it,  and  were 
shut  up  in  another  kind  of  box,  their  condition 
can  hardly  be  said  to  have  undergone  any  material 
change  when  they,  in  turn,  were  watched  them- 
selves. 

Among  the  narrow  thoroughfares  at  hand,  there 
lingered,  here  and  tiiere,  an  ancient  doorway  of 
carved  oak,  from  which,  of  old,  the  sounds  of 
revelry  and  feasting  often  came  ;  but  now,  these 
mansions,  only  used  for  storehouses,  were  dark 
and  dull,  and,  beina'  filled  with  wool,  and  cotton, 
and  the  like — such  heavy  merchandise  as  stifles 
sound  and  stops  the  throat  of  echo — had  an  air  of 
palpable  deadness  about  them,  which,  added  to 
their  silence  and  desertion,  made  them  very  grim. 
In  like  manner,  there  were  gloomy  court-yards  in 
these  parts,  into  which  few  but  belated  wayfarers 
ever  strayed,  and  where  vast  bags  and  packs  of 
goods,  upward  or  downward  hound,  were  for  ever 
dangling  between  heaven  and  earth  from  lofty 
cranes.  There  were  more  trucks  near  Todgers's 
than  you  would  suppose  a  whole  city  could  ever 
need  ;  not  active  trucks,  but  a  vagabond  race,  for 
ever  lounging  in  the  narrow  lanes  before  their 
masters'  doors,  and  stopping  up  the  pass  ;  so  that 
when  a  stray  hackney-coach  or  lumhering  wagon 
came  that  vi'ay,  they  were  the  cause  of  such  an 
uproar  as  enlivened  the  whole  neighbourhood,  and 
made  the  very  bells  in  the  next  church-tower 
vibrate  again.  In  the  throats  and  maws  of  dark 
no-thoroughfares  near  Todgers's,  individual  wine- 
merchants  and  wholesale  dealers  in  grocery-ware 
had  perfect  little  towns  of  their  own ;  and,  deep 
among  the  very  foundations  of  these  buildings,  the 
ground  was  undermined  and  burrowed  out  into 
stables,  where  cart-horses,  troubled  by  rats,  might 
be  heard,  on  a  quiet  Sunday,  rattling  their  hal- 
ters,  as  disturbed  spirits  in  tales  of  haunted  houses 
are  said  to  clank  their  chains. 

To  tell  of  h;ilf  the  queer  old  taverns  that  had  a 
drowsy  and  secret  existence  near  Todgers's,  would 
fill  a  goodly  book  ;  while  a  second  volume,  no  less 
capacious,  might  be  devoted  to  an  account  of  the 
quaint  old  guests  who  frequented  their  dimly, 
lighted  parlours.  These  were,  in  general,  ancit  nt 
inhabitants  of  thnt  region  ;  born,  and  bred  there 
from  boyhood ;  who  had  long  since  beeimia 
wheezy  and  asthrnatical,  and  short  of  breath,  ex- 
cept in  the  article  of  story-telling :  in  vi'h.ich  re- 
speet  they  were  sfill  marveilously  long-winded. 
Tncse  gentry  were  much  opposed  to  steam  and 
all  new-fangled  ways,  and  held  ballooning  to  be 
sinful,  and  deplored  the  degeneracy  of  the  times, 
which  that  particular  member  of  each  little  eluli 
who  kept  the  kej's  of  the  nearest  church,  profes- 
sionally, alwavs  attributed  to  the  prevalence  of 
dissent  and  irrcligion;  though  the  major  oart  o* 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


the  o  .(iipany  inclined  to  the  belief  that  virtue  went 
out  with  hair-powder,  and  that  old  England's 
greatness  had  decayed  amain  with  barbers. 

As  to  Todvers's  itself —  speaking  of  it  only  as 
a  house  in  that  neigiibourhood,  and  making  no 
reference  to  its  merits  as  a  commercial  boarding 
establishment  —  it  was  worthy  to  stand  where  it 
did.  There  was  one  staircase-window  in  it:  at 
t)  e  side  of  ihe  house,  on  the  ground-floor  :  whicii 
tr.-idition  said  had  not  been  opened  for  a  hundred 
years  at  least,  and  which,  abutting  on  an  always- 
dirty  lane,  was  so  begrimed  and  coated  with  a 
century's  mud,  that  no  one  pane  of  glass  could 
possibly  fall  out,  though  all  were  cracked  and 
broken  twenty  times.  But  the  grand  mystery  of 
'J'odgers's  was  the  cellarage,  approachable  only 
by  a  little  back  door  and  a  rusty  grating  :  which 
cellarage  within  the  memory  of  man  had  had  no 
connexion  with  the  house,  but  had  always  been 
the  freehold  property  of  somebody  else,  and  was 
reported  to  be  full  of  wealth:  though  in  what 
shape  —  whether  in  silver,  brass,  or  gold,  or  butts 
of  wine,  or  casks  of  gunpowder  —  was  matter  of 
profound  uncertainty  and  supreme  indifference  to 
Todgers's,  and  all  its  inmates. 

The  top  of  the  house  was  worthy  of  notice. 
There  was  a  sort  of  terrace  on  the  roof,  with  posts 
and  frngments  of  rotten  lines,  once  intended  to 
dry  clothes  upon;  and  there  were  two  or  three 
tea-chests  out  there,  full  of  earth,  with  forgotten 
plants  in  them,  like  old  walking-sticks.  Whoever 
climbed  to  this  observatory,  was  stunned  at  first 
from  having  knocked  his  head  against  the  little 
door  in  coming  out;  and  after  that,  was  for  the 
nioment  choaked  from  having  looked,  perforce, 
straight  down  the  kitchen  chimney ;  but  these 
two  stages  over,  there  were  things  to  gaze  at  from 
the  top  of  Todgers's,  well  worth  your  seeing  too. 
For  first  and  foremost,  if  the  day  were  bright,  you 
observed  upon  the  house-tops,  .stretching-  far  away, 
a  long  dark  [)ath  :  the  shadow  of  the  IMonument : 
and  turning  round,  the  tall  original  was  close  he- 
side  you,  with  every  hair  erect  upon  his  golden 
head,  as  if  the  doings  of  the  city  frightened  him. 
Then  there  were  steeples,  towers,  belfreys,  shining 
vane.s,  and  masts  of  ships:  a  very  forest.  Gables, 
liou.setops,  garret-windows,  wilderness  upon  wil- 
derness. Smoke  and  noise  enough  for  all  the 
world  at  once. 

After  the  first  glance,  there  were  slight  features 
in  the  midst  of  this  crowd  of  objects,  which  sprung 
out  from  the  mass  without  any  reason,  as  it  were, 
and  took  hold  of  the  attention  whether  the  spec- 
tator would  or  no.  Thus,  the  revolving  chimney- 
pots on  one  great  stack  of  buildings,  seemed  to  be 
turning  gravily  to  each  other  every  now  and  then, 
uiid  whispering  the  result  of  their  separate  obser- 
vation of  what  was  going  on  below.  Others,  of  a 
crook-backed  shape,  appeared  to  be  maliciously 
holding  themselves  askew,  that  they  might  shut 
the  prospect  out  and  baffle  Todgers's.  The  man 
who  was  mending  a  pen  at  an  np[)er  window  over 
the  way,  l)«<,ame  of  i)aramount  importance  in  the 
ncene.  and  made  a  blank  in  it,  ridiculously  dispro- 
porlionatc  in  its  extent,  when  he  retired.  The 
gambols  of  a  piece  of  cloth  upon  the  dyer's  pole  I 
iiad  far  more  interest  for  the  moment  than  all  the 
changing  motion  of  the  crowd.  Yrt  even  while 
(he  looker-on  felt  angry  with  himself  for  this,  and  | 
«onaered  how  it  was.  the  tumult  swelled  into  a  \ 


roar;  the  host  of  objects  seemed  to  thicken  and 
expand  a  hundredfold  :  and  after  gazing  round 
him,  quite  scared,  he  turued  into  Todgers's  again, 
much  more  rapidly  than  lie  came  out;  and  ten  to 
one  he  told  M.  Todgers  afterwards  that  if  he  hadn't 
done  so,  he  would  certainly  have  come  into  the 
street  by  the  shortest  cut :  that  is  to  say,  headfore- 
most. 

So  said  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs,  when  they 
retired  with  Mrs.  Todgers  from  this  place  of  espiai, 
leaving  the  youthful  porter  to  close  the  door  and 
follow  them  down  stairs  :  who  being  of  a  playful 
temperament,  and  contemplating  v\'ith  a  delight 
peculiar  to  his  sex  and  time  of  lite,  any  chance  of 
dashing  himself  info  small  fragments,  lingered 
behind  to  walk  upon  the  parapet. 

It  being  the  second  day  of  their  stay  in  London, 
the  Miss  Pecksniffs  and  Mrs.  Todgers  were  by 
this  time  highly  confidential,  insomuch  that  the 
last-named  lady  had  already  communicated  the 
particulars  of  three  early  disappointments  of  a 
tender  nature ;  and  had  furthermore  possessed  her 
young  friends  with  a  general  summary  of  the  life, 
conduct,  and  character  of  Mr.  Todgers  :  who,  it 
seemed,  had  cut  his  matrimonial  career  rather 
short,  by  unlawfully  running  away  from  his  hap. 
piness,  and  establishing  himself  in  foreign  coun- 
tries as  a  bachelor. 

"  Your  pa  was  once  a  little  particular  in  his 
f.ifentions,  my  dears,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers:  "but 
to  be  your  ma  was  too  much  happiness  denied  me. 
You  'd  hardly  know  who  this  was  done  for,  per- 
haps ?" 

She  called  their  attention  to  an  oval  miniatura, 
like  a  little  blister,  which  was  tacked  up  over  the 
kettle-holder,  and  in  which  there  was  a  dreamj 
shadowing  forth  of  her  own  visage. 

"  It 's  a  speaking  likeness !"  cried  the  two  Misa 
Pecksniffs. 

"  It  was  considered  so  once,"  said  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers, warming  herself  in  a  gentlemanly  manner 
at  the  fire:  "but  I  hardly  thought  you  would 
have  known  it,  my  loves." 

They  would  have  known  it  anywhere.  If  they 
could  have  met  with  it  in  the  street,  or  seen  it  in 
a  shop  window,  they  would  have  cried,  "  Good 
Gracious  I  Mrs.  Todgers  !" 

"  Presiding  over  an  establishment  like  this, 
makes  sad  havoc  with  the  features,  my  dear  Miss 
Pecksniffs,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers.  "The  gravy 
alone,  is  enough  to  add  twenty  years  to  one's  age, 
I  do  assure  you." 

"  I.or  I"  cri'^d  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs. 

"The  anxiety  of  that  one  item,  my  dears,"  said 
Mrs.  Todgers,  "  keeps  the  mind  continually  upon 
the  stretch.  There  is  no  such  passion  in  human 
nature,  as  the  passion  for  gravy  among  commec 
cial  gentlemen.  It's  nothing  to  say  a  joint  won't 
yield — a  whole  animal  wouldn't  yield — tlie 
amount  of  gravy  they  expect  each  day  at  dinner. 
And  what  I  have  undergone  in  consequence," 
cried  Mrs.  Todgers,  raising  her  eyes  and  shaking 
her  head,  "  no  one  would  believe  I" 

"Just  like  Mr.  Pinch,  Merry  I"  said  Charity. 
"  We  have  always  noticed  it  in  Jiiin,  you  rcniem- 
bcr  ?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear,"  giggled  Merry,  "  but  we  have 
never  given  it  him,  you  know." 

"Yon,  my  dears,  having  to  deal  with  your  pnV 
pupils  who  can't  help  themselves,  arc  able  to  taki 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


59 


your  own  way,"  said  Mrs.  Todjrers,  "  but  in  a 
commercial  establishment,  where  any  gentleman 
may  say  any  Saturday  evening-,  '  Mrs.  Todgi-rs, 
this  day  week  we  part,  in  consequence  of  the 
cheese,'  it  is  not  so  easy  to  preserve  a  pleasant 
understanding.  Your  pa  was  kind  enonjjh,"  add- 
ed the  good  lady,  "  to  invite  ine  to  take  a  ride 
witli  yon  to-day;  and  I  tliiiik  he  mentioned  that 
you  were  gnina  to  call  upon  Miss  Pinch.  Any 
lelalion  to  the  {>-fritl(!inan  you  were  speaking  of 
just  now,  Miss  PecksiiirtV" 

"  Fur  goodness  sake,  Mrs.  Todgers,"  interposed 
the  lively  Merry,  "don't  call  him  a  gentleman. 
My  dear  Cherry,  Pinch  a  gtmtleinan  !    The  idea !" 

"What  a  wicked  girl  you  are  I"  cried  Mrs. 
Todjjers,  embracing  her  with  great  affection. 
"You're  quite  a  quiz,  I  do  declare!  My  dear 
Miss  Pecksniff,  what  a  happiness  your  sister's 
spirits  must  be  to  your  pa  and  self!" 

"  He  's  the  most  hideous,  goggle-eyed  creature, 
Mrs.  Todgers,  in  existence,"  resumed  Merry  : 
"quite  an  ogre.  The  ugliest,  awkwardest,  fright, 
fulest  being,  you  can  imagine.  This  is  his  sister; 
so  I  leave  you  to  sujipose  what  she  is.  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  laugh  outrijjht,  I  know  T  shall  !"  cried 
the  charming  girl;  "  I  never  shall  be  able  to  keep 
my  countenance.  The  notion  of  a  Miss  Pinch 
presuming  to  e.xist  at  all,  is  sufficient  to  kill  one, 
but  to  see  her — oh  my  stars!" 

Mrs.  Todgers  laughed  immensely  at  the  dear 
love's  humour,  and  dtclared  she  was  quite  afraid 
of  her,  that  she  was.     Slie  was  so  very  severe. 

"  VV'iio  is  severe?"  cried  a  voice  at  the  door. 
**  Tliere  is  no  such  thing  as  severity  in  our  family, 
1  hope  !"  And  then  Mr.  Pecksniff  peeped  smil- 
ingly into  the  room,  and  said,  "May  I  come  in, 
Mrs.  Todgers  ?" 

Mrs.  Todgers  almost  screamed,  for  the  little 
door  of  conwnunication  between  that  room  and 
the  inner  one  being  wide  open,  there  was  a  full 
disclosure  of  the  sofa  bedstead  in  all  its  monstrous 
impropriety.  But  she  had  the  presence  of  mind 
to  close  this  portal  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  ; 
and  having  done  so  said,  though  not  without  con- 
fusion, "  Oh  yes,  Mr.  Pecksniff,  you  can  come  in, 
if  you  please." 

"  flow  are  we  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  jo- 
cosely ;  "  and  what  are  our  plans  ?  Are  we  ready 
to  go  and  see  Tom  Pinch's  sister  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  I 
Poor  Thomas  Pinch  1" 

"Are  we  ready,"  reftirned  Mrs.  Todgers,  nod- 
ding her  head  with  mysterious  intelligence,  "  to 
send  a  favourable  reply  to  Mr.  Jinkins's  round- 
robin  ?    That's  the  first  question,  Mr.  Pecksniff." 

"  Why  Mr.  Jinkins's  robin,  my  dear  madam?" 
\sked  Mr.  Pecksniff,  putting  one  arm  round  Mer- 
y,  and  the  other  round  Mrs.  Todgers,  whom  he 
eemed,  in  the  abstraction  of  the  moment,  to  mis- 
ike  for  Charity.     "  Why  Mr.  Jinkins's  ?" 

"  Because  he  began  to  get  it  up,  and  indeed 
|iw.iys   takes   the   lead    in   the  house,"  said  Mrs. 

odgers,  playfully.     "That's  why,  sir." 

"Jinkins  is  a  man  of  superior  talents,"  observed 
Wr.  Pecksniff.  "  I  liave  conceived  a  great  regard 
for  Jinkins.  I  t.ike  Jinkins's  desire  to  pay  polite 
tttenlJDn  to  my  daughters,  as  an  additional  proof 
oi  the  friendly  Iceling  of  Jinkins,  Mrs.  Todgers." 

"Well  now,"  riiturried  that  ladv,  "having  said 
»o  UMieh,  vou  must  say  the  rest,  Mr.  Pecksnitf : 
10  tefj  '^^  '^e«r  ""uncr  larliee  rll  nbout  it." 


I       With  these  words,  she  gently  eluded  Mr.Peck- 
!  sniff's  gras|),  and  took  Miss  Charity  into  her  own 
j  embr.ice;  though  whether  she  was  impelled  to  this 
'  proceeding  by  the  irrepressible  affection  she  had 
■  conceivi'd   tor  that  young  lady,  or  whether  it  had 
;  any  rcfereiiee  to  a  lowering,  not  to  say  distinctly 
j  spiteful  expression  which  had   been  visible  in  h(  r 
face  for  some   moments,  has   never  been  exactly 
ascertained.      Be   this   as   it   may,  Mr   Pecksnitf 
1  went  on   to  inform    his  daughters  of  the  purpurt 
I  and   liistory  of  the   round-robin   aforesaid,  wliich 
i  was  in  brief",  that  the  commercial  gentleman  who 
I  helped  to  make  up  the  sum  and  substance  of  that 
noun    of  multitude    or   signifying    many,   called 
Todgers's,  desired  the  honour  of  their  presence  at 
the  general  table,  so  long  as  they  remained  in  the 
house,  and  besought   that   they   would  grace   the 
board    at   dinner-time   ftext  day,  the  same  being 
Sunday.    He  further  said,  that  Mrs.  Todgers  being 
a  consenting  party  to  this  invitation,  he  was  will- 
ing,  for  his  part,  to  accept  it;  and  so  left  them  that 
he   might  write   his  gracious  answer,  the   while 
I  they  armed  themselves  with  their  best  bonnets  for 
I  the  utter  defeat  and  overthrow  of  Miss  Pinch. 
Tom  Pinch's  sister  was  governess  in  a  family, 
a  lofty  fimily;  perhaps  the  wealthiest  brass  and 
copper  foimders'  family  known  to  mankind.    They 
lived  at  Camberwell ;  in  a  house  so  big  and  fierce 
that  its  mere  outside,  like  the  outside  of  a  giant's 
castle,  struck  terror  into  vulgar  minds  and   made 
bold  persons  quail.    There  was  a  great  front  gate; 
with   a  great   bell,  whose  handle  was  in  itself  a 
note  of  admiration;    and  a  great  lodge;   which 
being  close  to  the  house,  rather  spoilt  the  look-out 
certainly,  but  made  the  look-in,  tremendous.     At 
this  entry,  a  great  porter  kept  constant  watch  and 
ward  ;  and  when  he  gave  the  visitor  high  leave  to 
pass,  he   rang  a  second  great   bell,  responsive  to 
whose  note  a  great  footman  appeared  in  due  time 
at  the  great  hall-door,  with  such  great  tags  upon 
his  liveried  shoulder  that  he  was  perpetually  en- 
tangling and  hooking  himself  among  the  chairg 
and  tables,  and  led  a  life  of  torment  which  could 
scarcely   have  been  surpassed,  if  he  had  been  a 
blue-bottle  in  a  world  of  cobwebs. 

To  this  mansion,  Mr.  Pecksniff,  accompanied 
by  his  daughters  and  Mrs.  Todgers,  drove  ga' 
lantiv  in  a  one-horse  fly.  The  foregoing  cerenr. 
nies  having  been  all  performed,  they  were  ushered 
into  the  house  ;  and  so,  by  degrees,  they  got  at 
last  into  a  small  room  with  books  in  it,  where 
Mr.  Pinch's  sister  was  at  that  moment,  instruct- 
ing her  eldest  pupil :  to  wit,  a  premature  little 
woman  of  thirteen  years  old,  who  had  already  ar- 
rived at  .<iuch  a  pitch  of  whalebone  and  education 
that  she  had  nothing  girlish  about  her,  which  waa 
a  source  of  great  rejoicing  to  all  her  relations  and 
friends. 

"Visitors  for  Miss  Pinch  I"  said  the  footman. 
He  must  have  been  an  ingenious  young  man,  for 
he  said  it  very  cleverly  :  with  a  nice  direrimina- 
tion  between  the  cold  respect  with  which  he  woult 
have  announced  visitors  to  the  fainilv,  and  iho 
warm  personal  interest  with  which  he  would  havo 
annoonced  visitors  to  the  co.ik. 
"Visitors  for  Miss  Pinch  1" 

Miss  Pinch  rose  hastily;  with  sucn  toKcns  n^ 
agitation  as  plainly  declared  tjat  her  list  of  callers 
was  nut  numerous.  At  the  same  tiuic,  the  li't"r 
uuA*il  became    alarmingly   upright,  and   orepareO 


80 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OP 


hersplf  to  take  mental  notes  of  all  that  might  be 
giiid  and  done.  For  the  lady  of  the  estahlishrncnt 
w.ts  curious  in  tht  natural  history  and  habits  of 
the  animal  called  Governess,  and  encouraged  her 
daughters  to  report  thereon  whenever  occasion 
served  ;  which  was,  in  reference  to  all  parties  con- 
cerned, very  laudable,  improving,  and  pleasant 

It  is  a  melancholy  fact ;  but  it  must  be  related, 
that  Mr.  Pinch's  sister  was  not  at  all  ugly.  On 
the  contrary,  she  had  a  very  good  face ,  a  very 
mild  and  prepossessing  face;  and  a  pretty  little 
figure — slight  and  short,  but  remarkable  for  its 
neatness.  There  was  something  of  her  brother, 
much  of  him  indeed,  in  a  certain  gentleness  of 
manner,  and  in  her  look  of  timid  trustfulness; 
but  she  was  so  far  from  being  a  fright,  or  a  dowdy, 
or  a  horror,  or  anything  else,  predicted  by  the  two 
Miss  Pecksniffs,  that  those  young  ladies  naturally 
regarded  her  with  great  indignation,  feeling  that 
lliis  was  by  no  means  what  they  had  come  to  see. 
Miss  Mercy,  as  having  the  larger  share  of 
gaiety,  bore  up  the  best  against  this  disappoint- 
ment, and  carried  it  off,  in  outward  show  at  least, 
with  a  titter ;  but  her  sister,  not  caring  to  hide 
her  disdain,  expressed  it  pretty  openly  in  her  looks. 
As  to  Mrs.  Todgers,  she  leaned  on  Mr.  PecksnifTs 
arm  and  preserved  a  kind  of  genteel  grimness, 
suitable  to  any  state  of  mind,  and  involving  any 
shade  of  opinion. 

"  Don't  be  alarmed  Miss  Pinch,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, taking  lier  hand  condescendingly  in  one  of 
liis,  and  patting  it  with  theotlier.  "  I  have  called 
to  see  you,  in  pursuance  of  a  promise  given  to 
your  brother,  Thomas  Pinch.  My  name — com- 
pose yourself,  Miss  Pinch — is  Pecksniff." 

'I'he  good  man  emphasized  these  words  as 
tliough  he  would  have  said, '  You  see  in  me,  young 
person,  the  benefactor  of  your  race  ;  tlie  patron  of 
your  iiouse;  the  preserver  of  your  brother,  who  is 
fed  with  manna  daily  from  my  table  ;  and  in  right 
of  whom  there  is  a  considerable  balance  in  my 
favour  at  present  standing  in  the  hooks  bi-yond 
the  sky.  But  I  have  no  pride,  for  I  can  afford  to 
do  without  it!' 

The  poor  girl  felt  it  all  as  if  it  had  been  Gospel 
Truth.  Her  brother  writing  in  the  fulness  of  his 
simple  heart,  had  often  tolu  her  so,  and  how  much 
more!  As  Mr.  Peeksniti'  ceased  to  speak,  she 
nung  her  head,  and  dropped  a  tear  upon  his  hand. 
"  Oh  very  well.  Miss  Pinch  I"  thought  the  sharp 
pupil,  "crying  before  strangers,  as  if  you  didn't 
like  the  situation !" 

"Thomas  is  well,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff;  "and 
eonds  his  love  and  this  letter.  I  cannot  say,  poor 
fellow,  that  he  will  ever  be  distinguished  in  our 
profession  ;  but  he  has  the  will  to  do  well,  which 
is  the  next  thing  to  having  the  power  ;  and,  there- 
fore, we  must  bear  with  him.     Eh  ?" 

*'  I  know  he  ha''  tlie  will,  sir,"  said  Tom  Pinch's 
Bister,  "  and  1  know  hr)w  kindly  and  considerately 
you  cherish  it,  tor  winch  neither  he  nor  I  can 
ever  be  grateful  enough,  as  we  very  often  say  in 
writing  to  eacli  other.  The  young  ladies  too," 
stie  added,  clancing  griitefully  at  his  two  daugli- 
l/^rs,  "  I  know  how  much  we  owe  to  them." 

"  My  dears,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  turning  to 
'hem  with  a  smile;  " 'ChDuns's  sister  is  saying 
••jiiie'hing  you  will  b';  glad  to  hear,  1  lliiiik." 

■  We  can't  take  anv  merit  to  ourselves,  pnpa!" 
eriei.  Ciujrrv  as  thfcj  ooiii  apprised  Tom  Pinch's 


sister,  with  a  curtsey,  that  they  would  feeitbliged 
if  she  would  keep  her  distance.  "  Mr.  Pincii'a 
being  so  well  provided  for  is  owing  to  you  alone, 
and  we  can  only  say  how  glad  we  are  to  iiear  that 
he  is  as  grateful  as  he  ought  to  be." 

"Oh  very  well.  Miss  Pinch!"  thought  the  pu- 
pil again.  "  Got  a  gratefiil  brother,  living  on 
other  people's  kindness  I'' 

"  It  was  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Tom  Pinch's 
sister,  with  Tom's  own  simplicity,  and  Tom's  own 
smile,  "  to  come  here  :  very  kind  indied  ;  though 
how  great  a  kindness  you  have  done  me  in  gr-^ti- 
fying  my  wish  to  see  you,  and  to  thank  you  with 
my  own  lips,  you,  who  make  so  light  ol'  bencfils 
conferred,  can  scarcely  think." 

"  Very  grateful ;  very  pleasant ;  very  proper," 
murmured  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"It  makes  me  happy  too,"  said  Ruth  Pinch, 
who  now  that  her  first  surprise  was  over,  had  a 
chatty,  cheerful  way  with  her,  and  a  single-heart- 
ed desire  to  look  upon  the  best  side  of  everylliing, 
which  was  the  very  moral  and  image  of  Tom; 
"  very  happy  to  think  that  you  will  be  able  to  tell 
him  how  more  than  comfortably  I  am  situated 
here,  and  how  unnecessary  it  is  tliat  he  should 
ever  waste  a  regret  on  my  being  cast  upon  my 
own  resources.  Dear  me !  So  long  as  1  heard 
that  he  was  happy,  and  he  heard  that  I  was," 
said  Tom's  sister,  "  we  could  both  bear,  without 
one  impatient  or  complaining  thought,  a  great 
deal  more  fh;in  ever  we  have  had  to  endure,  I  aui 
very  certain."  And  if  ever  the  plain  truth  were 
spoken  on  this  occasionally  false  earth,  Tom's  sia- 
ter  spoke  it  when  she  said  that 

".4h  1"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  whose  eyes  had  in 

the  mean  time  wandered  to  the  pupil ;  "  certainly. 

And  how  do  you  do,  my  very  interesting  child  ?" 

"Quite  well,  I  thank  you,  sir,"   replied   that 

frosty  innocent. 

"  A  sweet  face  this,  my  dears,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff,  turning  to  his  daughters.  "  A  charming 
manner  I" 

Both  young  ladies  had  been  in  ecstasies  with 
the  scion  of  a  wealthy  house  (tiirough  whom  the 
nearest  road  and  shortest  cut  to  her  parents  might 
be  supposed  to  lie)  from  the  first.  Mrs.  Todgers 
vowed  that  anything  one  quarter  so  angelic  she 
had  never  seen.  "She  wanted  but  a  pair  of  winga, 
a  dear,"  said  that  good  woman,  "  to  be  a  young 
syrup," — meaning,  possibly,  young  sylph,  or  se- 
raph. 

"  If  you  will  give  that  to  your  distinguished 
parents,  my  amiable  little  friend,"  said  Mr  Peck 
sniff,  jirodiicing  one  of  his  professional  cards, 
"and  will  s:iy  that  I  and  my  danglilers — " 
"And  Mrs.  Todgers,  pa,"  said  iVIarv. 
"And  .Mrs.  Todgers,  of  London,"' added  Mr. 
Pecksniff;  "  that  I,  and  my  daughters,  and  Mr?^ 
Todgers  of  liondon,  did  not  intrude  upon  them, 
as  our  object  sijnply  was  to  take  some  not{<;e  of 
Miss  Pinch,  whr)se  brother  is  a  young  man  iu  my 
employment;  hut  that  I  could  not  leave  this  very 
chaste  mansion,  without  adding  my  humble  IrU 
bute,  as  an  .\rchitect,  to  the  correctness  and  ele 
gancc  of  the  owner's  taste,  and  to  his  jurt  appro- 
elation  of  that  beautiful  art,  to  the  cultivation  i>f 
which  I  have  devoted  a  life,  and  to  the  promotion 
of  whose  glory  and  adv.ineement  I  have  sacrificed 
a — a   fortune — 1  shall   be   very  much  obliged   U 

VOll" 


Mr.  Pecksniff  calls  upon  JNIiss  Tapley. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT, 


61 


"Missis's  complimen'.s  to  Miss  Pinch,"  s;iid 
tlie  footman,  suddenly  appcariug,  and  spraiung 
ill  exactly  the  same  key  as  before,  "and  beg-s  to 
know  wot  my  young  lady  is  a  learning  of  just 
now." 

'*  Oh  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  here  is  the  young 
man.  He  will  take  the  card.  With  my  cotiipli- 
inents,  if  you  please,  young  man.  My  dears,  we 
are  interrupting  the  studies.     Let  us  go." 

Some  confusion  was  occasioned  for  an  instant 
by  Mrs.  Todgers's  unstrapping  her  little  flat 
hand-basket,  and  hurriedly  entrusting  the  "  young 
man"  with  one  of  her  own  cards,  which,  in  ad- 
dition to  certain  detailed  information  relative  to 
the  terms  of  the  commercial  establishment,  bore 
a  foot-note  to  the  effect  that  M.  T.  took  that 
opportunity  of  thanking  those  gentlemen  wlio  had 
honoured  her  with  tlieir  favours,  and  beggi^d  that 
they  would  have  tlie  goodness,  if  satisfied  with 
the  table,  to  rocommend  her  to  their  friends.  Hut 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  admirable  presence  of  mind, 
recovered  this  document,  and  buttoned  it  up  in 
his  own  pocket. 

Then  he  said  to  Miss  Pinch  — with  more  con- 
descension and  kindness  than  ever,  for  it  was 
desirable  the  footman  should  expressly  under- 
stand that  they  were  not  friends  of  hers,  but 
patrons : 

"  Good  morning.  Good  b3'e.  God  bless  you  ! 
You  may  depend  upon  my  continued  protection 
of  your  brother  Thomas.  Keep  your  mind  quite 
at  ease,  Miss  Pinch  I" 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Tom's  sister  heartily  :  "  a 
thousand  times." 

"Not  at  all,"  he  retorted,  patting  her  gently  on 
the  head.  "  Don't  mention  it.  You  will  make 
me  angry  if  you  do.  My  sweet  child"  —  to  the 
pupil,  "  fiirewell !  That  fairy  creature,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  looking  in  his  pensive  mood  hard  at 
the  footman,  as  if  he  meant  him,  ''  hns  shed  a 
vision  on  my  path,  refulgent  in  its  nature,  and 
not  easily  to  be  obliterated,  ^ly  dears,  are  you 
ready  ?" 

They  were  not  quite  ready  yet,  for  they  were 
still  caressing  the  pupil.  But  they  tore  them- 
selves away  at  length  ;  and  sweeping  past  Miss 
Pinch  with  each  a  haughty  inclination  of  the 
head  and  a  curtsey  strangled  in  its  birth,  flounced 
into  the  passage. 

The  young  man  had  rather  a  long  job  in  show- 
ing them  out;  for  Mr. Pecksniff's  delight  in  the 
tastefuhiess  of  the  house  was  such  that  he  could 
not  help  often  stopping  (particularly  when  they 
were  rear  the  parlour  door)  and  giving  it  expres- 
sion, in  a  loud  voice  and  very  learned  terms. 
Indeed,  he  delivered,  between  the  study  and  the 
hall,  a  fumilia'  exposition  of  the  whole  science  of 
architecture  as  applied  to  dwelling-houses,  and 
was  yet  in  the  freshness  of  his  eloquence  when 
they  reached  the  garden. 

"  If  you  look,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  backing 
from  the  steps,  with  his  head  on  one  side  and  his 
eyes  half-shut  that  he  might  the  better  take  in 
the  proportions  of  the  exterior  :  "  If  yon  look, 
my  dears,  at  the  cornice  which  supports  the  roof, 
and  observe  the  airiness  of  its  construction, 
especially  where  it  sweeps  the  southern  an^le  of 
the  building,  you  will  feel  with  me — How  do  you 
do,  sir  ?  I  hope  you  're  well !" 

Interrupting  himself  with  these  words,  he  very 


politely  bowed  to  a  middle-aged  gentli  man  at  px\ 
ufiper  window,  to  whom  he  sp</ke,  nut  bt'cause 
the  gentleman  could  hear  him  (for  he  certainly 
could  not),  but  as  an  appropriate  accompaoiineiit 
to  his  salutation. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,  my  dears,"  said  Mr.  P<  ck- 
sniff,  feigning  to  point  out  other  beauties  with  his 
hand,  "that  that  is  the  proprietor.  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  him.  It  might  lead  to  somclliin,. 
Is  he  looking  this  way,  Charity  ?" 
"  He  is  opening  the  window,  [)a  I" 
"Ha,  ha!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  softly.  "/Ml 
right !  He  has  found  I  'm  professional.  He 
heard  me  inside  just  now,  I  have  no  doubt.  Don't 
look  !  With  regard  to  the  fluted  pillars  in  the 
portico,  my  dears — " 

"  Hallo !"  cried  the  gentleman. 
"  Sir,  your  servant !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  taking 
off  his  hat :  "  I  am  proud  to  make  your  acquaint 
ance." 

"Come  off  the  grass,  will  you!"  roared  the 
gentleman. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
doubtful  of  his  having  lieard  aright.  "  Did 
you —  ?" 

"  Come  off  the  grass  !"  repeated  the  gentle- 
man,  warmly. 

"  We  are  unwilling  to  intrude,  sir,"  Mr.  Pec'iC 
sniff  smilingly  began. 

"  But  you  are  intruding,"  returned  the  other 
"unwarrantably  intruding  —  trespassing.  Yoi 
see  a  gravel  walk,  don't  you?  What  do  yoi 
think  it's  meant  for?  Open  the  gate  there 
Show  that  party  out !" 

With  that,  he  clapped  down  the  window  aga.ii, 
and  disappeared. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  put  on  his  hat,  and  walked  with 
great  deliberation  and  in  profound  silence  to  tl'.e 
fly,  gazing  at  the  clouds  as  he  went,  with  gre;.t 
interest.  After  helping  his  daughters  and  Mr.s. 
Todgers  into  that  conveyance,  he  stood  ioi>Kir'g 
at  it  for  some  moments,  as  if  he  were  not  quite 
certain  whether  it  was  a  carriage  or  a  templo ; 
but,  having  settled  this  point  in  his  mind,  he  got 
into  his  place,  spread  his  hands  out  on  his  knees, 
and  smiled  upon  the  three  beholders. 

But  his  daughters,  less  tranqnil-minded,  burst 
into  a  torrent  of  indignation.  This  came,  tiny 
s:iid,  of  cherishing  such  creatures  as  the  Pinches 
This  came  of  lowering  themselves  to  their  level. 
This  came  of  putting  themselves  in  the  humiliut- 
ing  position  of  seeming  to  know  such  bold,  au- 
dacious, cunning,  dreadful  girls  as  that.  They 
had  expected  this.  They  had  predicted  it  to  Mrs. 
Todgers,  as  she  (Todgers)  could  depone,  that  very 
morning.  To  this  they  added,  that  the  owner  of 
the  house,  supposing  them  to  be  Miss  Pinch's 
friends,  had  acted,  in  their  opinion,  quite  correct, 
ly,  and  had  done  no  more  than,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances,  might  reasonably  have  been  expect- 
ed.  To  that  fhej'  added  (with  a  trifling  incon- 
sistency), that  he  was  a  brute  and  a  beai  ;  and 
then  tliey  merged  into  a  flood  of  tears,  wtncn 
swept  away  all  wandering  epithets  before  u. 

Perhaps  Miss  Finch  was  scarcely  so  much  lo 
blame  in  the  matter  as  the  Seraph,  who,  imme- 
diately on  the  withdrawal  of  the  visitors,  had 
hastened  to  report  them  at  head-quarters,  witli  a 
full  account  of  their  having  presumptuouslj 
charged  her  with  the  delivery  of  a  message  <if\Mf 


82 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


wards  consiffned  to  iJie  footman  ;  whicli  outrage, 
taken  in  conjunction  with  Mr.  PecksnifTs  unob- 
trusive remarks  on  the  establishment,  might  pos- 
sibly have  had  some  share  in  their  dismissal. 
Poor  Miss  Pinch,  however,  had  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  it  with  both  parties  :  being  so  severely  taken 
to  task  by  the  Seraph's  mother  for  having-  such 
vulgar  acquaintances,  tliat  she  was  fain  to  retire 
to  her  own  room  in  tears,  which  her  natural 
cheerfulness  and  submission,  and  the  delight  of 
having  seen  Mr.  Pecksniff,  and  having  received  a 
letter  from  her  brother,  were  at  first  insufficient 
to  repress. 

As  to  Mr.  Pecksniff,  he  told  them  in  the  fly, 
that  a  good  action  was  its  own  reward :  and  ra- 
ther gave  them  to  understand,  that  if  he  could 
have  been  kicked  in  such  a  cause,  he  would  have 
liked  it  all  the  better.  But  tliis  was  no  comfort  to 
the  young  ladies,  who  scolded  violently  the  whole 
Way  back,  and  even  exhibited,  more  than  once,  a 
keen  dec^irc  to  attack  the  devoted  Mrs.  Todgers  : 
on  whose  personal  appearance,  but  particularly  on 
whose  offending  card  and  hrind-basket,  tliev  were 
secretly  inclined  to  lay  the  blame  of  lialf  their 
failure. 

Todgers's  was  in  a  great  bustle  that  evening, 
partly  owmg  to  some  additional  domestic  prepara- 
lions  for  the  morrow,  and  partly  to  the  excitement 
always  inseparable  in  that  house  from  Saturday 
night,  when  every  gentleman's  linen  arrived  at  a 
different  hour  in  its  own  little  bundle,  with  his 
private  account  pinned  on  the  outside.  There 
was  always  a  great  clinking  of  pattens  down 
stairs,  too,  until  midiiitrht  or  so,  on  Saturdays;  to- 
gether with  a  frequent  gleaming  of  mysterious 
lights  in  the  area;  much  working  at  the  pnmp; 
and  a  constant  jangling  of  the  iron  handle  of  the 
pnil.  Shrill  altercations  from  time  to  time  arose 
between  Mrs.  Twigers  and  unknown  females  in 
remote  bnck  kitchens;  and  sounds  were  occasion, 
ally  heard  indicative  of  small  articles  of  iron- 
mongery and  hardware  being  thrown  at  the  boy. 
It  was  the  custom  of  that  yoiitli  on  Saturdays,  to 
roll  up  his  shirt  sleeves  to  his  shoulders,  and  per- 
vade all  parts  of  the  house  in  an  apron  of  coarse 
gre(!n  baize;  moreover,  he  was  more  stronglv 
tempted  on  Saturdays  than  on  anv  other  days  (it 
being  ;i  busy  time),  to  make  excursive  bolts  into 
the  neighbouring  alleys  when  he  answered  the 
door,  and  there  to  pl.iy  at  leap-frr.g  and  other 
sports  with  vagrant  lads,  until  pursued  and  brought 
back  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  or  the  lobe  of  his 
ear;  so  that  he  was  quite  a  conspicuous  feature 
among  the  peculiar  incidents  of  the  last  day  in  the 
week  at  Todgers's. 

lie  was  espcciall)'  so,  on  this  particular  Satur- 
day evening,  and  honoured  the  Miss  PecksriitTs 
with  a  deal  of  notice;  seldom  passing  the  door  of 
Mrs.  Todgers's  private  room,  where  they  sat  alone 
before  the  fire,  working  by  the  light  of  a  solitary 
Candle,  without  putting  in  his  head  and  greeting 
them  with  soine  such  compliments  as,  "  Tliere 
you  are  agin  I"  "  An't  it  nice?" — and  similar 
humorous  attentions. 

"  1  say,''  he  whispered,  stopping  in  one  of  his 
journeys  to  and  fro,  "young  ladies,  there's  soup 
to-morrow.  She's  a  making  it  now.  An't  she  a 
putting  in  the  water  ?  Oh  !  not  at  all  neither  I" 

In  tlie  course  of  answering  another  knock,  he 
thrust  m  his  head  again 


"  I  say — there's  fowls  to-mi.rrow.  Not  skinny 
ones.     Oh  no  !" 

Presently  he  called  through  the  key-hole, 

"  There's  a  fish  to-morrow — ^jnst  come.  Don't 
eat  none  of  him  I"  and,  with  tiiis  spectral  warn 
ing,  vanished  again. 

Bye  and  bye,  he  returned  to  lay  the  cluth  for 
supper:  it  having  been  arranged  between  Mrs, 
Todgers  and  the  young  ladies,  that  they  should 
partake  of  an  exclusive  veal-cutlet  logetlur  in  tlie 
privacy  of  that  apartment.  He  cnti  rtained  them 
on  this  occasion  by  thrusting  the  liglited  candle 
into  his  mouth,  and  exhibiting  his  face  in  a  stite 
of  transparency;  alter  the  performance  of  which 
feat,  he  went  on  with  his  professional  duties; 
brightening  every  knife  as  he  laid  it  on  the  table, 
by  breathing  on  the  blade  and  afterwards  polish- 
ing the  same  on  the  apron  already  mentioned. 
When  he  had  completed  his  preparations,  he 
grinned  at  the  sisters,  and  expressed  his  belief 
that  the  approaching  collation  would  be  of"  rather 
a  spicy  sort." 

"  Will  it  be  long  before  it's  ready,  Bailey  ?" 
asked  Mercy  . 

No,"  said  Bailey,  "it  is  cooked.  When  I  con.e 
up,  she  was  dodging  among  the  tender  pieces 
with  a  folk,  and  eating  of  'em." 

But  he  had  scarcely  achieved  the  utterance  of 
these  words,  when  he  received  a  manual  comph- 
nent  on  the  head,  which  sent  him  staggering 
against  the  wall ;  and  Mrs.  Todgers,  dish  in  hand, 
stood  indignantly  before  him. 

"  Oh  you  little  villain  !"  said  that  lady.  "  Oh 
you  bad,  false  boy  !" 

"  No  worse  tlian  yeself,"  retorted  Bailey,  guard, 
ing  his  head,  on  a  principle  invented  by  Mr.  Tho. 
mas  Cribb.  "  Ah  !  Come  now  !  Do  that  agin, 
will  yer !" 

"  He's  the  most  dreadful  child,"  said  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers, setting  down  the  dish,  "  I  ever  had  to  deal 
with.  The  gentlemen  spoil  him  to  that  extent, 
and  teach  him  such  things,  that  I'm  afraid  nothing 
but  hanging  will  ever  do  him  any  good.'' 

"  Won't  it  ?"  cried  Bailey.  "  Oh  !  Yes  !  Wot 
do  you  go  a  lowerin  the  table  for  then,  and  de- 
stroying my  eonstitooshun  ?" 

"Go  down  stairs,  you  vicious  boy,"  said  Mrs. 
Todgers,  holding  the  door  open.  "  Do  you  heat 
me  ?    Co  along  1" 

After  two  or  three  dexterous  feints,  he  went 
and  was  seen  no  more  that  night,  save  once 
when  he  brought  up  some  tumblers  and  hot  water 
and  much  disturbed  the  two  Miss  Pccksnifls  by 
squinting  hideously  behind  tlve  back  of  the  nncoiv 
scious  Mrs.  Todgers.  Having  done  this  justice  to 
his  wounded  feelings,  he  retired  underground  , 
where,  in  cotnpany  with  a  swarm  of  black  beetles 
and  a  kitchen  caiidli',  he  employed  his  fiicultiesin 
cli;aning  boots  and  brushing  clothes  until  the 
night  was  far  advanced. 

Benjamin  was  supposed  to  be  the  real  name  of 
this  young  retainer,  but  he  was  known  by  a  great 
variety  of  names.  Benjamin,  for  instance,  had 
been  converted  into  Uncle  Ben,  and  tliat  again 
iiad  been  corru|)ted  into  Uncle ;  which,  by  an  easy 
transition,  had  again  passed  into  Barnwell,  in 
memory  of  the  celebrated  relative  in  that  degree 
who  was  shot  by  his  nephew  George,  while  niedi- 
tating  in  his  garden  at  Camberwcll.  Tlie  gentle' 
men   at  Todgers's  had  a  merry  habit,  too,  of  Do- 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


ftowing-  upon  him,  for  the  time  being-,  tlie  name 
of  any  notorious  malefactor  or  iiiiriisti  r ;  and 
sometimes,  when  current  events  were  flat,  tiiey 
evtn  souf^'iit  the  pages  of  history  for  these  dis- 
tinctions; as  Mr.  Pitt,  Young,  Brownrigg,  and 
th)e  l(i(e.  At  the  period  of  wiiich  we  write,  he  was 
generally  known  among  the  gentle  men  as  Bailey 
junior;  a  name  bestowed  upon  him  in  contradis- 
tinction, perhaps,  to  Old  Bailey  ;  and  possihly  as 
involving  the  recollection  of  an  unfortunate  lady 
of  the  same  name,  who  perished  by  her  own  hand 
early  in  life,  and  has  been  immortalised  in  a  ballad. 

The  usual  Sunday  ditmer-hour  at  Todgers's 
was  two  o'clock, — a  suitable  time,  it  was  cons^i- 
dered,  for  all  parties  ;  convenient  to  Mrs.  Todgers, 
on  account  of  the  baker's;  and  convenient  to  the 
gentlemen,  with  reference  to  their  afternoon  en- 
gagements. But  on  the  Sunday  wiiich  was  to 
introduce  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs  to  a  full  know- 
ledge of  Todgers's  and  its  society,  the  dinner  was 
postponed  until  five,  in  order  that  everything 
might  be  as  genteel  as  the  occasion  demanded. 

When  the  hour  drew  nigh,  Bailey  junior,  testi- 
fying  great  excitement,  appeared  in  a  complete 
Fuit  of  cast  off  clothes  several  sizes  too  large  for 
him,  and  in  particular,  mounted  a  clean  shirt  of 
such  extraordinary  magnitude,  that  one  of  the 
gentlemen  (remarkable  for  his  ready  wit)  called 
him  "collars"  on  the  spot.  At  about  a  quarter 
before  five,  a  deputation,  consisting  of  Mr.  Jinkins, 
and  another  gentleman  whose  name  was  Gimder, 
knocked  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  'I'odgers's  room,  and, 
being  formally  introduced  to  the  two  Miss  Peck- 
sniffs  by  their  parent,  who  was  in  waiting,  be- 
sought the  honour  of  conducting  them  up  stairs. 

The  drawing-room  at  Todgers's  was  out  of  tlie 
ctimmon  style  ;  so  much  so  indeed,  that  you  would 
hardly  have  taken  it  to  be  a  drawing-room,  unless 
you  were  told  so  by  somebody  who  was  in  the  se- 
cret. It  was  floor-clothed  all  over ;  and  the  ceil- 
ing, including  a  great  beam  in  the  middle,  was 
jiapered.  Besides  the  three  little  windows,  with 
seats  in  them,  commanding  the  opposite  archway, 
there  was  another  window  looking  point  blank, 
without  any  compromise  at  all  abt  ut  it,  into  Jiiv 
kins's  bed-room;  and  high  up  all  abong  one  side 
of  the  wall  was  a  strip  of  panes  of  glass,  two-dee[), 
giving  light  to  the  staircase.  There  were  the 
oddest  closets  possible,  with  Hi  lie  casements  in 
them  like  eight-day  clocks,  lurking  in  the  wains, 
cot  and  taking  the  shape  of  the  stairs;  and  the 
very  door  itself  (which  was  painted  black)  hi'd 
two  great  glass  eyes  in  its  forehead,  with  an  in- 
quisitive green  pupil  in  the  middle  of  each. 

Here  the  gentlemen  were  all  assembled.  There 
was  a  general  cry  of  "  Hear,  Hear  I"  and  "  Bravo 
link  !"  when  Mr.  Jinkins  appeared  with  Charity 
on  his  arm:  which  became  quite  rapturous  as 
Mr.  Gander  followed,  escorting  Mercy,  and  Mr. 
Pecksniff  brought  up  the  rear  with  Mrs. 'f'odgers. 

Then  the  presentations  took  place.  They  ii]- 
cluded  a  gentleman  of  a  sporting  turn,  who  pro- 
pounded questions  on  jockey  subjects  to  the  editors 
ef  Sunday  papers,  which  were  regarded  by  his 
friends  as  rather  stiff  things  to  answer;  and  they 
included  a  gentleman  of  a  theatrical  turn,  who 
liad  once  entertained  serious  thoughts  of  "  coming 
out,"  but  had  been  kept  in  by  the  wickedness  of 
human  nature  ;  and  they  included  a  gentleman 
of  a  debating  turn,  who  was  strong   at  speech- 


making;  and  a  gentleman  of  a  literary  turn,  who 
wrote  squibs  upon  the  rest,  and  knew  the  weak 
side  of  everybody's  character  but  his  own.  There 
was  a  gentleman  of  a  vocal  turn,  and  a  gentleman 
of  a  smoking  turn,  and  a  gentleman  of  a  convivial 
turn  ;  some  of  the  gentlemen  had  a  turn  for  whist, 
and  a  large  proportion  of  the  gentlemen  had  a 
strong  turn  for  billiards  and  betting.  They  had 
all,  it  may  be  presumed,  a  turn  for  busmcss ;  be- 
mg  all  commercially  employed  in  one  waj'  or* 
other  ;  and  had,  every  one  in  his  own  way,  a  de- 
cided turn  for  pleasure  to  boot.  Mr.  .Tinkins  was 
of  a  fashionable  turn  ;  being  a  regular  frequenter 
of  the  Parks  on  Sundays,  and  knowing  a  great 
many  carriages  by  sight.  He  spoke  mysteriously, 
too,  of  splendid  women,  and  was  suspected  of 
having  once  committed  himself  willi  a  Counless. 
Mr.  Gander  was  of  a  witly  turn,  being  indeed  the 
gentleman  who  had  originated  the  sally  alout 
"collars;"  which  sparkling  pleasantry  was  now 
retailed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  under  the  title  nf 
Gander's  Last,  and  was  received  in  all  parts  of  the 
room  w  ith  great  applause.  Mr.  Jinkins,  it  may 
be  added,  was  much  the  oldest  of  the  p.irty  :  he. 
ing  a  fish-salesman's  book-keeper,  aged  forty.  He 
was  the  oldest  boarder  also;  and  in  right  of  his 
double  seniority,  took  the  lead  in  the  house,  as 
Mrs.  Todgers  had  already  said. 

There  was  considerable  delay  in  the  prodnction^^ 
of  dinner,  and  poor  Mrs.  Todg.Ts  being  reproach- 
ed in  confidence  by  .linkins,  slipped  in  a)id  out, 
at  least  twenty  times,  to  sec  about  it  ;  always 
coming  back  as  though  she  had  no  such  thing 
upon  her  mind,  and  hadn't  been  out  at  all.  Rut 
there  was  no  hitrh  in  the  conversation,  neverthe- 
less ;  for  one  gentleman,  who  travelled  in  the  per- 
fumery line,  exhibited  an  interesting  nick-nack 
in  the  way  of  a  remarkable  cake  of  shaving  soap 
which  he  had  hitely  met  with  in  Germany;  and 
the  gentleman  of  a  literary  turn  repeated  (bj'  de- 
sire)  some  sarcastic  stanzas  he  had  recently  pro- 
duced on  the  freezing  of  the  tank  at  the  back  of 
the  house.  These  amusements,  with  the  miscel- 
laneous Conversation  arising  out  of  tliem,  passed 
the  time  splendidly,  until  dinner  was  announced 
by  B  'iley  junior  in  these  terms  : 

"  The  wittlcs  is  up  !" 

On  which  notice  they  immediately  descended 
to  the  banquet-hall;  some  of  the  more  facefions 
spirits  in  the  rear  taking  down  gentlemen  as  if 
tiny  were  ladies,  in  imitation  of  the  fortunate 
possessors  of  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  said  grace  —  a  sliort  and  piouii 
grace,  invoking  a  blessing  on  the  appetites  of 
those  pr<  sent,  and  committing  all  persons  who 
had  nothing  to  eat,  to  the  care  of  Providence 
whose  business  ^so  said  the  grace,  in  effect)  it 
clearly  was,  to  look  after  them.  This  done,  they 
fell  to,  w'th  less  ceremony  than  appetite  ;  the  table 
groaning  beneath  the  weight,  not  only  of  the  deli- 
cacies whereof  the  Miss  Pecksniffs  had  been  pre 
viouslv  forewarned,  but  of  boiled  beef,  roast  veal 
bacon,  pics,  and  abundance  of  such  heavy  vegeta- 
bles as  are  favourably  known  to  housekeepers  for 
their  satisfying  qualities.  Besides  which,  there 
were  bottles  o(  stout,  bottles  of  wine,  bottles  of  ale 
and  divers  other  strong  drinks,  native  and  foreign 

All  this  was-  highly  agreeable  to  the  two  Miss 
Pecksniffs,  who  were  in  immense  request ;  silting 
one  on  either  hand  of  Mr.  Jenkins  at  the  bottom 


04 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


of  the  table;  and  who  weri'  called  upon  to  tnkc 
wine  with  some  new  admirer  every  minute.  They 
had  hardly  ever  felt  so  pleasant,  and  so  full  ot 
conversation,  in  their  lives;  Mercy,  in  particular, 
was  uncommonly  brilliant,  and  said  so  many  good 
thincrs  in  the  way  of  lively  repartee  that  she  was 
looked  upon  as  a  prodifry.  "  In  short,"  as  that 
young  lady  observed,  "  they  felt  now,  indeed,  that 
they  were  in  London,  and  for  the  first  time  too." 

Their  young  friend  Bailey  sympathized  in  these 
feelings  to  the  fullest  extent,  and,  abating  nothing 
of  his  patronage,  gave  them  every  encouragement 
in  his  power:  fiivouring  them,  when  the  general 
attention  was  diverted  from  his  proceedings,  with 
many  nods  and  winks  and  other  tokens  of  recoij- 
nition,  and  occasionally  touching  his  nose  with  a 
corkscrew,  as  if  to  express  the  Bacchanalian  char- 
acter of  the  meeting.  In  truth,  perhaps  even  tlie 
spirits  of  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs,  and  the  hungry 
watchfulness  of  Mrs.  Todgers,  were  less  worthy 
of  note  tlian  the  proceedings  of  this  remarkable 
boy,  whom  nothing  disconcerted  or  put  out  of  his 
way.  If  any  piece  of  crockery — a  dish  or  other- 
wise— chanced  to  slip  through  his  hands  (which 
happened  once  or  twice),  he  let  it  go  with  perfect 
good-breeding,  and  never  added  to  the  painful 
emotions  of  the  company  by  exhibiting  the  least 

f egret.  Nor  did  he,  by  hurrying  to  and  fro,  dis- 
urb  the  repose  of  the  assembly,  as  many  well- 
trained  servants  do ;  on  the  contrary,  feeling  the 
hopelessness  of  waiting  upon  so  large  a  party,  he 
left  the  gentlemen  to  help  themselves  to  what  they 
wanted,  and  seldom  stirred  from  behind  Mr.  Jin- 
kins's  chair,  where,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  his  legs  planted  pretty  wide  apart,  he  led  the 
laughter,  and  enjoyed  the  conversation. 

The  dessert  was  splendid.  No  waiting  either. 
The  pudding-plates  had  been  washed  in  a  little  tub 
outside  the  door  while  cheese  was  on,  and  though 
they  were  moist  and  warm  with  friction,  still  there 
they  were  again — up  to  the  mark,  and  true  to  time. 
Quarts  of  almonds;  dozens  of  oranges  ;  pounds 
of  raisins  ;  sticks  of  biffins  ;  soup-plates  full  of 
nuts.  Oh,  Todgers's  could  do  it  when  it  chose  ! 
mind  th^it. 

Then  more  wine  came  on  ;  red  wines  and  white 
wines;  and  a  large  cliina  bowl  of  punch,  brewed 
by  the  gentleman  of  a  convivial  turn,  who  adjured 
the  Miss  Pecksniffs  not  to  be  despondent  on  ac- 
count of  its  diniensions,  as  there  were  materials 
in  the  house  for  the  concoction  of  lialf  a  dozen 
more  of  the  same  size.  Good  gracious,  how  they 
laughed  !  How  they  coughed  when  they  si[)ped  it, 
because  it  was  so  stro.ig;  and  how  tliey  laughed 
again,  when  somebody  vowed  that  bnt  for  its  col- 
our it  miglit  have  been  mistaken,  in  regard  of  its 
innocuous  qualities,  for  new  milk  I  What  a  shout 
of  "  No  I"  burst  from  the  gentlemen  when  they 
pathetically  implored  Mr.  Jinkins  to  suffer  them 
to  qualify  it  with  hot  water;  and  how  blushingly, 
by  little  and  little,  did  each  of  them  drink  her 
fcfjiole  glassful  down  to  its  very  dregs ! 

Now  comes  the  trying  time.  The  sun,  as  Mr. 
Jinkins  says  (gentlemanly  creature,  Jinkins — ne- 
ver at  a  loss;),  is  about  to  leave  tlie  firmament. 
"Miss  Pecksniff!"  says  Mrs.  Todgers,  softly, 
"  will  you — "  "  Oh  dear,  no  more,  Mi's.  Todgers." 
Mrs.  Todfjers  rises  ,  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs  ri.se  ; 
all  rise.  .Miss  Mercy  Pecksniff  looks  downward 
Cot  her  scarf     Wlierc  is  it  ?  Dear  me,  where  can 


it  be  ?  Sweet  girl,  she  has  it  on — not  on  her  fair 
neck,  but  loose  upon  her  flowing  figure.  A  dozen 
hands  assist  her.  She  is  all  confusion.  Tiie  young. 
est  genflem  jn  in  company  thirsts  to  murder  Jin- 
kins. She  skips  and  joins  her  sister  at  the  door. 
Her  sister  has  her  arm  about  the  waist  of  Mrst 
Todgers.  She  winds  her  arm  around  her  sister. 
Diana,  what  a  picture !  The  last  things  visible 
are  a  shape  and  a  skip.  "Gentlemen,  let  us  drink 
the  ladies  !" 

The  enthusiasm  is  tremendous.  The  gentle- 
man of  a  debating  turn  rises  in  the  niitlst,  and 
suddenly  lets  loose  a  tide  of  eloquence  which  bears 
down  everything  before  it.  He  is  reminded  of  a 
toast — a  toast  to  which  they  will  respond.  There 
is  an  individual  present;  he  has  liim  in  hi.s  eye; 
to  whom  they  owe  a  debt  of  gratitude.  He  re- 
peats it — a  debt  of  gratitude.  Their  rugged  na. 
tures  have  been  softened  and  ameliorated  that  day 
by  the  society  of  lovely  woman.  There  is  a  gen- 
tleman in  company  whom  two  accomplished  and 
delightful  females  regard  with  veneration,  as  the 
fountain  of  their  existence.  Yes,  when  yet  tlie 
two  Miss  Pecksniffs  lisped  in  language  scarce  in- 
telligible, they  called  that  individual  "Father!" 
There  is  great  applause.  He  gives  them  "  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  and  God  bless  him  I"  They  all  shake 
hands  with  Mr.  Pecksniff,  as  they  drink  the  to.isL 
The  youngest  gentleman  in  company  does  so  with 
?  thrill ;  for  he  feels  that  a  mysterious  influenc-e 
pervades  the  man  who  claims  that  being  in  tiie 
pink  scarf  for  his  daughter. 

What  saith  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  reply  ?  or  rather 
let  the  question  be,  What  leaves  he  unsaid  ?  No- 
thing. More  punch  is  called  for,  and  produced, 
and  drunk.  Enthusiasm  mounts  still  higher. 
Every  man  comes  out  freely  in  his  own  charac- 
ter. The  gentleman  of  a  theatrical  turn  recites. 
The  vocal  gentleman  regales  them  with  a  song. 
Gander  leaves  the  Gander  of  all  former  feasts 
whole  leagues  behind.  He  rises  to  propose  a  toast. 
It  is.  The  Father  of  Todger.s's.  It  is  their  com- 
mon friend  Jink — it  is  Old  Jink,  if  he  may  call 
him  by  that  familiar  and  endearing  appellation. 
The  youngest  gentleman  in  conipany  utters  a  frarw 
tic  negative.  He  won't  have  it — he  can't  bear  i( 
— it  mustn't  be.  But  his  dejrfh  of  feeling  is  n)is 
understood.  He  is  supposed  to  be  a  little  elcvat 
ed  ;  and  nobody  heeds  him. 

Mr.  Jinkins  thanks  them  from  his  heart.  It  i<», 
by  many  degrees,  the  proudest  day  in  his  hun>ble 
career.  When  he  looks  around  him  on  the  pre- 
sent occasion,  he  feels  that  he  wants  words  in 
which  to  express  his  gratitude.  One  thing  he  will 
say.  He  hopes  it  has  been  shown  that  Todgers's 
can  be  true  to  itself;  and,  an  opportunity  arising, 
that  it  can  come  out  quite  as  strong  as  its  neii{h- 
bours  —  perhaps  stronger.  He  reminds  them, 
amidst  thunders  of  encouragement,  that  they  have 
heard  of  a  somewhat  similar  establishment  in 
Cannon  street;  and  that  they  have  heard  it  prai.s- 
ed.  He  wishes  to  draw  no  invidious  comparisons; 
he  would  be  the  last  man  to  do  it ;  but  when  that 
Cannon  street  establishment  shall  be  able  to  pri>- 
duce  such  a  combination  of  wit  and  beauty  as  has 
graced  that  board  that  day,  and  shall  be  able  im 
serve  up  (all  things  considered)  such  a  dinner  an 
that  of  which  they  have  just  parUiken,  he  wiH  be 
happy  to  talk  to  it.  Until  then,  gentlemen,  h« 
will  stick  to  Todgers's 


MARTIN   CriUZZLEWIT. 


Mnrc  punch,  more  enthusiasm,  more  speeches.  I 
Everybociy's  health  is  <lrunl<,  saving  the  youngest 
gentltinan's,  in  company.  He  sits  apart,  with  liis 
elbow  on  the  back  of  a  vacant  chair,  and  glares 
disdainl'nily  at  .Tiiil;ins.  Gander,  in  a  convulsive 
S|i(ech,  gives  tliem  the  health  of  Dailey  junior  ; 
hiccups  are  heard  ;  and  a  glass  is  broken.  Mr. 
Jinkins  feels  that  it  is  time  to  join  the  ladies.  He 
proposrs,  as  a  final  sentiuicnt,  Mrs.  Todgers.  She 
IS  worthy  to  be  remembered  separately.  Hear, 
hfir.  So  she  is:  no  doubt  of  it.  They  all  find 
fiult  with  her  at  other  tinies  ;  but  every  man  teels, 
now,  that  he  could  die  in  her  defence. 

They  go  up-stairs,  where  they  are  not  expected 
so  soon  ;  for  Mrs.  Todgers  is  asleep,  Miss  Charity 
is  adjusting  her  hair,  and  Mercy,  who  has  made 
a  sofa  of  one  of  the  window-seats,  is  in  a  grace- 
fully-recumbent attitude.  She  is  rising  hastily, 
when  Mr.  Jinkins  implores  her,  for  all  their 
sakes,  not  to  stir;  siic  looks  too  gracefully  and 
too  lovely,  he  remarks,  to  be  disturbed.  Slic 
laughs,  and  yields,  and  fans  hersell',  and  drops  her 
fan,  and  there  is  a  rush  to  pick  it  up.  Being  now 
installed,  by  one  consent,  as  the  beauty  of  the 
party,  she  is  cruel  and  capricious,  and  sends  gen- 
tlemen on  messages  to  other  gentlemen,  and  for- 
gets all  about  tiiem  before  they  can  return  with 
the  answer,  and  invents  a  thousand  tortures,  rend- 
ing their  hearts  to  pieces,  Bailey  brings  up  the 
tea  and  coffee.  There  is  a  small  cluster  of  ad- 
mirers round  Charity  ;  but  they  are  only  those 
who  cannot  get  near  her  sister.  The  youngest 
gentleman  in  company  is  pale,  hut  collected,  and 
still  sits  apart;  for  his  spirit  loves  to  hold  com- 
munion with  itself,  and  his  soul  recoils  from  noisy 
revellers.  She  has  a  consciousness  of  his  presence 
and  his  adoration.  He  sees  it  flashing  sometimes 
in  the  corner  of  her  eye.  Have  a  care,  Jinkins, 
ere  you  provoke  a  desperate  man  to  frenzy  ! 

Mr.  Pecksniifhad  followed  his  younger  friends 
up-stairs,  and  taken  a  chair  at  the  side  of  Mrs. 
Todgers,  He  had  also  spilt  a  cup  of  coffee  over 
his  legs  without  appearing  to  be  aware  of  the  cir- 
cumstance ;  nr)r  did  he  seem  to  know  that  there 
was  a  muffin  on  his  knte, 

"And  hovi'  have  they  used  you,  down-stairs, 
sir  ?"  asked  the  hostess, 

"  Their  condnet  has  been  such,  my  dear 
madam,"  said  Mr,  Pecksniff,  "as  I  can  never 
think  of  without  emotion,  or  remember  without  a 
tear.     Oh,  Mrs.  Todgers  !" 

"  My  goodness  !"  exclaimed  that  lady,  "  How 
low  you  are  in  your  spirits,  sir  I" 

"  I  am  a  man,  my  dear  madam,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  sheddinsr  tears,  and  speaking  with  an 
imperfect  articulation,  "but  I  am  also  a  fither.  I 
am  also  a  widower.  My  feelings,  Mrs.  Todgers, 
will  not  consent  to  be  entirely  smothered,  like  the 
young  children  in  the  Tower,  They  are  grown 
up,  and  the  more  I  press  the  bolster  on  them,  the 
more  they  look  round  the  corner  of  it." 

He  suddenly  became  conscious  of  the  bit  of 
muffin,  and  stared  at  it  intently  ;  shaking  his  head 
the  while,  in  a  forlorn  and  imbecile  manner,  as  if 
he  regarded  it  as  his  evil  genius,  and  mildly  re- 
proached it. 

"  She  was  beautiful,  Mrs.  Todgers,"  he  said, 
turning  his  glazed  eye  again  upon  her,  without  the 
least  preliminary  notice.  "  She  had  a  small  pro- 
perty," 


"So  I  have  heard,"  cried  Mrs,  Todgers,  with 
great  sympathy, 

"  Those  are  her  daughters,"  said  Mr,  Pecksni'.f 
pointing  out  the  young  ladies,  with  increasec 
emotion. 

Mrs.  Todgers  had  no  doubt  of  it. 

"  Mercy  and  Charily,"  sriid  Mr.  PecksniT, 
"Charity  and  Mercy,  Not  unholy  names,  I 
hope  ?" 

"  Mr,  Pecksniff!"  cried  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  what 
a  ghastly  smile !     Are  you  ill,  sir  ?" 

He  pressed  his  hand  upon  her  arm,  and  an- 
swered, in  a  solemn  manner,  and  a  faint  vt.ice, 
"Chronic." 

"  Cholic  ?"  cried  the  frightened  Mrs.  Todgers. 

"  Chron-ic,"  he  repeated,  with  some  dilhcullyt 
"  Chronic.  A  chronic  disorder.  I  have  been  iis 
victim  from  childhood.  It  is  carrying  me  to  my 
grave," 

"  Heaven  forbid  I"  cried  Mrs,  Todgers. 

"  Yes  it  is,"  said  Mr.  PecksnitT,  reckless  with 
despair,  "  I  am  rather  glad  of  it,  upon  the 
whole.     You  are  like  her,  JMrs.  Todgers." 

"Don't  squeeze  me  so  tight,  pray,  Mr.  Pick. 
snitF.     If  any  of  the  gentlemen  should  notice  us.** 

"For  her  sake,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  Permit 
me — in  honour  of  her  memory.  For  the  sake  of 
a  voice  from  the  tomb.  You  are  very  like  her, 
Mrs,  Todgers  !     What  a  world  this  is  '." 

"Ah!  Indeed  you  may  say  that !"  uried  Mra. 
Todgers, 

"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  a  vain  and  thoughtless  w(.rld," 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  overflowing  with  despondency, 
"  These  young  people  about  us.  Oh  !  what  sense 
have  they  of  their  responsibilities  ?  None.  Give 
me  your  other  hand,  Mrs.  Todgers." 

That  lady  hesitated,  and  said  "shedid'nt  like." 

"  Has  a  voice  from  the  grave  no  intiiieiice  ?" 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  dismal  tenderness.  "  This 
is  irreligious  !     My  dear  creature," 

"Hush!"  urged  Mrs,  Todgers,  "Really  yoa 
nmstn't." 

"It's  not  me,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "Don't 
suppose  it 's  me;  it's  the  voice;  it's  her  voice." 

Mrs,  Pecksniff  deceased  must  have  had  un  un- 
usually thick  and  husky  voice  for  a  lady  ;  and 
rather  a  stuttering  voice;  and  to  say  tlic  truth, 
somewhat  of  a  drunken  voice;  if  it  hid  ever 
borne  much  resemblance  to  that  in  which  Mr, 
Pecksniff  spoke  just  then.  But  perhaps  this  w  a» 
delusion  on  his  part. 

"  It  has  been  a  day  of  enjoyment,  Mrs.  Todgers, 
but  still  it  has  been  a  day  of  torture,  li  has 
reminded  me  of  my  loneliness.  What  am  I  in 
the  world  ?" 

"  An  excellent  gentleman,  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  said 
Mrs.  Todgers. 

"  There  is  consolation  in  that  too,"  cried  Mr. 
PecksnitT.     "  Am  I  ?" 

"  There  is  no  better  man  living,"  said  Mra. 
Todger.s,  "  I  am  sure  " 

Mr.  Pecksniff  smiled  through  his  tears,  and 
slightly  shook  his  head,  "  You  are  very  good," 
he  said,  "  thank  you.  It  is  a  great  hapjiintss  to 
me,  Mrs.  Todgers,  to  make  young  people  happy. 
The  happiness  of  my  pupils  is  my  chief  object 
I  dote  upon  'em.  They  dote  upon  me,  too  — 
sometimes." 

"  Always,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers. 

"  When    they    say    tliey    haven't     improveo 


m 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


rtia'am,"  whispered  Mr.  Pecksniff,  looking  at  her  I 
with  profound  mystery,  and  motioning  to  her  to 
advance  her  ear  a  little  closer  to  his  mouth. 
"  When  they  say  they  haven't  improved,  ma'am, 
and  the  premium  was  too  high,  they  lie !  I 
ehouUin't  wish  it  to  be  mentioned  ;  you  will  un- 
dri  stand  me  :  but  I  say  to  you  as  to  an  old  friend, 
they  lie." 

"  Base  wretches  they  must  be !"  said  Mrs. 
Todsrers. 

"  iMadam,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "you  are  ri^ht. 
I  respect  you  for  that  observation.  A  word  in 
your  ear.  To  Parents  and  Guardians — This  is 
m  confidence,  Mrs.  Todg-ers  ?" 

"The  strictest,  of  course!"  cried  that  lady. 

"To  Parents  and  Guardians,"  repeated  Mr. 
Pecksniff.  "  An  eligible  opportunity  now  offers, 
which  unites  the  advantages  of  the  best  practical 
architectural  education  with  the  comforts  of  a 
home,  and  the  constant  association  with  some, 
who,  however  humble  their  sphere  and  limited 
their  capacity — observe  ! — are  not  unmindful  of 
their  moral  responsibilities." 

Mrs.  Todgers  looked  a  little  puzzled  to  know 
what  this  might  mean,  as  well  she  might ;  for  it 
was,  as  the  reader  may  perchance  remember,  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  usual  form  of  advertisement  when  he 
wanted  a  pupil ;  and  seemed  to  have  no  particular 
reference,  at  present,  to  anything.  But  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff held  up  ills  finger  as  a  caution  to  her  not  to 
interrupt  him. 

"  Do  you  know  any  parent  or  guardian,  I\Irs. 
Todgers,"  said  .\Ir.  Pecksnift', "  who  desires  to  avail 
himself  of  such  an  opjiortunity  for  a  young  gen- 
tleman ?  .4n  orphan  would  be  preferred.  Do  you 
know  of  any  orphan  with  three  or  four  hundred 
pound  ?" 

Mrs.  Todgers  reflected,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  When  you  hear  of  an  orphan  with  three  or 
four  hundred  pound,"  said  Mr.  Peckniff,  "  let  that 
dear  orphan's  friends  apply,  by  letter  post-paid,  to 
S.  P.,  Post-office.  Salisbury.  I  don't  know  who 
he  is,  exactly.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Mrs.  Todgers," 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  falling  heavily  against  her: 
"chronic — chronic!  Let's  have  a  little  drop  of 
Bometiiing  to  drink." 

"  Bless  my  life.  Miss  Pecksniffs !"  cried  Mrs. 
Todgers,  aloud,  "your  dear  pa  's  took  very  poorlyl" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  straightened  himself  by  a  sur- 
prising effoH,  as  every  one  turned  hastily  towards 
him  ;  and  standing  on  his  feet,  regarded  the  as- 
sembly with  a  look  of  ineffable  wisdom.  Gra- 
dually it  gave  place  to  a  smile;  a  feeble,  helpless, 
melancholy  smile;  bland,  almost  to  sickliness. 
"  Do  not  repine,  my  friends,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
tenderly.  "  Do  not  weep  for  me.  It  is  chronic." 
And  with  these  words,  af\cr  making  a  futile  at- 
tempt to  pull  off  his  shoes,  he  fell  into  the  fire-pl.ice. 

The  youngest  gentleman  in  company  had  liirn 
out  in  a  second.  Yes,  before  a  hair  upon  iiis 
head  was  singed,  he  had  him  on  the  hearth-rug — 
Her  father 

She  was  almost  beside  herself.  So  was  her 
■inter.  Jinkins  consoled  them  both.  Tliey  all 
consoled  them.  Everybody  had  something  to  s:iy 
except  the  youngest  gentleman  in  company,  wlm 
with  a  noble  =elfdevotion  did  the  heavy  work, 
•nd  held  up  Mr.  Pee'<snitrs  head  without  bein:,^ 
Ittken  any  notice  of  by  anvbody.  At  last  thev 
^he»"ed  round,  and  agreed  to  carry  him  up-stairs 


to  bed.  The  yountrest  gentleman  in  company 
was  rebuked  by  Jinkins  for  tearing  Mr.  Peek* 
snifTs  coat !     Ha,  ha  !     But  no  matter. 

They  carried  him  up-stairs,  and  crushed  the 
youngest  gentleman  at  every  step.  His  bednxrin 
was  at  the  top  of  the  house,  and  it  was  a  lonj 
way;  but  they  got  him  tiiere  in  cour.se  of  time. 
He  asked  them  frequently  upon  the  road  for  a 
little  drop  of  something  to  dritik.  It  seemed  an 
idiosyncrasy.  The  youngest  gimtleman  in  com- 
pany  proposed  a  draught  of  water.  Mr.  Pick- 
sniff  called  him  opprobrious  names  for  the  sug- 
gestion. 

Jinkins  and  Gander  took  the  rest  upon  then>- 
selves,  and  made  him  as  co(nf^)rtable  as  they  could, 
on  the  outside  of  his  bed  ;  and  when  he  seemed 
disposed  to  sleep,  tliey  left  him.  But  before  they 
had  all  gained  the  bottom  of  the  staircase,  a  vision 
of  xMr.  Pecksniff,  strangely  attired,  was  seen  to 
flutler  on  the  top  landing.  He  desired  to  collect 
their  sentiments,  it  seemed,  upon  the  nature  of 
human  life. 

"  My  friends,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  looking 
over  the  banisters,  "  let  us  improve  our  minds  by 
mutual  inquiry  and  discussion.  Let  us  be  morak 
Let  us  contemplate  existence.  Where  is  Jinkins  ?" 

"  Here,"  cried  that  gentleman.  "  Go  to  bed 
again  I" 

"  To  bed  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  Bed  !  'Tis 
ihe  voice  of  tlie  sliigcfard  ;  I  hear  him  complain  ; 
you  have  woke  me  too  soon  ;  I  must  sluml)er 
again.  If  any  young  orphan  will  repeal  the  re^ 
mainder  oftli.it  simple  piece  from  Doctor  W'.itts's 
collection,  an  eligible  opportunity  now  offers." 

Nobody  volunteered. 

"This  is  very  soothisisf,"  said  Mr.  Pecksnitl^ 
after  a  pause.  "  Extremely  so.  Cool  and  relreslv- 
ing;  particularly  to  the  irgs  !  The  legs  of  the 
human  subject,  my  friends,  are  a  beautiful  pro- 
duction.  Compare  them  with  wooden  legs,  and 
observe  the  difference  between  the  anatomy  of 
nature  and  the  anatomy  of  art.  Do  you  know," 
said  Mr.  PecksnilT,  leaning  over  the  bani'ters, 
with  an  odd  recollection  of  his  familiar  manner 
among  new  pupils  at  home,  "that  1  should  vt-ry 
much  like  to  see  Mrs.  Todgers's  notionofa  woodi-n 
leg,  if  perfectly  agreeable  to  herself!" 

As  it  appeared  irnpossihie  to  entertain  any  rea- 
sonable hopes  of  him  after  this  speccli,  Mr.  Jin- 
kins and  Mr.  Gunder  went  u[)-stairs  again,  and 
once  more  got  him  into  bed  But  they  had  not 
descended  to  the  second  floor  before  lie  wis  out 
again;  nor,  when  they  had  repeated  the  proei-ss, 
had  they  descended  the  first  flight,  befiite  he  w.is 
out  again.  In  a  word,  as  of't(m  as  he  WdS  shut  op 
in  his  own  room,  he  darted  out  afresh,  ch  irL'ed 
with  some  new  moral  sentiment,  which  he  i;c.iiti- 
nnally  repeated  over  the  banisters,  with  extraor- 
dinary relish,  and  an  irrepressible  desire  for  the 
improvement  of  his  fellow-creuturcs  that  nothing 
could  subdue. 

I'nder  tlieso  circumstances,  when  they  had  mA 
him  into  bed  for  the  thirtieth  time  or  so,  Mr.  Jin- 
kins held  him,  while  his  companion  went  down- 
stairs in  seareli  ot"  Biil'-y  junior,  with  ivhom  he 
presently  returned.  That  youth,  having  been  ap- 
prised of  the  serviei?  reciuired  of  him,  was  in  great 
spirits,  and  brought  up  a  stool,  a  candle,  and  hi."i 
sn[»per;  to  the  end  that  he  might  keep  watch  out 
side  the  bedroom  door  with  tolerable  conitbrt. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


67 


When  he  Iiad  completed  his  arrang-ements,  thej' 
locked  Air.  FccKsiiitT  in,  and  lett  the  key  on  the 
jiitside  ;  chiirgiiig  tlie  young'  page  to  listen  attcn- 
livtiv  for  svmptoiiis  of  an  apoplectic  nature,  with 
which  the  patient  might  be  troubled,  and,  in  case 


of  any  such  presenting  tliemselvcs,  to  Rniiimon 
then)  without  dehiy  :  to  which  Mr.  Bailey  ni.v 
destly  replied  that  he  hoped  he  knowed  wot 
o'clock  it  was  in  gincral,  ai.-d  didn't  dale  his  let- 
ters to  his  friends,  from  Todgers's,  for  nothuig. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CONTAINING  STRANGE  MATTER;  ON  WHICH  MANY  EVENTS  IN  THIS 
HISTORY,  MAY.  FOR  THEIR  GOOD  OR  EVIL  INFLUENCE,  CHIEFLY  DE- 
PEND. 
Rut  Mr.  Pecksniff  came  to  town  on  business. 

H;id  he   lorgntten   that?     Was  he  always  taking 

liis  pleasure  with  Todgers's  jovial  brood,  unmind- 
ful oi  the  serious  demands,  whatever  they  might 

be,  upon  his  calm  consideration  ?     No. 

Tune  and  tide  will  wait  for  no  man,  saith  the 

adage.     But  all  men  have  to  wait  for  time  and 

tide.     That  tide  which,  taken  at  the  flood,  would 

Ie;.d   Seth   Pecksniff  on  to  fortune,  was  marked 

down    in   the  table,  and   about  to  flow.     No  idle 

Pecksniff  lingered  far    inland,  unmindful  of  the 

changes  of  the  stream  ;  but  there,  upon  the  water's 

edge,  over   his   shoes  already,  stood   the  wortliy 

creature,  prepared  to  wallow  in  the  very  mud,  so 

that  it  slid  towards  the  quarter  of  his  hope. 

The  trustfulness  of  his  two  fair  daughters  was 

beautiful  indeed.     They  had  that  firm  reliance  on 

their  j)arcnt's  nature,  which  taught  them  to  feel 

certain   that   in   all   he   did,  he  had   his  purpose 

straight  and  full  before  him.     And  that  its  noble 

end  and  object  was  himself,  which  almost  of  ne- 
cessity included  them,  they  knew.     The  devotion 

of  these  maids  was  perfect. 

Their  filial  confidence  was  rendered  the  more 

touching,  by  their  having  no  knowledge  of  their 

parent's  real  designs,  in  the  present  instance.  All 

that  they  knew  of  his  proceedings,  was,  that  every 

morning,  after  the  early  breaklast,  he  repaired  to 

the  post-office  and  inquired  for  letters.     That  task 

performed,  his  business  for  tlie  day  was  over;  and 

he  again  relaxed,  until  the  rising  of  another  sun 

prnclaitned  the  advent  of  another  post. 

This  went  on  for  four  or  five  da  vs.     At  length 


sincerely  affectionate  regards."  The  old  gentle, 
man  tore  off  the  direction — scattering  the  rest  in 
fragments  to  the  winds  —  and  giving  it  to  the 
coachman,  bade  him  drive  as  near  that  place  as 
he  could.  In  pursuance  of  these  instructions  he 
was  driven  to  the  Monument;  where  he  again 
aliirhtcd,  dismissed  the  vehicle,  and  walked  to- 
wards Todgers's. 

Though  the  face,  and  form,  and  gait  of  this  old 
man,  and  even  his  grip  of  the  stout  stick  on  which 
he  leaned,  were  all  expressive  of  a  resolution  not 
easily  shaken,  and  a  purpose  (it  matters  little 
whether  right  or  wrone,  just  now)  such  as  in  other 
davs  might  have  survived  the  rack,  and  had  its 
strongest  life  in  weakest  death ;  still  there  were 
grains  of  hesitation  in  his  mind,  which  made  him 
now  avoid  tlie  house  he  sought,  and  loiter  to  and 
fro  in  a  gleam  of  sunlight,  that  brightened  the 
little  church-yard  hard  by.  There  may  have  been 
in  the  presence  of  those  idle  heaps  of  dust  among 
the  busiest  stir  of  life,  something  to  increase  his 
wavcriiio';  but  there  he  walked,  awak-cning  the 
echoes  as  he  paced  up  and  down,  until  the  church 
clock,  striking  the  quarters  for  the  second  time 
since  he  had  been  there,  roused  him  from  hi.s 
meditation.  Shaking  off  his  incertitude  as  the 
air  parted  with  the  sound  of  the  bells,  he  walked 
rapidly  to  the  house,  and  knocked  at  ll.e  door. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  was  seated  in  the  landlady's  lit- 
tle room,  and  his  visitor  found  him  reading  —  by 
an  accident:  he  npolo£fised  for  it  —  an  excellent 
theological  work.  There  were  cake  and  wine 
upon  a  little  table — by  another  accident,  for  which 


one    morning,    Mr.   Pecksniff    returned    with  a  j  he  also  apologised.     Indeed  he  said,  he  had  given 
breathless  rapidit}',  strange  to  observe  in  him,  at    his  visitor  up,  and  was   about  to  partake  of  that 


other  times  so  calm  ;  and,  seeking  immediate 
(■peech  with  his  daughters,  shut  himself  up  with 
them  in  private  conference,  for  two  whole  hours. 
Of  all  that  passed  in  this  period,  only  the  following 
Wfirds  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  utterance  are  known  : 

"  Elow  he  has  come  to  change  so  very  much 
(if  it  should  turn  out  as  I  expect,  that  he  has),  we 
needn't  stop  to  inquire.  My  dears,  I  have  my 
thoughts  upon  the  subject,  but  I  will  not  impart 
them.  It  is  enough  that  we  will  not  he  proud, 
resentful,  or  unforgiving.  If  he  wants  our  friend- 
ship,  he  shall  have  it.  We  know  our  duty,  I  hope!" 

That  same  day  at  noon,  an  old  gentleman 
alighted  from  a  hackney-coach  at  the  post-office, 
and,  giving  his  name,  inquired  for  a  letter  ad- 
dressed to  himself,  and  directed  to  be  left  till 
called  for.  It  had  been  lying  there,  some  days. 
The  superscription  was  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  hand, 
and  it  was  sealed  with  I\Ir.  Pecksniff's  seal. 

It  was  very  short,  containing  indeed  nothing 
more  than  an  address  "with  Mr.  Pecksniff's  re- 
Bpectful  and  (notwithstanding  what  has  passed) 


simple  refreshment  with  his  children,  when  he 
knocked  at  the  door. 

"  Your  dai;ght(  rs  are  well  ?"  said  old  Martin, 
laying  down  his  hat  and  stick. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  endeavoured  to  conceal  his  agita- 
tion as  a  lather,  when  he  answered.  Yes,  they 
were.  They  were  good  girls,  he  said,  very  good. 
He  would  not  venture  to  recommend  Mr.  Chuzile- 
wit  to  take  the  easy  ciiair,  or  lo  keep  out  of  the 
draught  from  the  door.  If  he  made  any  such 
suggestion,  he  would  expose  himself,  he  feareu,  lo 
most  unjust  suspicion.  He  would,  therefore,  con- 
tent himself  with  remarking  that  there  was  an 
easy  chair  in  the  room  ;  and  that  the  door  waa 
far  from  bcinsr  air-tijjht.  This  latter  imperfection, 
he  might  perhaps  venture  to  add,  was  not  uncom- 
monly to  be  met  with  in  old  houses. 

The  old  man  sat  down  in  the  easy  chair,  and 
after  a  few  moments'  silence,  said  : 

"  In  the  first  place,  let  me  thank  you  for  cominc 
to  London  so  promptly,  at  my  almost  unexplainM 
request :  I  need  scarcely  add,  at  mv  cost " 


68 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTfJRES   OF 


"  At  your  cost,  my  good  sir  I"  cried  Mr.  Peck- 
BnitT,  ill  a  tone  ofgrt^at  surprise. 

"  it  is  not,"  said  Miirtin,  waving  liis  hand  im- 
patiently, "  my  habit  to  put  my — well  I  my  rela- 
tives— to  any  personal  expense  to  gratify  my 
caprices." 

"CJaprices,  my  good  sir!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"Tlial  is  scarcely  the  proper  word  either,  in 
tiiis  instance,''  said  the  old  man,  "No.  You  are 
right." 

Mr.  PecksniiT  was  mwardly  very  much  relieved 
to  hear  it,  tliough  he  did  n't  at  all  know  why. 

"  You  are  right,"  repeated  Martin.  "  It  is  not 
a  caprice.  It  is  built  up  on  reason,  proof,  and  cool 
comparison.  Caprices  never  are.  Moreover,  I  am 
not  a  capricious  man.     I  never  was." 

"  Most  assuredly  not,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  How  do  you  know  ?"  returned  the  other 
quickly.  "  You  are  to  begin  to  kuow  it  now. 
You  are  to  test  and  prove  it,  in  time  to  come. 
You  and  yours  are  to  find  that  I  can  be  constant, 
and  am  not  to  be  diverted  from  my  end.  Do  you 
hear  ?" 

"Perfectly,"  said  Mr. Pecksniff. 

"  I  very  much  regret,"  Martin  resumed,  look- 
ing steadily  at  him,  sad  speaking  in  a  slow  and 
measured  tone  :  "  1  \try  much  regret  that  you 
and  I  held  such  a  contfersatioa  together,  as  that 
which  passed  between  us,  at  our  last  meeting.  I 
very  much  regret  that  I  laid  open  to  you  what 
were  t.hen  my  thoughts  of  you,  so  freely  as  I  did. 
The  intentions  that  I  bear  towards  you,  now,  are 
of  another  kind;  and,  deserted  by  all  in  whom  I 
have  ever  trusted,  hoodwinked  and  beset  by  all 
who  should  help  and  sustain  me;  I  fly  to  you  for 
refuge.  1  confide  in  you  to  be  my  ally  ;  to  attach 
yourself  to  me  by  ties  of  Interest  and  Expecta- 
tion"— he  laid  great  stress  upon  these  words, 
though  Mr.  Pecksniff  particularly  begged  him  not 
to  mention  it ;  "  and  to  help  me  to  visit  the  con- 
sequences of  the  very  worst  species  of  meanness, 
dissimulation,  and  subtletj,  on  the  right  heads." 

"  .My  noble  sir  I"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  catching 
at  his  outstretched  hand.  "  And  you  regret  tlie 
having  harboured  unjust  thougiits  of  me  !  you  with 
those  gray  hairs  I" 

"  Regrets,"  said  Martin,  "  are  the  natural  pro- 
prrty  ot  gray  hairs  ;  and  I  enjoy,  in  common  witli 
all  other  men,  at  least  my  share  of  such  inheril- 
anic.  And  so  enough  oi'  that.  I  regret  having 
been  severed  from  you  so  long.  If  I  had  known 
you  .sooner,  and  sootier  used  you  as  you  well  de- 
serve, I  might  have  been  a  happier  man." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  looked  up  to  the  ceiling,  and 
daspid  his  hands  in  rapture. 

"  Your  daughters,"  said  Martin,  after  a  short 
sileiif.e.  "I  don't  know  them.  Are  they  like 
yuu  ?" 

"  In  the  nose  of  my  eldest  and  the  chin  of  my 
youngest,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  returned  the  widower, 
"their  sainted  parent — not  myself,  their  mother — 
lives  again." 

"  I  do  n't  mean  in  person,"  said  tlie  old  man. 
"  Morally — morally." 

"  'T  is  not  for  me  to  say,"  retorted  Mr.  Peck- 
■iiiff  with  a  gentle  smile.  **  I  have  done  my  best, 
•ir  " 

"  I  Could  wish  to  see  them,"  said  Martin  ,  "are 
*hey  near  at  hand  ?" 

Th«v  were,  very  near;  for  they  had,  in  fact, 


been  listening  at  the  door,  from  tlie  beginnmg  of 
this  conversation  until  now,  when  tiiey  precipi- 
tately retired.  Having  wiped  the  signs  of  weak, 
ness  from  his  eyes,  and  so  given  them  time  to  gel 
up  stairs,  Mr.  Pecksniff  opened  the  door,  und 
mildly  cried  in  the  passage, 

"  My  own  darlings,  where  are  you  ?" 

"  Here,  my  dear  pa  I"  replied  the  distant  voice 
of  Charity. 

"  Come  down  into  the  back  parlour,  if  yoa 
please,  my  love,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  and  bring 
your  sister  with  you." 

"  Yes,  my  dear  pa,"  cried  Mercy ;  and  down 
they  came  directly  (being  all  obedience),  singing 
as  they  came. 

Nothing  could  exceed  the  astonishment  of  the 
two  .Miss  Pecksniffs  when  they  I'ourid  a  stranger 
with  their  dear  papa.  Nothing  could  sur|)js3 
their  mute  astonishment  when  he  said,  "  My 
children,  iMr.  Chuzzlewit !"  But  when  he  fold 
them  that  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  and  he  were  friends, 
and  that  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  had  said  such  kind  and 
tender  words  as  pierced  his  very  heart,  the  two 
Miss  Pecksniffs  cried  with  one  accord,  "Thank 
Heaven  for  tliis  1"  and  fell  upon  the  old  man's 
neck.  And  when  they  had  embraced  him  with 
such  fervour  of  affection  that  no  words  can  de- 
scribe it,  they  grouped  themselves  about  his  chair 
and  hung  over  him  :  as  figuring  to  themselves  no 
ea.thly  joy  like  that  of  ministering  to  his  wants, 
and  crowding  into  the  remainder  of  his  life  the 
love  they  would  have  diffused  over  their  whole 
existence,  f'rom  infancy,  if  he — dear  obdurate  1— 
had  but  consented  to  receive  the  precious  offer- 
ing. 

The  old  man  looked  attentively  from  one  to  the 
other,  and  then  at  Mr.  Pecksniff,  several  times. 

"  What,"  he  asked  of  Mr.  Pecksnitf,  happening 
to  catch  his  eye  in  its  descent :  for  until  now  it 
h:id  been  piously  upraised,  with  something  of  llmt 
expression  which  the  poetry  of  iiges  has  attributed 
to  a  domestic  bird,  when  bre:ithiiig  its  last  amid 
the  ravages  of  an  electric  storm  :  "  What  are 
ihrir  iiipines  ?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  told  him,  and  added,  rather  has- 
tily— his  calumniators  would  have  said,  with  a 
view  to  any  testamentary  thoughts  that  might  be 
llilting  through  old  Martin's  mind — "  Perhaps, 
my  dears,  you  had  better  write  them  down.  Your 
humble  autograpiis  are  of  no  value  in  themselvea 
but  ailection  may  prize  them." 

"  Affect  ion,"  s;iid  the  old  man,  "will  exjiend 
itself  on  the  living  originals.  Do  not  trouble 
yourselves,  my  s.uU.  I  shall  not  so  easily  forj/et 
you,  Charity  and  .Mercy,  as  to  need  such  tokens 
of  remembrance.     Cousin  I" 

"Sir  I"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  alacrity. 

"  J)o  you  never  sit  down  /" 

"  Why — yes — occasion  tlly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Peck 
snitf,  who  had  been  standing  all  this  time. 

"  Will  you  do  so  now  ?" 

"Can  you  ask  me,"  returned  Mr.  Pccksniflu 
slipping  into  a  chair  immediately,  "  whether  1 
will  do  anything  that  you  desire  ?" 

"  You  talk  confidently,"  said  Martin,  "  and  you 
mean  well ;  hut  I  fear  you  don't  know  what  an 
old  man's  humours  are.  You  don't  know  what  il 
is  to  be  required  to  court  his  likings  and  dislik- 
ings  ;  adapt  yourself  to  his  prejudices  ;  do  his  bid- 
ding, be  it  what  it  may  ;  bear  with  his  distrust* 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


»rd  jealousies;  and  always  still  be  zealons  in  his  1 
service.  When  I  remember  how  numerous  these 
fu:".ings  are  in  me,  and  judge  of  their  occasional 
enormity  by  the  injurious  thoughts  I  lately  enter- 
tained of  you,  I  hardly  dare  to  claim  you  for  my 
friend." 

"  My  worthy  sir,"  returned  his  relative,  "  how 
cnv  yon  talk  in  such  a  painful  strain  !  What  was 
ntort  natural  than  that  you  should  make  one 
BJijrlit  mistake,  when  in  ail  other  respects  you 
were  so  very  correcf,  and  have  had  such  reason — 
such  very  s<id  and  undeniable  reason — to  judge  of 
e*erj'  r.ne  about  you  in  the  worst  light  !" 

"  True,"  replied  tiie  other.  "  You  are  very 
lenient  with  me." 

"  We  always  said — my  girls  and  I,"  cried  Mr. 
Pecksniff  with  increasing  obsequiousness,  "  that 
while  we  mourned  the  heaviness  of  our  misfortune 
in  being  confounded  with  the  base  and  mercena- 
ry, still  we  could  not  wonder  at  it.  My  dears,  you 
remember  ?" 

Oil  vividly  !     A  thousand  times! 

"  We  uttered  no  complaint,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
"Occasionally  we  had  the  presumption  to  console 
curst  Ivps  with  the  remark  that  Truth  would  in 
the  end  prevail,  and  Virtue  be  triumphant;  but 
not  often.     My  loves,  you  recollect?" 

Recollect!  Could  he  doubt  it?  Dearest  pa, 
what  strange,  unnecessary  questions! 

"  And  when  I  saw  you,"  resumed  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, with  still  greater  deference,  "  in  the  little, 
unassuming  village  where  we  take  the  liberty  of 
dwelliui?,  I  said  you  were  mistaken  in  me,  my 
dear  sir:  that  was  all,  I  think?" 

"  No — not  all,"  said  Martin,  who  had  been  sit- 
ting with  liis  hand  upon  his  brow  for  some  time 
past-,  and  now  looked  up  iigain  :  "you  said  much 
more,  which,  added  to  other  circumstances  that 
hhve  come  to  m)'  knowledge,  opened  m}'  eyes. 
You  spoke  to  rae,  disinterestedly,  on  behalf  of — 
I  needn't  name  him.     You  know  whom  I  mean." 

Trouble  was  expressed  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  vis- 
age, as  he  pressed  his  hot  hands  together,  and  re- 
plied, with  humility,  "Quite  disinterestedly,  sir,  I 
assure  you." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  old  Martin,  in  his  quiet  way. 
"  I  am  sure  of  it.  I  said  so.  It  was  disinterested 
too,  in  you,  to  draw  that  herd  of  harpies  off  from 
me,  and  be  their  victim  yourself;  most  other  men 
would  iiave  suffered  them  to  display  themselves  in 
all  their  rapacity,  and  would  have  striven  to  rise, 
b}'  contrast,  in  my  estimation.  You  felt  for  me, 
and  drew  thein  off,  for  which  I  owe  you  many 
lh;inks.  Although  I  left  the  place,  I  know  what 
passed  behind  my  back,  you  see  !" 

"  You  amaze  me,  sir !"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff: 
which  was  true  enough. 

"  My  knowledge  of  your  proceedings,"  said  the 
old  man,  "  does  not  stop  at  this.  You  have  a  new 
inmate  in  your  house — " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  rejoined  the  architect,  "  I  have." 

'  He  must  quit  it,"  said  Martin. 

"  For — for  yours  ?"  asked  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with 
a  quavering  mildness. 

"  For  any  shelter  he  can  find,"  the  old  man  an- 
ewerid.     "  He  has  deceived  you." 

"  f  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  enjerly.  "  I 
trust  not.  I  have  been  extremely  well  disposed  lo- 
u-iirds  that  young-  man.  I  hope  it  eannot  be  shown 
tJut  he  has  f<)rfeited  all  claiin  to  my  protection. 


Deceit — deceit,  my  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  would 
be  final.  I  should  hold  myself  bound,  on  proof  of 
deceit,  to  renounce  him  instantly." 

The  old  man  glanced  at  both  his  fair  su;m<i  rt- 
ers,  but  especially  at  Miss  Mercy,  whom,  indeed, 
he  looked  full  in  the  face,  with  a  greater  demon- 
stration of  interest  than  had  yet  appeared  in  hi9 
features.  His  gaze  again  encountered  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, as  he  said,  composedly  : 

"  Of  course  you  know  that  he  has  made  his 
matrimonial  choice  ?" 

"Oh  dear!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  rubbing  his 
hair  up  very  stiff  upon  his  head,  and  staring  wild- 
ly  at  his  daughters.  "  This  is  becoming  tremen- 
dous !" 

"  You  know  the  fact  ?"  repeated  Martin. 

"  Surely  not  without  his  grundlather's  consent 
and  approbation,  my  dear  sir  !"  cried  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. "  Don't  tell  me  that.  For  the  honour  of 
human  nature,  say  you're  not  about  to  tell  mo 
that !" 

"  I  thought  he  had  suppressed  it  I"  said  the  old 
man. 

The  indignation  felt  by  Mr.  Pecksniff  at  this 
terrible  disclosure,  was  only  to  be  equalled  by  the 
kindling  anger  of  his  daughters.  What !  Had 
they  taken  to  their  hearth  and  home  a  secretly 
contracted  serpent ;  a  crocodile,  who  had  made  a 
furtive  offer  of  his  hand  ;  an  imposition  on  socie- 
ty ;  a  bankrupt  bachelor  with  no  effects,  trading 
with  the  spinster  world  on  false  pretences  !  And 
oh,  to  think  that  he  should  have  disobeyed  and 
practised  on  that  sweet,  that  venerable  gentleman, 
whose  name  he  bore;  that  kind  and  tender  guar- 
dian ;  his  more  than  father — to  say  nothing  at  all 
of  mother— horrible,  horrible  !  To  turn  him  out 
with  ignominy  would  be  treatment,  much  too 
good.  Was  there  nothing  else  that  could  he  done 
to  him  ?  Had  he  incurred  no  legal  pains  and  pe- 
nalties ?  Could  it  be  that  the  statutes  of  the  land 
were  so  remiss  as  to  have  affi.xcd  no  punishment 
to  such  delinquency  ?  Monster  !  how  basely  had 
they  been  deceived  ! 

"  I  am  ghid  to  find  you  second  me  so  warmly," 
said  the  old  man,  holding  up  his  hand  to  stay  the 
torrent  of  their  wrath.  "  I  will  not  deny  that  it  is 
a  pleasure  to  me  to  find  you  so  full  of  zeal.  We 
will  consider  that  topic  as  disposed  of." 

"No,  my  dear  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "not 
as  di-posed  of,  until  I  have  purged  my  house  of 
this  pollution." 

"That  will  follow,"  said  the  old  man,  "in  its 
own  time.     I  look  upon  that  as  done." 

"You  are  very  good,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, shaking  his  hand.  "  You  do  me  honour. 
You  may  look  upon  it  as  done,  T  assure  you." 

"There  is  another  topic,"  said  IMartin,  "on 
which  I  hope  you  will  assist  me.  You  remember 
Mary,  cousin  ?" 

"  The  young  lady  that  I  mentioned  to  you,  my 
dears,  as  h;iving  interested  me  so  very  much,"  re- 
marked Mr.  Pecksniff.  "Excuse  my  interrtiptingr 
you,  sir." 

"  I  told  yotj  her  history  ;"  said  the  old  man. 

"Which  I  also  mentioned,  you  will  recollect, 
my  dears,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "Silly  girls, 
Mr.  Chiizzlcwil — quite  moved  by  it,  they  were  !*• 

"  Why,  look  now !"  said  Martin,  evidently 
pleased  :  "  I  feared  T  should  have  h;,d  to  urge  her 
case  upon  you,  and  ask  you  to  regard  her  favou- 


70 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


ably  fijr  my  sake.     But  I  find  j'ou  have  no  jeal-  ' 
ousies  !   Well  I  You  have  no  cause  for  any,  to  be 
Fure.  She  has  nothing  to  gain  from  me,  my  dears, 
and  she  knows  it." 

Tiie  two  Miss  Pecksniffs  murmured  their  ap- 
proval of  this  wise  arrangement,  and  their  cordial 
eympatliy  with  its  interesting  object. 

"If  I  could  have  anticipated  what  has  come  to 
pa.'p  between  us  four,"  said  the  old  man,  tliought- 
fuliy  :  "  but  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  that.  You 
would  receive  her  courteously,  young  ladies,  and 
be  kind  to  her,  if  need  were  ?" 

VViiere  was  the  orphan  whom  the  two  Miss 
Pecksniffs  would  not  have  cherished  in  their  sis- 
terly b.soni  I  But  when  that  orphan  was  com- 
mended to  iheir  care  by  one  on  whom  the  dam- 
med-up  love  of  years  was  gushing  forth,  what  ex- 
haustless  stores  of  pure  affection  yearned  to  ex- 
pend themselves  upon  her ! 

An  interval  ensued,  during  which  Mr.  Chuzzle- 
wit,  in  an  absent  frame  of  mind,  sat  gazing  at  the 
ground,  without  uttering  a  word  ;  and  as  it  was 
plain  that  he  had  no  desire  to  be  interrupted  in 
his  medit^itioiis,  Mr.  Pecksniff  and  his  daughters 
were  profoundly  silent  also.  During  the  whole  of 
the  foregoing  dialogue,  he  had  borne  his  part  with 
a  cold,  pHssionless  promptitude,  as  though  he  had 
learned  and  painfully  rehearsed  it  all,  a  hundred 
times.  Even  when  his  expressions  were  warmest 
and  his  language  most  encouraging,  he  had  re- 
tained the  same  manner,  without  the  least  abate- 
ment. But  now  there  was  a  keener  brightness  in 
liis  eye,  and  more  expression  in  his  voice,  as  he 
said,  awakening  from  his  thoughtful  mood  : 

"  You  know  what  will  be  said  of  this?  Have 
jou  reflected  ?" 

"  Said  of  what,  my  dear  sir  ?"  Mr.  Pecksniff 
asked. 

"  Of  this  new  understanding  between  us." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  looked  benevolently  sagacious, 
and  at  the  same  time  far  above  all  earthly  mis- 
construction, as  he  shook  his  head,  and  observed 
th:it  a  great  many  things  would  be  said  of  it,  no 
doubt. 

"  A  great  many,"  rejoined  the  old  man.  "  Some 
will  say  that  I  dote  in  my  old  age  ;  that  illness 
lias  shaken  me ;  that  I  have  lost  all  strength  of 
mind  ;  and  have  grown  childish.  You  can  bear 
that '.'" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  answered  that  it  would  be  dread- 
fully hard  to  bear,  but  he  thought  he  could,  if  he 
made  a  great  effort. 

"Others  will  say — I  speak  of  disappointed,  an- 
gry people  only — that  you  have  lied,  and  fiwned, 
and  wormed  yourself  tiirough  dirty  ways  into  my 
favour ;  by  such  concessions  and  such  crooked 
de-eds,  sucii  meannesses  iind  vile  endurances,  as 
Homing  could  repay  :  no,  not  the  legacy  of  half 
tiie  world  we  live  in.      You  can  bear  that?" 

i\lr.  Pecksiiiff  made  no  reply  that  this  would 
be  also  very  hard  to  bc^ar,  as  reflecting,  in  some 
degree,  on  the  discernment  of  Mr.  ('hu/zlewit. 
Slill  he  had  a  modest  confidence  that  he  could 
sustain  the  calumny,  with  the  help  of  a  good  con- 
itciiMiee,  and  tliat  gentleman's  friendship. 

"  With  fhi^  great  mass  of  slanderers,"  said  old 
Martin,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  "the  tale,  as  I 
nearly  foies'r,  will  nm  thus:  That  to  mark  my 
wintempt  f^)r  the  rabble  wl)om  I  despised,  I  chose 
join  among  ihejii  the  very  worst,  and  in.ide  him 


do  my  will,  and  pampered  and  enriched  him  at 
the  cost  of  all  the  rest.  That  after  casting  about 
for  the  means  of  a  punishment  wliich  should  ran- 
kle in  the  bosoms  of  these  kites  the  most,  and 
strike  into  their  gall,  I  devised  this  scheme  at  a 
time  when  the  last  link  m  the  chain  of  grateful 
love  and  duty,  that  held  me  to  my  race,  was  rough 
ly  snapped  asunder:  roughly,  for  I  loved  him 
well ;  roughly,  for  I  had  ever  put  my  trust  in  his 
affection  ;  roughly,  for  that  he  broke  it  when  I 
loved  him  most — God  help  me  I — and  he  without 
a  pang  could  throw  me  off,  the  while  1  clung  about 
his  heart !  Now,"  said  the  old  man,  dismissing 
this  passionate  outburst,  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
yielded  to  it,  "  is  your  mind  made  up  to  bear  this 
likewise?  Lay  your  account  witli  having  it  to 
bear,  and  put  no  trust  in  being  set  right  by  mc." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlevvit,"  cried  Pecksniff  in 
an  ecstasy,  "  for  such  a  man  as  you  have  shown 
yourself  to  be  this  day  ;  for  a  man  so  injured,  yet 
so  very  humane ;  for  a  man  so — I  am  at  a  loss 
what  precise  term  to  use — yet  at  the  same  time 
so  remarkably — I  don't  know  how  to  express  my 
meaning ;  for  such  a  man  as  I  have  described,  I 
hope  it  is  no  presumption  to  say  that  I,  and  I  am 
sure  I  may  add  my  children  also  (my  dears,  wo 
perfectly  agree  in  this,  I  think  ?),  would  bear  any- 
thing whatever!" 

"  Enough,"  said  Martin.  "  You  can  charge  no 
consequences  on  me.  When  do  you  return  home?" 

"  Whenever  you  please,  my  dear  sir.  To-night, 
if  you  desire  it." 

"  I  desire  nothing,"  returned  the  old  man,  "  that 
is  unreasonable.  Such  a  request  would  be.  Will 
you  be  ready  to  return  at  the  end  of  this  week  .'" 

The  very  time  of  all  others  that  Mr.  Pecksniff 
would  have  suggested  if  it  had  been  left  to  him 
to  make  his  own  choice.  As  to  his  daughters — 
the  words,  "  Let  us  be  at  home  on  Saturday,  dear 
pa,"  were  actually  upon  their  lips. 

"  Your  expenses,  cousin,"  said  Martin,  taking 
a  folded  slip  of  paper  from  his  pocket-book,  "  may 
possibly  exceed  that  amount.  If  so,  let  me  know 
the  balance  that  I  owe  you,  when  we  next  meet. 
It  would  be  useless  if  I  told  you  where  I  live  ju~l 
now:  indeed,  I  have  no  fixed  abode.  When  I 
have,  you  shall  know  it.  You  and  your  daugh- 
ters may  exfKjct  to  see  me  before  long:  in  tiie 
mean  time  I  need  not  tell  you  that  we  keep  our 
own  confidence.  What  you  will  do  when  you  get 
home,  is  understood  between  us.  (jive  me  no 
account  of  it  at  any  lime;  and  never  refer  to  it 
in  any  way.  I  ask  that,  as  a  favour.  I  am  com- 
monly a  man  of  few  words,  cousin ;  and  all  that 
need  be  said  just  now  is  said,  I  think." 

"One  glass  of  wine — one  morsel  of  this  homely 
cake?"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  venturing  to  detain 
him.     "  My  dears  I — " 

The  sisters  flew  to  wait  upon  him. 

"  Poor  girls  1"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  You  will 
excuse  their  agitation,  my  dear  sir.  They  arc 
mad(!  up  of  (eeliug.  A  bad  comtiiodity  to  go 
through  the  world  with,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  I  ^fy 
youngest  daughter  is  almost  as  much  of  a  woman 
as  my  eldest,  is  she  not,  sir  ?" 

"  Which  is  the  voimgest,"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  .Mercy,  by  live  years,"  said  Mr.  PpcksnilT". 
"  We  sometimes  venture  to  consider  her  ratlier  a 
fine  figure,  sir.  Speaking  as  im  artist,  F  m  .y 
perhajis  be  permitted  to  suggest,  tiuit  its  oulliiia 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


7. 


ts  g'laceful  and  correct.  I  am  naturally,"  said  Mr.  I 
Pecksniff,  drying  his  hands  upon  his  handker- 
chief, and  looking  anxiously  in  his  cousin's  face 
at  almost  every  word,  "  proud,  if  1  may  use  llie 
expression,  to  have  a  daughter  who  is  constructed 
upon  the  best  models." 

"  She  seems  to  have  a  lively  disposition,"  ob- 
rerved  Martin. 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  that  is  quite 
remarkable.  You  have  defined  her  character,  my 
dear  sir,  as  correctly  as  if  you  had  known  her 
from  her  birth.  She  has  a  lively  disposition.  I 
assure  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  in  our  unpretending 
home,  her  gaiety  is  delightful." 

"  No  doubt,"  returned  the  old  man. 
"  C'biirity,  upon  the  other  hand,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
piiiff,  "  is  remarkable  for  strong  sense,  and  for  ra- 
ther a  deep  tone  of  sentiment,  if  the  partiality  of  a 
fjither  may  be  excused  in  saying  so.  A  wonder- 
ful affection  between  them,  my  dear  sir  !  Allow 
me  to  drink  your  health.     Bless  you  1" 

"  I  little  thought,"  retorted  Martin,  "  but  a 
month  ago,  that  1  should  be  breaking  bread  and 
pouring  wine  with  you.     I  drink  to  you." 

Not  at  all  abashed  by  the  extraordinary  abrupt- 
r>ess  with  which  these  latter  words  were  spoken, 
Mr.  Pecksniff  thanked  him  devoutly. 

"  Now  let  me  go,"  said  Martin,  putting  down 
the  wine  when  he  had  merely  touched  it  with  his 
lips.     "  My  dears,  good  morning  I" 

But  tliis  distant  form  of  farewell  was  by  no 
means  tender  enough  for  the  yearnings  of  the 
young  ladies,  who  again  embraced  him  with  all 
Uieir  hearts — with  all  their  arms  at  any  rate — to 
which  parting  caresses  their  new-found  friend 
submitted  with  a  better  grace  than  might  have 
been  expected  from  one  who,  not  a  moment  be- 
fore, had  pledged  their  parent  in  a  very  uncom- 
fortable manner.  These  endearments  terminated  ; 
he  took  a  hasty  leave  of  Mi.  Pecksniff,  and  with- 
drew, fJjllowed  to  the  door  by  botb  fattier  and 
daugliters,  who  stood  there,  kissing  tiieir  hands, 
and  beaming  with  affection  until  he  disappeared : 
though,  by  the  way,  he  never  once  looked  back, 
after  he  had  crossed  the  threshold. 

When  they  returned  into  the  house,  and  were 
again  alone  in  Mrs.  Todgers's  room,  the  two  young 
ladies  exhibited  an  unusual  amount  of  gaiety;  in- 
somuch that  they  clapped  their  hands,  and  laughed, 
and  looked  with  roguish  aspects  and  a  banteriiig 
air  upon  their  dear  papa.  This  conduct  was  so 
very  unaccountable,  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  (being 
singularly  grave  himself)  could  scarcely  choose 
but  ask  them  what  it  meant;  and  took  them  to 
task,  in  his  gentle  manner,  for  yielding  to  such 
light  emotions. 

"If  it  was  possible  to  divine  any  cause  for  this 
merriment,  even  the  most  remote,"  he  said,  "  I 
should  not  reprove  you.  But  when  you  can  have 
none  whatever — oh,  really,  really  I" 

This  admonition  had  so  little  effect  on  Mercy, 
that  she  was  obliged  to  hold  her  handkerchief  be- 
f  jre  her  rosy  lipa,  and  to  throw  herself  back  in 
her  chair,  with  every  demonstration  of  extreme 
•musemen'. ;  which  want  of  duty  so  offended  Mr. 
Pecksniff  that  he  reproved  her  in  set  terms,  and 
gave  her  his  parental  advice  to  correct  herself  in 
Bolitude  and  contemplation.  But  at  that  juncture 
they  were  disturbed  by  the  sound  of  voices  in  dis- 
pute ;  and  as  it  proceeded  from  the  next  room, 


the    subject   matter   of    the    altercation    quickly 
reached  their  ears. 

"1  don't  cure  that!  Mr.^.  Todgers,"  said  tlie 
young  gentleman  who  fiad  be(;n  the  youngest 
gentleman  in  company  on  the  day  of  the  festival; 
"  I  don't  care  ikat,  ma'am,"  said  lie,  snapping  his 
fingers,  "  for  Jinkins.      Don't  sujipose  1  do." 

'•  I  am  quite  certain  you  don't,  sir,"  replied 
Mrs.  Todgers.  "  You  have  too  independent  a 
spirit,  I  know,  to  yield  to  anybody.  And  quite 
right.  Tliere  is  no  reason  why  you  should  give 
way  to  any  gentleman.  Everybody  must  be  well 
aware  of  that." 

"  1  should  think  no  more  of  admitting  daylight 
into  the  fellow,"  said  the  youngest  gentleman,  in 
a  desperate  voice,  "  than  if  he  was  a  bull-dog." 

Mrs.  Todgers  did  not  stop  to  inquire  whether, 
as  a  matter  of  principle,  there  was  any  particular 
reason  for  admitting  daylight  even  into  a  bull- 
dog, otherwise  than  by  the  natural  channel  of  his 
eyes :  but  she  seemed  to  wring  her  hands  :  and 
she  moaned. 

"  Let  him  be  careful,"  said  the  youngest  gen- 
tleman. "  I  give  him  warning.  No  man  sIk:1I 
step  between  me  and  the  current  of  my  vengeance, 
I  know  a  Cove — "  he  used  that  familiar  epithet  in 
his  agitation,  but  corrected  himself,  by  adding, 
"  a  gentleman  of  property,  I  mean,  who  practises 
with  a  pair  of  pistols  (fellows,  too)  of  his  own.  If 
I  am  driven  to  borrow  'em,  and  to  send  a  friend 
to  Jinkins,  —  a  tragedy  will  get  into  the  papers. 
That's  alL" 

Again  Mrs.  Todgers  moaned. 
"  I  have  borne  this  long  enough,"  said  the 
youngest  gentleman,  "  but  now  my  soul  rebels 
against  it,  and  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer.  I  left 
home  originally,  because  I  had  that  within  me 
which  wouldn't  be  domineered  over  by  a  sistei ; 
and  do  you  tiiink  I  'm  going  to  be  put  down  by 
hi?n?     No." 

"  It  is  very  wrong  in  Mr,  Jinkins;  I  know  it  is 
perfectly  inexcusable  in  Mr.  Jinkins,  if  he  intends 
it,"  observed  Mrs.  Todgers. 

"If  he  intends  it  I"  cried  the  youngest  gentle- 
man. "Don't  he  interrupt  and  contradict  mo  on 
every  occasion?  Does  he  ever  fail  to  interpose 
himself  between  me  and  anything  or  anybody  that 
he  sees  I  have  set  my  mind  upon  ?  Does  he  make 
a  point  of  always  pretending  to  forget  me,  when 
he  's  pouring  out  the  beer  ?  Does  he  make  brag- 
ging remarks  about  his  razors,  and  insulting  alia- 
sions  to  people  who  have  no  necessity  to  shaVB 
more  than  once  a  week  ?  But  let  him  look  out; 
he  '11  find  himself  shaved,  pretty  close,  before  long 
and  so  I  tell  him  I" 

The  young  gentleman  was  mistaken  in  this 
closing  sentence,  inasmuch  as  he  never  told  it  to 
Jinkins,  but  always  to  I\Irs.  Todgers. 

"However,"  he  said,  "these  are  not  proper 
subjects  for  ladies'  ears.  All  I  've  got  to  say  to 
you,  Mrs.  Todgers,  is, — a  week's  notice  from  next 
Saturday.  The  same  house  can't  contain  that 
miscreant  and  me  any  longer.  If  we  get  over 
the  intermediate  time  without  bloodshed,  yovi 
may  think  yourself  pretty  fortunate.  I  don't 
myself  expect  we  shall." 

"  Dear,  dear !"  cried  Mrs  Todgers,  "  what 
would  I  have  given  to  have  prevented  this!  To 
lose  you,  sir,  would  be  like  losing  the  hi  use's 
right-hand.     So  popular  as  you  are  ajnon^j  th» 


72 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


gentlemen ;  so  generally  looked  up  to  ;  and  so 
iiiQch  liked  I  I  do  hope  you  '11  think  better  of  it  ; 
if  on  nobody  else's  account,  on  mine." 

"There's  Jinkins,"  suid  the  younjjest  gentle- 
man, moodily.     "  Your  favourite.     He'll  console 
you  and  llie  gentlemen  too  for  tlie  loss  of  twenty 
such  as  me.      I  'm  not  understood  in  this  house, 
never  have  been." 

"  Don't  run  away  with  that  opinion,  sir !" 
wied  Mrs.  Todgers,  with  a  show  of  hontst  indig- 
nation. "  Don't  make  such  a  charge  as  that 
against  the  establishment,  I  must  beg  of  you.  It 
is  not  so  bad  as  that  comes  to,  sir.  Make  any 
reinark  you  please  against  the  gentlemen,  or 
against  me  ;  but  don't  say  you  're  not  understood 
Ui  this  house." 

"  I  'm  not  treated  as  if  I  was,"  said  the  young- 
est gentleman. 

"  There  you  make  a  great  mistake,  sir,"  re- 
turned Mrs.  Todgers,  in  the  same  strain.  "As 
many  of  the  gentlemen  and  I  have  often  said,  you 
are  too  sensitive.  That's  where  it  is.  You  are 
of  too  susceptible  a  nature ;  it 's  in  your  spirit." 

The  young  gentleman  coughed. 

"  And  as,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  as  to  Mr.  Jin- 
kins, I  nmst  beg  of  you,  if^ve  art  tc  part,  to  un- 
di Tstand  that  I  don't  abet  Mr.  Jinkins  by  any 
means.  Fur  from  it.  I  could  wish  that  Mr. 
Jinkins  vi^ouid  take  a  lower  tone  in  tiiis  establish- 
ment ;  and  would  not  be  the  means  of  raising 
differences  between  me  and  gentlemen  that  I  cm 
much  less  bear  to  part  with,  than  I  could  wilh 
him.  Mr.  Jinkins  is  not  such  a  boarder,  sir," 
edded  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  that  all  considerations  of 
p,  ivnte  feeling  and  respect  give  way  before  him. 
Quite  the  contrary,  I  assure  you." 

The  young  gentleman  was  so  much  mollified 
by  these  and  similar  speeches  on  the  prjrt  of  Mrs. 
'lodgers,  that  he  and  that  lady  gradually  changed 
positions;  so  that  she  became  the  injured  party, 
und  he  was  understood  to  be  the  injurer  ;  but  in 
t  complimentary,  not  in  an  offensive  sense;  his 
cruel  coiiduct  being  attributable  to  his  exalted 
nature,  and  to  that  alone.  So,  in  the  end,  the 
young  gentleman  withdrew  his  notice,  and  as- 
sured Mrs.  Todgers  of  his  unalterable  regard  : 
and  having  done  so,  went  ba^^k  to  business. 

"Goodness  me.  Miss  Pecksniffs  1"  cried  that 
liidy,  as  she  came  into  the  back  room,  and  sat 
wearily  down,  with  her  basket  on  her  knees,  and 
liir  hands  folded  upon  it^  "  what  a  trial  of  temper 
it  is  to  keep  a  house  like  tliis!  You  must  have 
h'  ard  most  of  what  has  just  passed.  Now  did 
jou  ever  hear  the  like  ?" 

"  Never  !"  said  the  two  Miss  Pecksniffs. 

"Of  all  the  ridiculous  young  fellows  that  ever 
I  ha<l  to  deal  with,"  resumed  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  that 
is  tlie  most  ridiculous  and  unreasoIlab!(^  Mr. 
Jinkm.s  is  hard  uj>on  him  sometimes,  but  not 
half  as  hard  as  he  deserves.  To  mention  such  a 
gciitlcnian  as  Mr.  Jinkins,  in  the  sanie  breitli 
vilh  liim — you  kivjw  it's  too  much  !  and  yet  he  's 


as  jpal(ms  of  him,  bless  you,  as  if  he  was   hu 

equal." 

The  young  ladies  were  greatly  entertained  by 
Mrs.  Todgi^rs's  account,  no  less  than  witii  certain 
anecdotes  illustrative  ol  the  youngest  gentleman's 
character,  which  she  went  on  to  tell  ihcm.  Hut 
Mr.  Pecksniff  looked  quite  stern  and  angry  :  and 
when  she  had  concluded,  said  in  a  solenm  voice: 

"Pray,  Mrs.  Todgers,  if  I  may  inquire,  what 
does  that  young  gentleman  contribute  towardf 
the  support  of  these  premises?" 

"  Why,  sir,  for  what  he  has,  he  pays  about 
eighteen  shillings  a  week,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers. 

"  Eighteen  shillings  a  week  I"  repeated  Mr 
Pecksniff. 

"Taking  one  week  with  another;  as  near  that 
as  possible,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  rose  from  his  chair,  folded  h'" 
arms,  looked  at  her,  and  sJiook  his  head. 

"  And  do  you  mean  to  say,  ma'am  —  is  it  poss. 
sible,  Mrs.  Todgers  —  that  lor  such  a  misirafle 
consideration  as  eighteen  shillings  a  week,  a 
female  of  your  understanding  can  so  far  demean 
herself  as  to  wear  a  double  face,  even  for  ao 
instant  ?" 

"  I  am  forced  to  keep  things  on  the  square  if  I 
can,  sir,"  faltered  Mrs.  Todgers.  "  I  must  pre- 
serve peace  among  them,  and  keep  my  connection 
together,  if  possible,  Mr.  Pecksniff.  The  profit 
is  very  small." 

"The  profit!"  cried  that  gentleman,  laying 
great  stress  upon  the  word.  "The  profit,  Mrs. 
Todgers  I     You  amaze  me  !" 

He  was  so  severe,  that  Mrs.  Tcdger?  shed  tears. 

"The  profit!"  repeated  Mr.  Pi  cksn  iff.  "The 
profit  of  dissimulation!  To  worship  the  golden 
calf  of  Baal,  for  eighteen  shillings  a  week  !" 

"  Don't  in  your  own  goodness  be  too  hard  upon 
me,  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  cried  Mrs.  Todgers,  taking 
out  her  handkerchief. 

"  Oh  Calf,  Calf!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff  mourn- 
fully.  "  Oh  Baal,  Baal !  oh  my  friend  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers  !  To  barter  away  that  precious  jew(  I,  self. 
esteem,  and  cringe  to  any  mortal  creature — for 
eighteen  shillings  a  week  !" 

He  Was  so  subdued  and  overcome  by  the  ref^ec- 
tion,  that  he  immediately  took  down  his  hat  f>om 
its  peg  in  the  passage,  and  went  out  for  a  walk, 
to  compose  his  feelings.  Anybody  passing  him 
in  the  street  might  have  known  him  for  a  good 
man  at  first  sight;  for  his  whole  fiofure  term.d 
with  a  consciousness  of  the  moral  homily  he  liad 
read  to  Mrs.  Todgers. 

Eighteen  shillings  a  week  !  Just,  most  ji.'sf, 
thy  censure,  upright  Pecksniff!  Had  it  been  tor 
the  fiake  of  a  ribbon,  star,  or  garter;  sleeves  of 
lawn,  a  great  man's  smile,  a  seat  in  parlianirn',  a 
tap  upon  the  shoulder  from  a  courtly  sword; 
place,  a  part}',  or  a  thriving  lie,  or  eighteen  tl  i.u 
sand  piuinds,  or  even  eighteen  liunHred  ; — liiit  t 
worsliip  the  golden  calf  fur  eighteen  wl.ilh'.t^;''  * 
week  !  oh  pitiful,  pitiful  I 


MARTIN   CHTIZZLEVVIT. 


73 


CHAPTER  XI. 

WHEREIN  A  CERTAIN  GENTLEMAN  BECOMES  PARTICULAR  IN  HIS  ATTEN- 
TIONS TO  A  CERTAIN  LADY;  AND  MORE  COMING  EVENTS  THAN  ONE, 
CAST  THEIR  SHADOWS  BEFORE. 


TiiK  family  were  within  two  or  three  days  of 
their  departure  from  Mrs.  Todgers's,  and  the 
coinnuTcidl  gentlemen  were  to  a  man  despondent 
and  not  to  be  comforted,  because  of  the  approach- 
iiiij  separation,  when  Bailey  junior,  at  the  jocund 
hnur  of  noon,  presented  himself  before  Miss 
Oliarity  Pecksniff,  then  sitting  with  her  sister  in 
tiie  li.inquet-cliamber,  hemming  six  new  pocket- 
i.itidla'rchiefs  for  Mr.  Jinkins ;  and  having  ex- 
preseed  a  hope,  preliminary  and  pious,  gave  her, 
in  his  pleasant  way,  to  understand  that  a  visitor 
altended  to  pay  his  respects  to  her,  and  was  at 
tiiat  moment  waiting  ia  the  drawing-room.  Per- 
haps this   last  announcement  showed  in  a  more 


to  conceive  what  the  ridiculous  person  unknown 
could  mean  by  it. 

"  Quite  impossible  to  divine  !"  said  Charity,  with 
some  sharpness  ;  "  though  still,  at  the  same  time, 
you  needn't  be  angry,  my  dear." 

"Thank  you,"  retorted  Merry,  singing  at  her 
needle.     "I  am  quite  aware  of  that,  my  love." 

"I  am  atiaid  your  head  is  turned,  you  silly 
thing,"  said  Cherry. 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear,"  said  Merry,  with 
engaging  candour,  "  that  I  have  been  afraid  of 
that  myself,  all  along !  So  much  incense  and 
nonsense,  and  all  tlie  rest  of  it,  is  enougli  to  turn 
a  stronger  head  than  mine.    What  a  relief  it  must 


striking    point   of   view   than    many  lengthened    be  to  you,  n)y  dear,  to  be  so  very  comfortable  in 


speeches  could  have  done,  the  trustfulness  and 
frtith  of  Bailey's  nature  ;  since  he  had,  in  fact,  last 
seen  the  visitor  upon  the  door-mat,  vv-V.^re,  after 
siirnifying  to  him  that  he  would  do  w-ll  to  go  up 
stairs,  he  had  left  him  to  the  guidance  of  his  own 
sfig^acity.  Hence  it  was  at  least  an  even  chance 
tfi:it  the  visitor  was  then  vi'andering  on  the   roof 


that  respect,  and  not  to  be  worried  by  those  odious 
men  I     How  do  you  do  it.  Cherry  ?" 

This  artless  inquiry  might  have  led  to  turbulent 
results,  but  for  the  strong  emotions  of  delight 
evinced  by  Bjiley  junior,  whose  relish  in  the  turn 
the  conversation  had  lately  taken  was  so  acute, 
that  it  impelled  and  forced  him  to  the  instantane- 


oft'  the  house,  or  vainly  seeking  to  extricate  him-  ous  performance  of  a  dancing  step,  extremely 
self  trom  a  maze  of  bedrooms;  Todgers's  being  difficult  in  its  nature,  and  only  to  be  achieved  in 
precisely  that  kind  of  establishment  in  which  an  a  moment  of  ecstasy,  which  is  commonly  called 
unpiloted  stranger  is  pretty  sure  to  find  liimself  in  !  The  Frogs'  Hornpipe.  A  manifestation  so  lively, 
some  place  where  he  least  expects  and  least  desires  [  brought  to  their  immediate  recollection  the  great 

virtuous  precep*,  "  Keep  up  appearances,  whatever 
you  do,"  in  wliich  they  had  been  educated.  They 
forbore  at  once,  and  jointly  signified  to  Mr.  Bailey 
that  if  he  should  presume  to  practise  that  figure 
any  more  in  their  presence,  they  would  instantly 
acquaint  Mrs.  Todgers  with  the  fact,  and  would 
demand  his  condign  punishment  at  the  hands  of 


to  be. 

"  A  g(;ntleman  for  me  !"  cried  Charity,  pausing 
in  her  work  ;  "  m}'  gracious,  B^iiley  !" 

"Ah!"  said  Railey.  "It  is  my  gracious,  a'nt 
if  ?  Wouldr.'t  1  be  gracious  neither,  not  if  I  wos 
him  !" 

The  remark  was  rendered  somewhat  obscure  in 


it -:elf,  b}' reasrn  (as  the  reader  may  hive  observed)    that    lady.     The   young   gentleman    having    ex 
of  a  redundancy  of  negatives  ;  but  accompanied    pressed  t'le  bitterness  of  his  contrition  by  affecting 


by  action  expressive  of  a  faithful  couple  walking 
arm-in-arm  toward  a  parochial  church,  mutually 
exchanging  looks  of  love,  it  clearly  signified  this 
youth's   conviction   that  the  caller's  purpose  was 


to  wipe  away  his  scalding  tears  with  his  apron, 
and  afterwards  feigning  to  wring  a  vast  amount 
of  water  from  that  garment,  held  the  door  open 
while  Miss  Charity  passed  out;  and  so  that  dam- 


of  an   amorous  tendency.     Miss  Charity  affected  sel  went  in  state  up  stairs  to  receive  her  mysteri- 

l<i  reprove  so  great   a    liberty;  but  she  could  not  ous  adorer. 

h'^lp  smiling.     He  was   a  strange  boy  to  be  sure.        By  some  strange  concurrence  of  favourable  cir- 

There  vi'ns  always  some  ground  of  probability  and  cumstances  he  had  found  out  the  drawing-room, 


and  was  sitting  there  alone. 

"  Ah,  cousin  !"  he  said.  "  Here  I  am,  you  see. 
You  thought  I  was  lost,  I'll  be  bound.  Well' 
how  do  you  find  yourself  by  this  time  ?" 

Miss  Charity  replied  that  she  was  quite  well  > 
and  gave  Mr.  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  her  hand. 

"  That's  right,"  said  Mr,  Jonas  ;  "  and  you  'vt, 
got  over  the  fitigues  of  the  journey,  have  you  .'    I 


Iikelil)ond    mingled    with   his   absurd    behaviour. 
That  was  the  best  of  it! 

"  But  I  don't  know  any  gentleman,  Bailey," 
8;. id  Miss  Pecksniff.  "I  thitik  you  must  have 
ni'.de  a  mistake." 

Mr.  Biiley  smiled  at  the  extreme  wildness  of 
Buch  a  supposition  ;  and  regarded  the  young  ladies 
with  unimpiirrd  affability. 

"My  dear  Merry,"  s-.iid  Charity,  "who  can  it    say — how  's  the  other  one?' 
be?     I'-ti't  it  odd?     I  have  a  great  mind  not  to  ,       "My  sister   is   very  well,  I  believe,"  returned 
go  to  him,  re:illy.     So  very  siranye,  you  know  I"      the  young  lady.     "I  have  not  heard  her  complain 

Tlie  younger  sis^ter  plainly  considered  that  this    of  any  indisposition,  sir.     Perhaps  you  would  like 
aojieal  had  its  origin  in  the   pride  of  being  called    to  see  her,  and  ask  her  yourself?" 
upon  and  asked  for;  and  that  this  was  intended        "No,  no,  cousin  !"  said  Mr.  Jonas,  sitting  down 
as  an   .T^sertion  of  superiority,  and   a  retaliation    beside  her  on  the  window-seat.     "  Don't  be  in  a 
upon  her  lor  having  capt'j-.'d  the  commercial  gen-  !  hurry.     There's  no  occasion  for  that,  you  know 
tlfuiaii.     'I'liLrciiire,  she  replied,  with  great  affec-    What  a  cruel  girl  you  are  I" 
tiou  and   pi.lifinoss,  tint  it  w.is,  no  doubt,  very;      "  It 's  impossible  for  you  to  know,"  said  Cherry, 
Strange  indeed  ;  md  tiiat  she  was  totally  at  a  loss    "  whether  I  am  or  not." 
10 


74 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  Well,  perhaps  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Jonas.  "  I  say 
— did  you  think  I  was  lost  ?  You  haven't  told 
Die  that." 

"  I  didn't  think  at  all  about  it,"  answered 
Cherry. 

"  Didn't  you  though  ?"  said  Jonas,  pondering 
U['<<n  this  stranjje  reply.     "  Did  the  other  one  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  it's  impossible  for  me  to  say  what 
wy  sister  miiy,  or  may  not  have  thought  on  such 
a  subject,"  asked  Cherry.  "  She  never  said  any- 
thing to  me  about  it,  one  way  or  other." 

"  Didn't  slie  !;iugh  about  it?"  inquired  Jonas. 

"  No.  8lie  didn't  even  laugh  about  it,"  answer- 
ed Charity. 

"  Slie  's  a  terrible  one  to  laugh,  an't  she  ?"  said 
Jona.«,  lowering  his  voice, 

"  ir^he  is  very  lively,"  said  Clierry. 

"  Liveliness  is  a  pleasant  thing — when  it  don't 
lead  to  spending  money,  An't  it?"  asked  Mr, 
Junas. 

"  Very  much  so,  indeed,"  said  Cherry,  with  a 
demureness  of  manner  that  gave  a  very  disinter- 
ested character  to  her  assent. 

"  Such  liveliness  as  yours  I  mean,  you  know," 
observed  Mr.  Jonas,  as  he  nudged  her  with  his 
elbow.  "  I  should  have  conie  to  see  you  before, 
but  I  didn't  know  where  you  was.  How  quick 
you  liurried  off  tliat  morning  !" 

"  I  was  amenable  to  my  Papa's  directions," 
6aid  Miss  Charity. 

"  I  wish  he  had  given  me  his  direction,"  return- 
ed her  cousin,  "  and  then  I  should  have  found  you 
out  before.  Why,  I  shouldn't  have  found  you 
even  now,  if  I  hadn't  met  him  in  the  street  this 
morning.  What  a  sleek,  sly  chap  he  is  1  Just 
like  a  tom-cat,  an't  he  ?" 

"I  must  trouble  you  to  have  the  goodness  to 
epeak  more  respectfully  of  my  Papa,  Mr.  Jonas," 
said  Charity.  "  I  can't  allow  such  a  tone  as  that 
even  in  jest." 

"  Ecod,  you  may  say  what  you  like  of  my  fa- 
tiier,  then,  and  so  I  give  you  leave,"  said  Jonas. 
**  I  think  it's  liquid  aggravation  that  circulates 
through  his  veins,  and  not  regular  blood.  How 
(jid  should  you  think  my  father  was,  cousin  ?" 

"Old,  no  doubt,"  replied  Miss  Charity  ;  "  but  a 
fine  old  gentleman." 

"  A  fine  old  gentleman  1"  repeated  Jonas,  giv- 
insf  the  crown  of  his  hat  an  angry  knock.  "  Ah  ! 
It's  time  he  was  thinking  of  being  drawn  out  a 
httle  finer  too.     VVhy,  lie  's  eighty  J" 

"  Is  he,  indeed  ?"  said  tiie  young  lady. 

"  And  ecod,"  cried  Jonas,  "  now  he  's  gone  so 
far  w  ithout  giving  in,  I  don't  see  much  to  prevent 
his  being  ninety;  no,  nor  even  a  hundred.  Why, 
a  man  v\  itli  any  feeling  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
being  eightj' — let  alone  more.  Wl)ere'8  his  reli- 
gion I  should  like  to  know,  when  he  goes  flying 
in  the  face  of  the  Bible  like  that?  I'hrcescore- 
ond-ten  's  the  mark  ;  and  no  man  with  a  con- 
ticience,  and  a  proper  sense  of  what's  expected 
oi  him,  has  any  business  to  live  longer." 

Is  any  one  surprised  at  Mr.  Jonas  making  such 
a  reference  to  such  a  book  for  such  a  purpose  ? 
Does  any  one  doubt  the  old  saw,  that  the  Devil 
(being  a  layman)  quotes  Scripture  for  his  own 
•aids  ?  If  he  will  take  the  trouble  to  look  al)oHt 
Jiim,  iie  may  find  a  greater  number  of  confirma- 
tions of  the  fact,  in  the  oce.irrences  (»f  any  single 
rtay,  than  the  steam-gun  can  discharge  balls  in  a 
•ninute. 


"  But  there  's  enough  of  my  father,"  said  J'> 
nas  ;  "  it 's  of  no  use  to  go  puttmg  one's-sclf  ^'\it 
of  the  way  by  talking  about  him,  I  called  to  ask 
you  to  come  and  take  a  walk,  cousin,  and  see 
some  of  the  sights ;  and  to  come  to  our  h'>use  at 
terwards,  and  liave  a  bit  of  sometning.  Pecksniff 
will  most  likely  look  in  in  the  evening,  he  suys, 
and  bring  you  home.  See,  here's  his  writing;  I 
made  him  put  it  down  this  morning;  wlieii  he 
told  me  he  shouldn't  be  back  before  1  came  here; 
in  case  you  wouldn't  believe  me.  There  's  nothing 
like  prool,  is  there  ?  Ha,  ha  I  I  say — you  'II  brii'g 
the  other  one,  you  know  !" 

Miss  Charity  cast  her  eyes  upon  her  father's 
autograph,  which  merely  said — "  Go,  my  cliildrtn, 
with  your  cousin.  Let  there  be  union  among  us 
when  it  is  possible ;"  and  at'ter  enough  ot  hesita- 
tion to  impart  a  proper  value  to  her  consent,  witiw 
drew,  to  prepare  her  sister  and  herself  lor  the  ex- 
cursion. She  soon  returned,  accompanied  by  Misa 
Mercy,  who  was  by  no  means  pleased  to  leave  the 
brilliant  triumphs  of  Todgers's  for  the  society  of 
Mr.  Jonas  and  his  respected  father, 

"  Aha !"  cried  Jonas,  "  There  you  are,  are 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  fright,"  said  Mercy,  "here  I  am  ;  and  I 
would  much  rather  be  anywliere  else,  I  assure 
you." 

"  You  don't  mean  that,"  cried  Mr.  Jonas.  "  You 
car 't,  you  know.     It  isn't  possible." 

"You  can  have  what  opinion  you  like,  fright," 
retorted  Mercy.  "  1  am  content  to  keep  niinej 
and  mine  is  that  you  are  a  very  unpleasant,  odi- 
ous, disagreeable  person."  Here  she  laughed 
heartily,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  herself  very  much, 

"Oh,  you're  a  sharp  gal!"  said  Mr.  Jonaa. 
"  She  's  a  regular  teazer,  an't  she,  cousin  ?" 

Miss  Charity  replied  in  effect,  that  slie  was  un- 
able to  say  what  the  habits  and  propensities  of  a 
regular  teazer  might  lie  ;  and  that  even  if  she  pos- 
sessed such  information,  it  would  ili-beconie  her 
to  admit  the  existence  of  any  creature  with  such 
an  unceremonious  name  in  her  family;  far  less 
in  the  person  of  a  beloved  sister,  "  whatever,"  add. 
ed  Cherry  with  an  angry  glance,  "  whatever  hef 
real  nature  may  be." 

"  Well,  my  dear  !"  said  Mercy,  "  the  onlj'  ob- 
servation  I  have  to  make,  is,  that  if  we  don't  go 
out  at  once,  I  shall  certainly  take  my  bonnet  off 
again,  and  stay  at  liome." 

This  threat  hud  the  desired  effect  of  preventing 
any  farther  altercation,  for  Mr.  Jonas  imtnediately 
proposed  an  adjournnicnt,  and  the  same  being 
carried  unanimously,  they  departed  from  the  house 
straightway.  On  the  door-step,  Mr.  Jonas  gave 
an  arm  to  each  cousin;  which  act  of  gallantry 
being  observ(>d  by  Bailey  jnnior,  from  the  garret 
window,  was  b}'  him  saluted  with  a  loud  and  vio. 
lent  fit  of  coughing,  to  which  paroxysm  he  was 
still  the  victim  when  they  turned  the  corner. 

Mr.  Jonas  inquired  in  the  first  instanoi^  il'  tlh'y 
were  good  walkers,  and  hiiiig  answered  "  \  <s,** 
submitted  their  pidestri.m  powers  to  a  pretty  se- 
vere test;  for  he  showed  them  as  many  .siglits,  in 
the  way  of  bridges,  churches,  streets,  outsides  of 
theatres,  and  other  free  spectacles,  in  that  onH 
forenoon,  as  most  people  see  in  u  twelvemontik. 
It  was  observable  in  this  gciillfinan  that  he  liad 
an  insurnionntiilile  distaste  lothc  insides  of"  luiild- 
iiigs;  and  thai  he  was  |nrli<tly  aeooiiiiiti(i  willi 
tJiu  merits  of  all  shows,  in  res])cct  of  wliich  llieni 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


75 


was  ariy  charge  for  admission,  which  it  seemed 
were  every  one  detestable,  and  of  the  very  lowest 
grade  of  merit.  He  was  so  thoroughly  possessed 
witli  lliis  opinion,  that  wlien  Miss  Charity  liap- 
petjcd  to  mention  the  circumstance  of  their  hav- 
iniT  been  twice  or  thrice  to  the  theatre  with  .Mr. 
Jinkins  and  party,  lie  inquired,  as  a  matter  of 
course,  "  where  the  f)rdors  came  from?"  and  be- 
ing toid  that  Mr.  Jinkins  and  party  paid,  was  be- 
yond description  enterlaintd,  oh-crving  that  "they 
must  be  nice  tiats,  certainly  ;"  and  often  in  tiie 
Course  of  tlie  walk,  burstrng  out  again  into  a  per- 
fect convulsion  of  laughter  at  the  surpassing  ."dli- 
nes.-i  of  those  gentlemen,  and  (doubtless)  at  his 
own  superior  wisdom. 

Wlien  tiiey  had  been  out  for  some  hours  and 
were  thoroughly  fatigued,  it  being  by  that  time 
twilight,  Mr.  Jonas  intimated  that  he  would  show 
them  one  of  the  best  pieces  of  fun  with  which  he 
Wiis  acquainted.  This  jfike  was  of  a  practical 
kind,  and  its  humour  lay  in  taking  a  hackney 
coach  to  the  extreme  limits  of  possibility  for  a 
shilling.  Happily  it  brought  them  to  the  place 
where  .Mr.  Jonas  dwelt,  or  the  young  ladies  might 
have   ratluT  missed  the  point  and  cream  of  the 

The  old  established  firm  of  Anthony  Chuzzle- 
wit  and  Son,  Manchester  Warehousemen,  and  so 
forth,  had  its  place  of  business  in  a  very  narrow 
sti eel  somewhere  behind  the  Po'^t  Office;  where 
every  house  was  in  the  brightest  summer  morn- 
ing Very  gloomy  ;  and  where  light  porters  watered 
Uie  pavement,  each  before  Ids  own  employer's 
premises,  in  fantastic  patterns,  in  the  dog-days; 
and  where  spruce  gentlemen  with  their  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  symtnetrical  trowsers,  were  always 
to  be  seen  in  warm  weather  contemplating  their 
nndeniable  boots  in  dusty  warehouse  doorways, 
which  ap[)eared  to  be  the  hardest  work  they  did, 
except  now  and  then  carrying  pens  behind  their 
ears.  A  dim,  dirty,  smoky,  tumble-down,  rotten 
old  house  it  was,  as  any  body  would  desire  to  see  ; 
but  there  the  firm  of  Anthony  Chuzzlewit  and 
Son  transacted  all  their  business  and  their  plea- 
sure too,  such  as  it  was;  for  neither  the  young 
nun  nor  the  old  man  had  any  other  residence,  or 
any  care  or  thought  be3'ond  its  narrow  limits. 

Business,  as  may  be  readily  supposed,  was  the 
main  thing  in  this  establishment;  insomuch  in- 
dent that  it  shouldered  comfort  out  of  doors,  and 
jostud  the  domestic  arrangements  at  every  turn. 
Thus  in  the  miserable  bed-rooms  there  were  files 
of  moth-eaten  letters  hanging  up  against  the 
Walls;  and  linen  rollers,  and  fragments  of  oid 
pattera.s,  and  odds  and  ends  of  spoiled  goods 
strewn  upon  the  ground  ;  while  the  meagre  bed- 
stead, washing-stands,  and  scraps  of  carpet,  were 
liuddhd  away  into  corners  as  objects  of  seconda- 
ry consideration,  not  to  be  thought  of  but  as  dis- 
agreeable necessities,  turnishing  no  [)rofit,  and  in- 
truding on  the  one  affair  of  life.  The  single  sit- 
ting-room was  on  the  same  principle,  a  chaos  of 
boxes  and  old  papers,  and  had  more  counting- 
house  slocls  in  it  than  chairs :  not  to  mention  a 
{;reat  monster  of  a  desk  straddling  over  the  mid- 
dle of  the  Hoor,  and  an  iron  safe  sunk  into  the 
wall  above  the  tire-place.  The  solitary  little  table 
for  pur|ioses  of  refection  and  social  enjoyment, 
bore  as  fair  a  proportion  to  the  desk  and  other 
business  i'urnitare,  as  the  graces  and  harmless  re- 


laxations of  life  had  ever  done,  in  tlie  persons  of 
the  old  man  and  his  son,  to  their  pursuit  of  wealth 
It  was  meaidy  laid  out,  now,  for  dmner;  and  in  a 
chair  before  the  fire,  sat  Anthony  himself,  who 
rose  to  greet  iiis  sen  and  his  fair  cousins  as  they 
entered. 

An  ancient  proverb  warns  iis  that  we  should 
not  expect  to  find  old  heads  upon  young  shoulders; 
to  which  it  may  be  added  tlxit  we  seldom  meet 
with  that  unnatur.il  combmation,  but  we  I'eel  a 
strong  desire  to  knock  them  otf ;  merely  I'rom  an 
inherent  love  we  have  ol"  seeing  things  in  their 
right  places.  It  is  not  improbable  that  many  men, 
in  no  wise  choleric  by  nature,  felt  this  impulse 
rising  up  within  them,  when  they  first  made  the 
acquaintance  of  Mr.  Jonas  ;  but  if  they  had  known 
him  more  intimately  in  his  own  house,  and  had 
sat  with  him  at  his  own  board,  it  would  assuredly 
have  been  paramount  to  all  other  considerations. 

"  Well,  ghost !''  said  Mr.  Jonas,  dutifully  ad- 
dressing his  parent  by  that  title.  "Is  dinner  near- 
ly ready  ?" 

"  I  should  think  it  was,"  rejoined  the  old  man. 

"  What's  the  good  of  tiiat  ?"  rejoined  the  soru 
"/shf)uld  think  it  was.     I  want  to  know." 

"  Ah  I  I  don't  know  for  certain^"  said  Anthony. 

"You  don't  know  tor  certain,"  rejoined  his  son 
in  a  lower  tone.  "  No.  You  don't  know  any  thing 
for  certain,  you  don't  Give  nie  your  candle  here. 
I  want  it  for  the  gals." 

Anthony  handed  him  a  battered  old  ottice  can- 
dlestick, with  which  Mr.  Jonas  preceded  the 
youngf  ladies  to  the  nearest  bedroom,  where  he 
ktl  them  to  take  off  tlieir  shawls  and  bonnets 
and  returning,  occupied  himself  in  opening  a  bot- 
tle of  wine,  sharpening  the  carving-knite,  and 
muttering  compliments  to  his  father,  until  they 
and  the  dinner  appeared  together.  The  repast 
consisted  of  a  hot  leg  of  mutton  with  greens  and 
potatoes  ;  and  the  dishes  having  been  set  upon  the 
table  by  a  slipshod  old  woman,  they  were  letl  to 
enjoy  it  ader  their  own  manner. 

"  Bachelor's  Hall,  you  know,  cousin,"  said  Mr. 
Jonas  to  ('harity.  "  I  say — the  other  one  will  be 
having  a  laugh  at  this  when  she  gets  home,  won't 
she  ?  Here,  you  sit  on  the  right  side  of  me,  and 
I  'II  have  her  upon  the  left.  Other  one,  will  yo'j 
come  here  .'" 

"  You  're  such  a  fright,"  replied  Mercy,  "that 
I  know  I  shall  have  no  appetite  if  I  sit  so  near 
you  ;  but  I  suppose  I  must" 

"  An't  she  lively  ?"  whispered  I\Ir.  Jonas  to  the 
elder  sister,  with  liis  favourite  elbow  emphasis. 

"  Oh  i  really  don't  know  I"  replied  Miss  Peck 
siiiif,  tartly.  "  I  am  tired  of  being  asked  such 
ridiculous  questions." 

"  What's  that  precious  old  father  of  mine  about 
now?"  said  Mr.  Jonas,  seeing  that  his  parent  was 
travelling  up  and  down  the  room,  instead  of  ta 
kins  his  seat  at  table.     "  What  are  you  lookiijg 
for  ?" 

"  I  've  lost  my  glasses,  Jonas,"  said  old  Antho- 
ny. 

"  Sit  down  without  your  glasses,  can't  you  '" 
returned  his  son.  "  You  don't  eat  or  drink  out 
of  'em,  I  think;  and  where's  that  slee|)y  headed 
old  Chutfey  got  to  ?  Now,  stupid.  Oh  1  you  know 
your  name,  do  you  ?" 

It  would  seem  that  he  did  n't,  for  he  did  n'lf 
come  until  the  father  called.     As  he   sooke.  tli* 


76 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OP 


door  of  a  small  glass  office,  which  was  partitioned 
olF  from  tlie  rest  ot'  the  room,  was  slowly  openefl, 
and  a  little  blear-eyed,  wcazen-faced  ancient  man 
Ccitiie  creeping  out.  He  was  of  a  remote  fashion, 
and  dusty,  like  the  rest  of  the  furniture;  he  was 
dressed  in  a  decayed  suit  of  black;  with  breeclu's 
girnished  at  the  knees  with  rusty  wisps  of  ribhon, 
the  very  paupers  of  shoe-strings  ;  on  the  lower 
portion  of  his  spindle  legs  were  dingy  worsted 
pfr.ckings  of  the  same  colour.  He  looked  as  if  he 
had  b<  en  put  away  and  forgotten  half  a  century 
before,  and  somebody  had  just  found  him  in  a 
lunibcr-closet. 

Siich  as  he  was,  he  came  slowly  creeping  on  to- 
ward the  table,  until  at  last  he  crept  into  the  va- 
cant chair,  from  which,  as  his  dim  faculties  be- 
came  conscious  of  the  presence  of  strangers,  and 
those  strangers  ladies,  he  rose  again,  apparently 
intending  to  make  a  bow.  But  he  sat  down  once 
niore,  witliout  having  made  it,  and  breathing  on 
Jiis  shrivelled  hands  to  warm  them,  remained  with 
Jiis  [joor  blue  nose  immoveable  above  his  plate, 
looking  at  nothing,  with  eyes  that  saw  nothing, 
and  a  fice  that  meant  nothing.  Take  him  in  that 
FVr.ti,  and  he  was  an  embodiment  of  nothing. — 
Nothing  else. 

"  Our  clerk,"  said  Mr.  Jonas,  as  host  and  mas- 
ter of  the  ceremonies:  "Old  Chuffey." 

"Is  he  deaf?"  inquired  one  of  the  young  ladies. 

"  No,  I  don't  know  that  he  is.  lie  an't  deaf, 
is  he  father  ?" 

"  I  never  heard  him  say  he  was,"  replied  the 
old  man, 

"  Dlind  ?"  inquired  the  young  ladies. 

'•  N — no.  I  never  understood  that  he  was  at 
all  blind,"  said  Jonas,  carelessly.  "  You  don't 
consider  him  so,  do  you  father  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Anthony. 

"  What  is  he  then  ?" 

"  Why,  I'll  tell  you  what  he  is,"  said  Jonas, 
apart  to  the  young  ladies,  "  he's  preeious  old,  for 
otic  thing;  and  I  an't  best  pleased  with  him  for 
that,  for  I  think  my  father  must  have  caught  it  of 
him.  He's  a  strange  old  chap,  for  another,"  he 
added  in  a  louder  voice,  "and  don't  understand 
any  one  hardly,  but  him!"  He  pointed  to  his 
[mnoured  parent  with  the  carving-fork,  in  order 
that  they  might  know  whom  he  meant. 

"  Flow  very  strange  I"  cried  the  sisters. 

"  Why,  you  sec,"  said  I\Ir.  Jonas,  "he's  been 
fiddling  his  old  brains  with  figures  and  hook-keep, 
ing  all  his  life ;  and  twenty  years  ago  or  so,  lie 
went  and  tf)ok  a  fever.  All  the  time  he  was  out 
of  his  head  (which  was  three  weeks)  he  never  left 
otr  casting  U() ;  and  he  got  so  many  millions  at 
last  that  I  don't  believe  he's  ever  been  quite  right 
tii:iee.  We  don't  do  much  business  now  though, 
and  he  an't  a  bad  clerk." 

"  A  very  good  one,"  said  Anthony. 

"  Well !  He  an't  a  dear  one  at  all  events,"  ob- 
serve d  Jimas;  "and  he  earns  his  salt,  which  is 
enough  for  our  look-out.  I  was  telling  you  that 
he  hardly  understands  any  one  excejit  my  father; 
hi;  always  uuflerstands  him,  though,  and  wakes 
up  quite  wonderl'ul  He's  been  used  to  his  ways 
■o  long-,  you  see  !  Why,  I've  seen  him  play  whist 
wiTii  mv  fairier  for  a  partner;  and  a  good  rubber 
liio:  wncn  he  had  no  more  notion  what  sort  of 
p"o()ie  ne  was  piaymg  ag.unsl,  th^n  you  have." 

"ilas  he  no  appetite,"  asked  JNIcrry 


"  Oh  yes,"  said  Jonas,  plying  his  own  knife  arid 
fork  very  fast.  "  He  eats — when  he's  helped.  But 
he  don't  care  whetlier  he  waits  a  minute  or  an 
hour,  as  long  as  father's  here  ;  so  when  I'm  at  all 
sharp  set,  as  I  am  to-day,  I  come  to  him  alter  I'vo 
taken  the  edge  off  my  own  hunger  you  know. 
Now  Chuffey,  stupid,  are  you  ready  .'" 

Chuffey  remained  immoveable. 

"  Always  a  perverse  old  file,  he  was,"  said  Mr. 
Jonas,  C(/olly  helping  himself  to  another  slice, 
"  Ask  him,  father." 

"  Are  you  ready  for  your  dinner,  Chuffey  ?" 
asked  the  old  man. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Chuffey,  lighting  up  into  a 
sentient  human  creature  at  the  first  sound  ot  the 
voice,  so  that  it  was  at  once  a  curious  aiid  vpiitea 
moving  sight  to  see  him.  "  Yes,  yes.  Quite 
ready  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  Quite  ready,  Sir.  All 
ready,  all  ready,  all  ready."  With  that  he  stop, 
ped,  smilingly,  and  listened  for  some  further  ad- 
dress ;  but  being  spoken  to  no  more,  the  light  for- 
sook his  face  by  little  and  little,  until  he  was  no- 
thing again. 

"  He'll  be  very  disagreeable,  mind,"  said  Jonas, 
addressing  his  cousins  as  he  handed  the  old  man's 
portion  to  his  father.  "  He  always  chokes  him- 
self when  it  ain't  broth.  Look  at  him  now  !  Did 
you  ever  see  a  horse  with  such  a  wall-eyed  ex- 
[iression  as  he's  got  ?  It'  it  hadn't  been  for  the  joke 
o.it,  I  wouldn't  have  let  him  come  in  to-day;  but 
I  thought  he'd  amuse  you." 

The  poor  old  subject  of  this  humane  speech, 
was,  hap|)ily  (ijr  himself,  as  unconscious  of  its 
purport,  as  of  most  other  remarks  that  were  made 
in  his  presence.  But  the  nmtton  being  tough,  and 
his  gums  Weak,  he  quickly  verified  the  statement 
relative  to  his  choking  propensities,  and  under- 
went so  much  in  his  attemj)ts  to  dine,  that  Mr. 
Jonas  was  infinitely  amused  :  protesting  that  he 
had  seldom  seen  him  better  company  in  all  his 
life,  and  that  he  was  enough  to  make  a  man  split 
his  sides  with  laughing.  Indeed,  he  went  so  far 
as  tf)  ass\ire  the  sisters,  that  in  this  point  of  view 
he  considered  t'huffey  superior  to  his  own  father; 
which,  as  he  significantly  added,  was  saying  a 
great  deal. 

It  was  strange  enough  that  Anthony  Chuzzlo- 
wil,  hinisell'  so  old  a  man,  should  take  a  pleasure 
in  these  gibings  of  his  estimable  son,  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  poor  shadow  at  their  table.  But  he 
did,  uriqui  stionably  :  though  not  so  much — to  do 
him  justice — with  reference  to  their  ancient  clerk, 
as  in  exultation  at  the  sharpness  of  Jonas.  For 
the  same  reason,  that  young  man's  coarse  allu- 
sions, even  to  himself,  filled  him  witli  a  stealthy 
glee;  causing  him  to  rub  his  h.inds  and  chuckle 
covertly,  as  if  he  said  in  his  sleeve,  "/  taught 
him.  /  trained  him.  This  is  the  heir  ot'  my 
bringing  up.  Sly,  cunning,  and  coveluous,  li<  'II 
not  scjuander  my  money.  I  worked  for  this;  I 
hoped  for  this;  it  has  been  the  great  end  and  alia 
of  my  life." 

What  a  noble  end  and  aim  it  was  to  contemplato 
in  the  nttaininent  truly  I  but  there  be  soute  whc 
mamificlure  idols  after  the  fashion  of  themselves, 
and  t'ail  to  worship  them  when  they  are  made, 
charging  their  deformity  on  outraged  nature.  An- 
thony was  better  than  these  at  any  r;ite. 

(^hulTev  beggled  over  his  plate  so  long,  that  Mr. 
Jonas,  losing  patience,  took   it   troni   him  at  laiit 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


77 


wi''»  Lis  own  hands,  and  rnquested  his  father  to 
Bit'iiity  to  tliat  veneralfle  person  that  he  had  better 
"  petj  away  at  his  bread :"  which  Anthony  did. 

"Av,  ay!"  cried  the  old  man,  brightening  up 
as  before,  when  this  was  communicated  to  him  in 
tlie  same  voice:  "quite  risfht,  quite  right.  He's 
your  own  son,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  I  Bless  him  for  a 
sh  irp  lad  1   Bless  him,  bless  him  !" 

;\Ir.  Jonas  considered  this  so  particularly  child- 
ish— .perhaps  with  some  reason  —  that  he  only 
l.iughcd  the  mure,  and  told  his  cousins  that  he 
was  afraid  one  of  these  fine  days  Chutfey  would 
be  the  death  of  him.  The  cloth  was  then  removed, 
and  the  bottle  of  wine  set  upon  the  table,  from 
which  Mr.  Jonas  filled  the  young  ladies'  glasses, 
Calling  on  them  not  to  spare  it,  as  they  might  be 
certain  there  wis  plenty  more  where  that  came 
from.  Bat,  he  added  with  some  haste  after  this 
sally,  that  it  was  only  his  joke,  and  they  wouldn't 
suppose  him  to  be  in  earnest,  he  was  sure. 

"  I  shill  drink,"  said  Anthony,  "  to  Pecksniff. 
Your  fiitJR'r,  my  dears.  A  clever  man,  Pecksniff. 
A  wary  man  I  A  hypocrite,  though,  eii  ?  A 
hypocrite,  girls,  eh  !  Ha,  ha,  ha!  VVcll,  so  he 
is.  Now,  among  friends  —  lie  is.  I  don't  think 
the  worse  of  him  for  that,  unless  it  is  that  he 
overdoes  it.  You  may  overdo  anything,  my  dar- 
lings. You  may  overdo  even  hypocrisy.  Ask 
Jonas  !" 

"  You  can't  overdo  taking  care  of  yourself,"  ob- 
served that  hopeful  gentleman  with  his  mouth  full. 

"  Do  you  hear  that,  my  dears  ?"  cried  Anthony, 
quite  enraptured.  "  Wisdom,  wisdom  !  A  good 
exception,  Jonas.  No;  it's  not  easy  to  overdo 
that." 

"Except,"  whispered  Mr.  Jonas  to  his  favourite 
crjusin,  "  except  when  one  lives  too  long.  Ha,  ha  ! 
Tell  the  other  one  that  —  I  say  !" 

"  Good  gracious  me  !"  said  Cherry,  in  a  petu- 
lant manner.  "  You  can  tell  her  yourself,  if  you 
wish,  can't  you  I" 

"  She  seems  to  make  such  game  of  one,"  re- 
plied Mr.  Jonas. 

"  Thi  n  why  need  you  trouble  yourself  about 
her?"  said  ("Charity.  "  I  am  sure  she  doesn't 
trouble  herself  much  about  you." 

"  Don't  she,  though  ?"  asked  Jonas. 

"  Good  gracious  me,  need  I  tell  you  that  she 
doii't  ?"   returned  the  young  lady. 

Mr.  Jonas  made  no  verbal  rejoinder,  but  he 
gl  meed  at  Mercy  with  an  odd  expression  in  his 
fice;  and  said  that  would'nt  break  his  heart,  she 
might  depend  upon  it.  Then  he  looke<l  on  Charity 
with  even  greater  favour  than  before,  and  besought 
her,  as  his  polite  manner  was,  to  "come  a  little 
closer." 

"  There 's  another  thing  that 's  not  easily  over- 
done, father,"  remarked  Jonas,  after  a  short  si- 
lence. 

"  What  'a  that  ?"  asked  the  father ;  grinning 
already  in  anticipation. 

"A  bargain,"  said  the  son.  "  Here  's  the  rule 
for  bargiins  —  'Do  other  men,  for  they  would  do 
you.  That's  the  true  business  precept  All 
otheis  are  counterfeits." 

The  delighted  fither  applauded  this  sentiment 
to  the  echo ;  and  was  so  much  tickled  by  it,  that 
he  was  at  the  pains  of  imparting  the  same  to  his 
ancient  clerk,  who  rubbed  his  hands,  nodded  his 
oalsied  bead,  winked  his  watery  ejes,  and  cried 


in  hi;;  whi-tling  tones,  "Good  I  good  I  Yiur  own 
son,  Mr.  ("imz/Jewit  I"  vvitii  every  feeble  demon- 
stration of  delight  that  he  was  capable  of  makiii-^ 
But  this  old  man's  enthusiasm  had  the  redeeming 
quality  of  being  felt  in  sympathy  with  the  only 
creature  to  whom  he  was  linked  by  lies  of  long 
association,  and  by  his  present  helplessness.  And 
if  there  had  been  any  body  there,  who  cared  to 
think  about  it,  some  dregs  of  a  betlt-r  nature  una- 
wakened,  njight  perhaps  have  been  descried 
through  that  very  medium,  melanch.dy  though  it 
was,  yet  lingering  at  the  bottom  of  the  worn-out 
cask,  called  Chuffey. 

As  matters  stood,  nobody  thought  or  said  any- 
thing  upon  the  subject ;  so  Chuffey  fell  back  into 
a  dark  corner  on  one  side  of  the  fire-place,  where 
he  always  spent  his  evenings,  and  was  neither 
seen  nor  heard  again  that  night;  save  once,  wh>  n 
a  cup  of  tea  was  given  him,  in  which  he  was 
seen  to  soak  his  bread  mechanically.  There  was 
no  reason  to  suppose  that  he  went  to  sleep  at  the.se 
seasons,  or  that  he  heard,  or  saw,  or  (elt,  or 
thought.  He  remained,  as  it  were,  frozen  up — if 
any  term  expressive  of  such  a  vigorous  process 
can  be  ap()lied  to  him — until  he  was  again  ttiawed 
for  the  moment  by  a  word  or  touch  from  Anthony. 

Miss  Charity  made  tea  by  desire  of  .Mr.  Jonas, 
and  felt  and  looked  so  like  the  lady  of  the  house, 
that  she  was  in  the  prettiest  confusion  inriginable  , 
the  more  so,  from  Mr.  Jonas  sitting  close  beside 
her,  and  whispering  a  variety  of  charming  ex» 
pressions  in  her  ear.  Miss  Mercy,  for  her  part, 
felt  the  entertainment  of  the  evening  to  be  so  dis- 
tinctly and  exclusively  theirs,  that  she  sih  ntly  de- 
plored  the  commercial  gentlemen  —  at  that  mo- 
ment, no  doubt,  wearying  for  her  return  —  and 
yawned  over  yesterday's  newspaper.  As  to  An- 
thony,  he  went  to  sleep  outright,  so  Jonas  and 
Cherry  had  a  clear  stage  to  themselves  as  long  as 
they  chose  to  keep  possession  of  it. 

When  the  tea-tray  was  taken  away,  as  ii  was 
at  last,  Mr.  Jonas  produced  a  dirty  pack  of  cards, 
and  entertained  the  sisters  with  divers  small  feats 
of  dexterity:  whereof  the  main  purpose  of  every 
one  was,  that  you  were  to  der.oy  somebody^ into 
laying  a  wager  with  you  that  you  couldn't  do  it; 
and  were  then  immediately  to  win  and  poeket  his 
money.  Mr.  Jonas  informed  them  that  these 
accomplishments  were  in  higii  vogue  in  the  most 
intellectual  circles,  and  that  large  amounts  were 
constantly  changing  hands  on  such  hazards.  And 
it  may  be  remarked  that  he  fully  believed  this  ; 
for  there  is  a  simplicity  of  cunning  no  less  than  a 
simplicity  of  innocence;  and  in  all  matters  where 
a  lively  faith  in  knavery  and  meanness  was  re- 
quired  as  the  groundwork  of  belief,  Mr.  Jonas 
was  one  of  the  most  credulous  of  men.  His  ig. 
norance,  which  was  st^jpendous,  may  he  taken 
into  account,  if  the  reader  pleases,  separately. 

This  fine  young  man  had  all  the  inclination  to 
be  a  profligate  of  the  first  water,  and  only  lacked 
the  one  good  trait  in  the  common  catalogue  of  de 
bauched  vices — open-handedness — to  be  a  notable 
vagabond.  But  there  his  griping  and  penurious 
habits  stepped  in ;  and  as  one  poison  will  somo- 
times  neutralize  another,  when  wholesome  reme- 
dies  would  not  avail,  so  he  was  restrainea  by  a 
bad  passion  from  quaffing  his  full  measure  of  evil, 
when  virtue  might  have  sought  to  nold  him  bac» 
in  Viiia. 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


By  the  time  he  had  unfolded  all  the  peddling 
Briiemcs  lie  knew  upon  the  cards,  it  was  growing- 
late  in  the  evening ;  and  Mr.  Pecksniff  not  ma- 
iling his  appearance,  the  young  hidius  expressed 
a  vvisli  to  return  home.  But  this,  Mr.  Jonas,  in 
his  galhmtry,  would  by  no  means  allow,  until  they 
h;;d  partaken  of  some  bread  and  cheese  and  por- 
ter;  and  even  then  he  was  excessively  unwilling 
to  allow  them  to  depart;  often  beseeching  Miss 
Charity  to  come  a  little  closer,  or  to  stop  a  little 
longer,  and  preferring  many  other  complimentary 
pt  titions  of  that  nature,  in  his  own  hospitable 
and  earnest  way.  When  all  his  efforts  to  detain 
them  were  fruitless,  he  put  on  his  hat  and  great- 
coat  preparatory  to  escorting  them  to  Todgers's ; 
rernarkmg  that  he  knew  they  would  rather  walk 
thitlicr  than  ride;  and  that  for  his  part  he  was 
quite  of  their  opinion. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Anthony.  "  Good  night ; 
remember  me — ha,  ha,  ha  I — to  Pecksniff.  Take 
care  of  your  cousin,  my  dears  ;  beware  of  Jonas  ; 
he  's  a  dangerous  fellow.  Don't  quarrel  for  him, 
in  any  case  !" 

"  Oh,  the  creature  !"  cried  Mercy.  "  The  idea 
of  quarrelling  for  him!  You  may  take  him, 
Oierry,  my  love,  all  to  yourself.  I  make  you  a 
present  of  my  share." 

"What!  I 'm  a  sour  grape,  am  I,  cousin?" 
Baid  Jonas. 

Miss  Cliarity  was  more  entertained  by  this  re- 
partee than  one  would  have  supposed  likely,  con- 
sidering its  advanced  age  and  simple  character. 
But  in  her  sisterly  affection  she  took  Mr.  Jonas 
to  task  for  leaning  so  very  hard  u[)on  a  broken 
reed,  and  said  that  he  must  not  be  so  cruel  to 
poor  Mercy  any  more,  or  she  (Charity)  would 
positively  be  obliged  to  hate  him.  Mercy,  who 
really  had  her  share  of  good-humour,  only  retort- 
ed with  a  laugh  ;  and  tliey  walked  home  in  con- 
sequence without  any  angry  passages  of  words 
upon  the  way.  Mr.  Jonas  being  in  the  middle, 
and  having  a  cousin  on  each  arm,  sometimes 
squeezed  the  wrong  one  ;  so  lightly  too,  as  to 
cause  her  not  a  little  inconvenience;  but  as  he 
talked  to  Charity  in  whispers  the  whole  time, 
and  paid  her  great  attention,  no  doubt  this  was 
an  accidental  circumstance.  When  t  ey  arrived 
at  Todgers's,  and  the  door  was  opened,  Mercy 
broke  hastily  from  them,  and  r;in  up-stairs;  but 
Oiarity  and  Jonas  lingered  on  the  steps  talking 
togetlier  for  more  than  five  minutes;  so,  as  Mrs. 
Todgers  observed  ne.Kt  mf)rning,  to  a  third  party, 
"  It  was  pretty  clear  what  was  going  on  thfie, 
and  she  was  glad  of  it,  for  it  really  was  high 
time  Miss  Pecksniff  thought  of  settling." 

And  now  the  day  was  coining  on,  when  that 
bright  vision  which  had  burst  on  Todgers's  so 
suddenly,  and  made  a  sunshine  in  tiie  shady 
breast  of  Jinkins,  was  to  be  seen  no  more;  when 
it  was  to  be  packed  like  a  brown  paper  parcel,  or 
a  fish-basket,  or  an  oyster-barrel,  or  a  fat  gentle- 
man, or  any  other  dull  reality  of  life,  in  a  stage- 
coach, and  carried  down  into  the  cf)untry  ! 

"  Never,  my  dear  Miss  I^eeksniffs,"  said  Mrs. 
Todgers,  when  thev  retired  to  rest  on  the  last 
night  of  their  slay  ;  "  never  have  I  seen  an 
establishment  so  perfectly  broken-hearted  as  mine 
IS  at  tiiis  present  moment  of  lime.  I  don't  be- 
lieve the  gentlemen  will  be  the  gentlemen  they 
were  or  anything  like  it  —  no.  not  for  weeks  to 


come.  You  have  a  great  deal  to  answer  for; 
both  of  you." 

They  modestly  disclaimed  any  wilful  agency 
in  this  disastrous  stale  of  thmgs,  and  regretted  it 
very  much. 

"Your  pious  Pa,  too!"  said  Mrs.  Todger*. 
"There's  a  loss!  My  dear  Miss  Pecksniffs,  youi 
Pa  is  a  perfect  missionary  of  peace  and  love." 

Entertaining  an  uncertainty  as  to  the  parlicu 
lar  kind  of  love  supposed  to  be  comprised  in  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  mission,  tiie  young  ladies  received 
this  compliment  rather  coldly. 

"  If  I  dared,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  perceiving 
this,  "  to  violate  a  confidence  which  has  been  re- 
posed in  me,  and  to  tell  you  why  I  must  beg  of 
you  to  leave  the  little  door  between  your  room 
and  mine  open  to-night,  I  think  you  would  be 
interested.  But  I  musn't  do  it,  for  I  promised 
Mr.  Jinkins  faithfully  that  I  would  be  as  silent  as 
the  tomb." 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Todgers  !  what  can  you  mean  ?" 

"  Why  then,  my  sweet  Miss  Pecksniffs,"  said 
the  lady  of  the  house ;  "  my  own  loves,  if  you 
will  allow  me  the  privilege  of  taking  that  free- 
dom on  the  eve  of  our  separation,  Mr.  Jinkins 
and  the  gentlemen  have  made  up  a  little  musical 
party  among  themselves,  and  do  intend  in  the 
dead  of  this  night  to  perform  a  serenade  upon 
the  stairs  outside  thfe  door.  I  could  have  wislied, 
I  own,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  with  her  usual  fore- 
si^'ht,  "  that  it  had  been  fixed  to  take  place  an 
hour  or  two  earlier;  because,  when  gentlemen  sit 
up  late,  they  drink,  and  when  they  drink,  they  'ro 
not  so  musical,  perhaps,  as  when  they  don't 
But  this  is  the  arrangement;  and  I  know  yon 
will  be  gratified,  my  dear  Miss  Pecksniffs,  bj 
such  a  mark  of  their  attention." 

The  young  ladies  were  at  first  so  much  excited 
by  the  news,  that  they  vowed  they  couldn't  think 
of  going  to  bed,  until  the  serenade  was  over. 
But  half  an  hour  of  cool  waiting  so  altered  tiieir 
opinion  thai  the}'  not  only  went  to  bed,  but  fell 
asleep;  and  were  moreover  not  ecstatically  charm- 
ed to  be  awakened  sometime  afterwards  by  cer. 
tain  dulcet  strains  breaking  in  upon  the  silent 
watches  of  the  nisrht. 

It  was  very  affecting  —  very.  Nothing  more 
dismal  could  have  been  desired  by  the  most  f;vs- 
tidious  taste.  The  gentleman  of  a  vocal  turn 
was  head  mute,  or  chief  mourner  ;  Jinkins  took 
the  bass;  and  the  rest  took  anything  they  cnuld 
get.  The  j'oungest  gentleman  blew  his  iiirlan- 
choly  into  a  flute.  He  didn't  blow  nuich  (Jiit  of 
it,  but  that  was  nil  the  better.  If  the  two  Miss 
Pecksniffs  and  Mrs.  Todgi-rs  had  pi  rished  by 
spontaneous  combustion,  and  the  serenade  had 
been  in  honour  of  their  ashes,  it  would  have  been 
impossible  to  surpass  the  unutterable  despair  ex- 
pressed in  that  chorus,  "Go  where  glory  waits 
thee  !"  It  was  a  requiem,  a  dirge,  a  moan,  a 
howl,  a  wail,  a  lament;  an  abstract  of  everything 
that  is  sorrowful  and  hideous  in  sound.  The 
flute  of  the  youngest  gentleman  was  wild  and 
fit  fill.  It  came  and  went  in  gusts,  like  the  wind. 
For  a  long  time  together  he  seemed  to  have  left 
off,  and  when  it  was  quite  settled  by  Mrs.  Todger« 
and  the  young  ladies,  that,  overcome  by  his  leel- 
ings,  he  had  retired  in  tears,  he  unexpectedly 
turned  up  again  at  the  very  top  of  the  tune,  gasp. 
ing  for  breath.     He  was  a  tremendous  performer. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


79 


T^rre  was  no  knowing  vvliere  to  h.ive  him;  and 
ex  i(  tly  wiien  you  tlioiiijht  lit'  was  doing  nothing 
«t  al'i,  then  was  he  doing  tlie  very  thing  tliat 
CMJfiht  to  astonish  you  the  most. 

'I'hcre  were  several  of  these  concerted  pieces ; 
perhaps  two  or  three  too  many  though  that,  as 
Mrs.  Todcrers  said,  was  a  fault  on  the  right  side. 
But  even  then,  even  at  that  solemn  moment,  when 
the  tlirilling  sounds  may  be  presumed  to  have 
penetrated  into  the  very  depths  of  his  nature,  if 
he  had  any  depths,  Jinkins  couldn't  leave  the 
youngest  gentleman  alone.  He  asked  him  dis- 
tinctly, before  the  second  song  begun  —  as  a  per- 
sonal favour  too,  mark  the  villain  in  that — not  to 
play.  Yes  ;  he  said  so ;  not  to  play.  The  brea- 
tliing  of  the  youngest  gentleman  was  heard 
tlirough  the  keyhole.of  the  door.  He  didn't  play. 
Wliat  vent  was  a  flute  for  the  passions  swelling 
up  within  his  breast?  A  trombone  would  have 
been  a  world  too  mild. 

The  serenade  approached  its  close.  Its  crown- 
ing interest  was  at  hand.  The  gentleman  of  a 
literary  turn  had  written  a  song  on  tlie  departure 
of  the  ladies,  and  adapted  it  to  an  old  tune.  They 
all  joined,  except  the  youngest  gentleman  in  com- 
pany, who,  for  the  reasons  aforesaid,  maintained 
a  fearful  silence.  The  song  (which  was  of  a  classi- 
cal nature)  invoked  the  oracle  of  Apollo,  and  de- 
manded to  know  what  would  become  of  Todgers's 
when  C'haritv  and  Mercv  were  banished  from  its 
Walls.  The  oracle  delivered  no  opinion  p.irticu- 
larly  worth  remembering,  according  to  the  not 
infrequent  practice  of  oracles  from  the  earliest 
ages  down  to  the  present  time.  In  the  absence 
of  enlightenment  on  that  subject,  the  strain  de- 
t<>rted  it,  and  went  on  to  show  that  the  Miss 
Pecksniff's  were  nearly  related  to  Rule  Britannia, 
and  that  if  Great  Britain  hadn't  been  an  island 
there  could  have  been  no  Miss  Pecksniffs.  And 
being  now  on  a  nautical  tack,  it  closed  with  this 
Verse : 

All  hail  to  the  vessel  of  Ppcksniff  the  sire  I 

And  favouring  breezes  to  fan  ; 
While  Tritons  tiock  rniuicl  it,  and  proudly  admire 

The  architect,  artist,  and  man  ! 

As  they  presented  this  beautiful  picture  to  the 
imagination,  the  gentlemen  gradually  withdrew 
to  bed  to  give  the  music  the  effect  of  distance  ; 
and  so  it  died  away,  and  Todgers's  was  left  to  its 
rejwsc. 

Mr.  Bailey  reserved  his  vocal  offering  until  the 
morning,  when  he  put  his  head  into  the  room  as 
the  young  ladies  were  kneeling  before  their 
trunks,  picking  up,  and  treated  them  to  an  imita- 
tion of  the  voice  of  a  young  dog,  in  trying  cir- 
cumstances: when  that  animal  is  supposed  by 
persons  of  a  lively  fancy,  to  relieve  his  feelings 
l>y  calling  for  pen  and  ink. 

"Well,  young  ladies,"  said  the  youth,  "so 
you  're  a  going  home,  are  you  ;  worse  luck  7" 

"Yes,  Bailey,  we're  going  home,''  returned 
Mercy. 

"  An't  you  a  going  to  leave  none  of  'em  a  lock 
of  your  hair?"  inquired  the  youth.  "It's  real, 
an't  it  ?" 

They  laughed  at  this,  and  told  him  of  course  it 
Was. 

"Oh,  is  it  of  course,  though?"  said  Bailey. 
"I  know  better  than  that,  flers  an't.  Why,  I 
■ee  it  hanging  up  once,  on  that  nail  by  the  win- 


der. Besides  I  've  gone  behind  her  at  dinner-time 
and  ()ulled  it;  and  she  never  know'd.  I  say, 
young  ladies — I  'm  going  to  leave.  I  an't  a  going 
to  stand  being  called  names  by  her,  no  longer." 

Miss  Mercy  inquired  what  his  plans  for  the 
future  might  be  ;  in  reply  to  whom,  Mr.  Bailey  in- 
timated  that  he  thought  of  going  either  into  top. 
boots,  or  into  the  army. 

"  Into  the  army  1"  cried  the  young  ladies,  with 
a  laugh. 

"Ah!"  said  Bailey,  "why  not?  There's  a 
many  drummers  in  the  Tower.  I'm  acipiaintcd 
with  'em.  Don't  their  country  set  a  valley  on  'em 
mind  you  !     Not  at  all  I" 

"  You  '11  be  shot,  I  see,"  observed  Mercy. 

"Well!"  cried  Mr.  Bailey,  "wot  if  1  am' 
There's  something  gamey  in  it,  young  l;idi..s, 
an't  there?  I  'd  .sooner  be  hit  with  a  cmnoii-ball 
than  a  rolling-pin,  and  she's  always  catching  up 
something  of  that  sort,  and  throwing  it  at  mo 
wen  the  gentlemans  appetites  is  good.  Wot," 
said  Mr.  Bailey,  stung  by  the  recolkction  of  Ilia 
wrongs,  "  wot,  if  they  do  con-sume  tiie  per-vi 
shuns.     It  an't  rny  fault,  is  it  ?" 

"  Surely  no  one  says  it  is,"  said  Mercy. 

'•  Don't  they,  though  ?"  retorted  the  youi.u 
"No,  Yes.  Ah!  No  one  mayn't  say  it  is  ;  but 
some  one  knows  it  is.  But  I  an't  a  going  to  h  ve 
every  rise  in  prices  wisited  on  me.  I  an't  a  going 
to  be  killed,  because  the  markets  is  dear.  I  won't 
stop.  And  therefore,"  added  Mr.  Bailey,  rclentmg 
into  a  smile,  "  wotever  you  mean  to  give  mc, 
you'd  better  give  me  all  at  once,  becos  if  ever 
you  come  back  agin,  I  shan't  be  here  ;  and  as  to 
the  other  boy,  he  won't  deserve  nothing  1  know." 

The  young  ladies,  on  behalf  of  Mr.  PecksnitF 
and  themselves,  acted  on  this  thoughtful  advice, 
and  in  consideration  of  their  private  triendship, 
presented  Mr.  Bailey  witti  a  gratuity  so  liberal, 
that  he  could  hardly  do  enough  to  show  his  gratis 
tude;  which  found  but  an  imperfect  vent,  during 
the  remainder  of  the  day,  in  divers  secret  slaps 
upon  his  pocket,  and  other  such  facetious  pinto- 
mime.  Nor  was  it  confined  to  these  ebullitions; 
tor  besides  crushing  a  bandbox,  with  a  bi'nnel  in 
it,  he  seriously  damaged  Mr.  PecksnitT's  lugjrage, 
by  ardently  hauling  it  down  from  the  top  of  t.ie 
house;  and  in  short  evinced,  by  every  means  in 
his  ])ower,  a  lively  sense  of  the  fivours  he  had  re- 
ceived from  that  gentleman  and  his  fimily. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  and  Mr  Jinkins  came  home  to 
dinner,  arm-in-arm  ;  for  the  latter  gentleman  had 
made  half-holiday,  on  purpose;  thus  g  lining  an 
immense  advanfige  over  the  youngest  genllem.in 
and  the  rest,  whose  time,  as  it  perversely  chaiic  d, 
was  all  bespoke,  until  the  evening.  The  bottle  of 
wine  was  Mr.  Perksniff's  treat,  and  they  wt-re 
very  sociable  indeed;  though  full  of  lamentations 
on  the  necessity  of  parting.  While  they  were  in 
the  midst  of  their  enjoyment,  old  Anthony  and 
his  son  were  announced;  much  to  the  surprise 
of  Mr.  Pecksniff"  and  greatly  to  the  discomfiture 
of  Jenkins. 

"  Come  to  say  good  bye,  you  see,"  said  An 
thony,  in  a  low  voice,  to  Mr.  Pecksniff,  as  they 
took  their  seats  apart  at  the  table,  while  the  rest 
conversed  among  themselves.  "  Where's  the  use 
of  a  division  between  3'ou  and  me  ?  We  are  two 
halves  of  a  pair  of  scissors,  when  apart,  Pecksniff 
but  togetJier  we  are  something.     Eb  ?" 


80 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  Unanimity,  my  good  sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Peck- 
enitf,  "  is  always  delightful." 

"  1  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  old  man, 
"for  there  are  some  people  I  would  rather  ditler 
from  than  agree  with.  But  you  know  my  opinion 
of  you." 

Mr.  Pecksniff,  still  having  "hypocrite"  in  his 
mind,  only  replied  by  a  motion  of  his  head,  which 
was  something  between  an  affirmative  bow  and  a 
negative  .shake. 

"Complimentary,"  said  Anthony.  "Compli- 
mentary, upon  my  word.  It  was  an  involuntary 
tribute  to  your  abilities,  even  at  the  time;  and  it 
was  not  a  time  to  suggest  compliments  either. 
But  we  agreed  in  the  coach,  you  know,  that  we 
quite  understood  each  other," 

"Oh,  (juite  !"  assented  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  a  man- 
ner which  implied  that  he  iiimself  was  misunder- 
stood most  cruelly,  but  would  not  complain. 

Anthony  glanced  at  his  son  as  he  sat  beside 
Miss  Charity,  and  then  at  Mr.  Pecksniff,  and  then 
at  his  son  again,  very  many  times.  It  huppeoLd 
that  Mr.  Pecksniff's  glances  took  a  similar  direc- 
tion ;  but  when  he  became  aware  of  it,  he  first 
Cast  down  his  eyes,  and  then  closed  them ;  as  if 
he  were  determined  that  the  old  man  should  read 
notliing  there. 

"  Jonas  is  a  shrewd  lad,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  He  appears,"  rejoined  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  his 
most  candid  manner,  "  to  be  very  shrewd." 

"  And  careful,"  said  the  old  man. 

"  And  careful,  I  have  no  doubt,"  returned  Mr. 
Pecksniff. 

"  Lookye  !"  said  Anthony  in  his  ear.  "  I  think 
he  is  sweet  upon  your  daughter." 

"Tat,  my  good  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with 
his  eyes  still  closed;  "young  people  —  young 
people — a  kind  of  cousins,  too — no  more  sweet- 
ness than  is  in  tliat,  sir." 

"  V>/]\y,  there  is  very  little  sweetness  in  that, 
according  to  our  experience,"  returned  Anthony. 
"Isn't  there  a  trifle  more  here  ?" 

"  Irnpossible  to  say,"  rejoined  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
"Quite  impossible  !     You  surprise  me." 

"  Yes,  I  know  tliat,"  said  tlie  old  man,  dryly. 
"  It  may  last ;  I  mean  the  sweetness,  not  the  sur- 
prise ;  and  it  may  die  off.  Supposing  it  should 
last, perhaps  (yon  having  feathered  your  nest  i)retty 
well,  and  I  having  done  the  SHine)  we  might  have 
a  mutufj  interest  in  the  matter." 

Mr.  Pecksniff,  smiling  gently,  was  about  to 
speak,  but  Anthony  sto[)ped  him. 

"I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say.  It's  quite 
unnecessary.  You  iiave  never  thought  of  this  for 
a  moment;  ajid  in  a  point  so  nearly  alfecting  the 
happiness  of  your  dear  child,  you  couldn't,  as  a 
lender  f.ither,  exjiress  an  opinion ;  and  so  forth. 
Yes,  quite  right.  And  like  you  !  But  it  .seems  to 
me,  my  dear  Pecksniff,"  added  Anthony,  laying 
his  hand  upon  his  sleeve,  "that  if  you  and  I  kept 
op  the  joke  of  pretending  not  to  see  this,  one  of 
UB  might  possibly  be  placed  in  a  position  of  dis- 
tuvantagc  ;  and  as  I  um  very  unwilling  to  be  that 


party  myself,  you  will  excuse  my  taking  the  liberty 
of  putting  the  matter  beyond  a  doubt,  thus  early  j 
and  having  it  distinctly  understood,  as  it  is  now, 
that  we  do  see  it,  and  do  know  it.  Thank  you  for 
your  attention.  We  are  now  upon  an  equal  foot- 
ing; which  is  agreeable  to  us  both,  I  am  sure." 

He  rose  as  he  spoke  ;  and  giving  Mr.  Pecksniff 
a  nod  of  intelligence,  moved  away  from  him  to 
where  the  young  people  were  silling:  leaving  that 
good  man  somewliat  puzzled  and  discomfited  by 
such  very  plain-dealmg,  and  not  quite  tree  from 
a  sense  of  having  been  foiled  in  the  exercise  of  iii;^ 
familiar  weapons. 

But  the  night-coach  had  a  punctual  character, 
and  it  was  time  to  join  it  at  the  office  ;  w  liich  woa 
so  near  at  hand,  that  they  had  already  sent  their 
luggage,  and  arranged  to  walk.  Thither  the 
whole  party  repaired,  therefore,  alter  no  n)ore  de- 
lay than  sufficed  for  the  equipment  of  the  Miss 
Pecksniffs  and  Mrs.  Todgers.  They  found  the 
coach  already  at  its  starting-place,  and  the  horses 
in ;  there,  too,  were  a  large  majority  of  the  coin- 
mercial  gentlemen,  including  the  youngest,  wlio 
was  visibly  agitated,  and  in  a  state  of  deep  mental 
dejection. 

Nothing  could  equal  the  distress  of  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers in  parting  from  the  young  ladies,  except  tlie 
strong  emotions  with  which  she  bade  adieu  to  Mr. 
Pecksniff.  Never  surely  was  a  pocket-handerchief 
ti'ken  in  and  out  of  a  flat  reticule  so  often  as  Mrs. 
Todgers 's  was,  as  she  stood  upon  the  pavement,  by 
the  coach  door,  supported  on  either  side  by  a  com- 
mercial gentleman  ;  and  by  the  light  of  the  conch- 
lamps  caught  such  brief  snatches  and  glimpses  o^ 
the  good  man's  face,  as  the  constant  interposition 
of  Mr.  Jinkins  allowed.  For  Jinkins,  to  the  last 
the  youngest  gentleman's  rock-ahead  in  life,  stood 
upon  the  coach-step  talking  to  the  ladies.  L'pon 
the  other  step  was  Mr.  Jonas,  who  maintained  that 
position  in  right  of  his  cousinship;  whereas,  the 
youngest  gentleman  who  had  been  first  upon  the 
ground,  was  deep  in  the  booking-office  among  the 
black  and  red  placards,  and  the  portraits  of  fast 
coaches,  where  he  was  ignominiously  harassed  by 
porters,  and  had  to  contend  and  strive  perpetually 
with  heavy  baggage.  This  false  position,  combined 
with  his  nervous  excitement,  brought  about  the 
very  consummation  and  catastrophe  of  his  miso. 
ries  ;  tor  when,  in  the  moment  of  parting,  he 
aimed  a  flower — a  hothouse  flower,  that  had  co>t 
money — at  the  fair  hand  of  Mercy,  it  reached,  in- 
stead,  the  coachman  of  the  box,  who  thanked  him 
kindly,  and  stuck  it  in  his  button-hole. 

They  were  off  now ;  and  Todgers's  was  alone 
again.  The  two  young  ladies,  leaning  back  in 
their  separate  corners,  resigned  themselves  to 
their  own  regretful  thoughts.  But  Mr.  PecksnifiEi 
dismissing  all  ephemeral  considerations  of  social 
pleasure  and  enjoyment,  concentrated  his  meflita^ 
tions  on  the  one  great  virtuous  purpose  before  him, 
of  casting  out  that  ingrate  and  deceiver,  whose 
presence  yet  troubled  his  domestic  hearth,  and  waa 
a  sacrilege  upon  the  altars  of  the  household  gudb 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


61 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WILL  RE  SEEN  IN  THE  LONG  RUN,  IF  NOT  IN  THE  SHORT  ONE,  TO  CONCErN 
MR.  PINCH  AND  OTHERS,  NEAKLY.  MR.  PECKSNIFF  ASSERTS  THE  DIGNI'I  Y 
OF  OUTRA(iED  VIRTUE;  AND  YOUNG  MARTIN  CIIUZZLEWiT  FORMS  A 
DFSPERATE  RESOLUTION. 


Mr.  Pinch  and  Mirtin,  little  dreaming^  of  the 
r'oriiiy  wejtlicr  that  impcndod,  marie  themselves 
»frj  coinlbrt.ible  in  the  PecksiiitHan  lialls,  and 
iiiipro\ed  their  t'rieiidship  daily.  Martin's  facility, 
both  of  invention  and  execution,  being  remarkable, 
the  ^rainmar-school  proceeded  with  great  vigour ; 
and  'I'oni  repeatedly  declared,  that  if  there  were 
anything  like  certainty  in  liuman  affairs,  or  ini- 
[wrtiality  in  hum. in  judges,  a  design  so  new  and 
full  ol'  merit  could  not  tail  to  carry  oft'  the  first 
prize  when  the  tjjne  of  competition  arrived.  VVith- 
mil  being  nuite  so  sanguine  himself,  Martin  had 
his  hopeful  anticipations  too;  and  they  served  to 
make  him  brisk  and  eager  at  his  task. 
*  "  If  I  should  turn  out  a  great  architecL,  Tom," 
said  the  new  pupil  one  day,  as  he  stood  at  a  little 
distance  from  his  drawing,  and  eyed  it  with  much 
complacency,  "  I  '11  tell  you  what  should  be  one 
ol'the  things  I'd  build." 

"  Ay :"  cried  Tom.     "  What  ?" 

"  VVhy,  your  fortune." 

"No  1"  said  Tom  Pinch,  quite  as  much  delight- 
ed as  if  the  thing  were  done.  "  Would  you 
Uiough  ?     How  kind  of  you  to  say  so  I" 

"I'u  build  it  up,  Tom,"  returned  Martin,  "on 
such  a  strong  foundation,  that  it  should  last  your 
Uth — ay,  and  your  children's  lives  too,  and  their 
diildren's  after  them.  I'd  be  your  patron,  'I'om. 
I'd  take  you  under  my  protection.  Let  me  see 
Uie  man  who  should  give  the  cold  shoulder  to 
anybodj'  I  cliose  to  protect  and  patronize,  if  1 
were  ut  the  top  of  the  tree,  Tom  I" 

"Now,  I  don't  think,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "  upon 
my  word,  that  I  was  ever  more  gratified  than  by 
diis.     I  really  don't." 

"  Oh  !  I  mean  what  I  say,"  retorted  Martin, 
with  a  manner  as  free  and  easy  in  its  condescen- 
non  to,  not  to  say  in  its  compassion  for,  the  otiier, 
as  if  he  were  already  First  Architect  in  Ordinary 
to  all  the  Crowned  Heads  in  Europe,  "  I'd  do  it 
— I'd  provide  tor  you." 

"  I  am  afraid,"  s.iid  Tom,  shaking  his  licad, 
"  that  I  should  be  a  mighty  awkward  person  to 
provide  for." 

"  Pooh,  pooh  !"  rejoined  Martin.  "Never  mind 
that.  If  1  took  it  in  my  head  to  say,  'Pinch  is  a 
clever  fellow  ;  I  approve  of  Pinch  ;'  I  should  like 
to  know  the  man  who  would  venture  to  put  him- 
self in  opposition  to  me.  Besides,  confound  it 
Tom,  you  could  be  useful  to  me  in  a  hundred 
ways." 

"  If  I  were  not  useful  in  one  or  two,  it  shouldn't 
be  for  want  of  trying,"  said  Tom. 

"  For  instance,"  pursued  Martin,  after  a  short 
reflection,  "you'd  be  a  capital  fellow,  now,  to  see 
liut  my  ideas  were  properly  carried  out ;  and  to 
overlook  the  works  in  their  progress  before  they 
were  suliiciently  advanced  to  bo  very  interesting 
to  me  ;  and  to  take  all  that  sort  of  plain  sailing. 
Then  you'd  be  a  splendid  fellow  to  show  people 
•ver  my  studio,  and  to  talk  about  Art  to  'em,  | 
Wbcn  I  couldn't  be  bored  myself,  and  all  that  kimi  j 
11 


of  thing.  For  it  would  be  develi^h  cn-dilab!.-, 
Tom,  (I'm  quite  in  earnest,  I  give  you  my  wcni,) 
to  have  a  man  of  your  information  :ib..nt  one 
instead  of  some  ordinary  blockhead.  Oh,  I'd  take 
care  of  you.     You'd  be  usei'ul,  rely  upon  it  1" 

To  say  that  Tom  had  no  idea  of  playing  fiisl 
fiddle  in  any  social  orchestra,  but  was  aU\  ays  (ji.ite 
satisfied  to  be  set  down  for  the  hundred  and  fil'iirth 
violin  in  the  band,  or  thereabouts,  is  to  expn  ss  I  is 
modesty  in  very  inadequate  terms.  He  was  imieh 
delighted,  therefore,  by  1-liese  observations. 

"  t  should  be  married  to  her  then  Tom,  of 
course,"  said  Martin. 

What  was  that  which  checked  Tom  Pinch  .'so 
suddenly,  in  the  high  flow  of  his  gladness:  bring- 
ing the  blood  into  his  honest  cheekw,  and  a  re- 
morseful feeling  to  his  honest  heart,  as  if  he  were 
unworthy  of  his  friend's  regard  ! 

"  I  should  be  married  to  her  then,"  s;iid  Martin, 
looking  with  a  smile  toward  the  light:  "and  we 
should  have,  I  hope,  children  about  us.  They  'd 
be  very  fond  of  you,  Tom." 

But  not  a  word  said  Mr.  Pinch.  The  words  he 
would  have  uttered,  died  upon  his  lips,  and  lound 
a  life  more  spiritual  in  self-denying  thong  lits. 

"  All  the  children  hereabouts  are  find  of  you, 
Tom;  and  mine  would  be,  of  course,"  pursued 
Martin.  "  Perhaps  I  might  name  one  ot  't  m  after 
you.  Tom,  eh  ?  Well,  I  don't  know  ;  'I'om  's  net 
a  bad  name.  Thomas  Pinch  Chuzzlevvit.  T.  P.<". 
on  his  pinafores ;  no  objection  to  that,  I  .should  say ." 

'i'om  cleared  his  throat,  and  smiled. 

"iS'/ic  would  like  you,  Tom,  I  know,"  said  Martin. 

"  Ay  1"  cried  Tom  Pinch,  faintly. 

"I  can  tell  exactly  what  she  would  think  of 
you,"  said  Martin,  leaning  his  chin  upon  his  hand, 
and  looking  through  the  window-glass  as  if  he 
read  there  what  he  said ;  "  I  know  her  so  well. 
She  would  smile,  Tom,  often  at  first  when  yoii 
spoke  to  her,  or  when  she  looked  at  yon— nii  rrily 
too  —  but  you  wouldn't  mind  that.  A  biii;hter 
smile  you  never  saw  I" 

"No,  no,''  said  Tom,  "I  wouldn't  mind  that." 

"She  would  be  as  tender  with  ytiu,  'i'om,"  said 
Martin,  "  as  if  you  were  a  child  yourstlt.  So  yo> 
are  almost,  in  some  things,  an't  you  Tom  ?" 

Mr.  Pinch  nodded  his  entire  assent.  * 

"She  would  always  be  kind  and  go(jd-hnniourcd, 
and  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Martin;  "and  when 
she  found  out  exactly  what  sort  of  fellow  you 
were  (which  she'd  do,  very  soon,)  she  wouli  [.re- 
tend  togiveyou  little  commissions  to  exteute,  and 
to  ask  little  services  of  you,  which  she  knew  you 
were  burning  to  render;  so  that  when  she  re.iily 
pleased  you  most,  she  would  try  to  make  you 
think  you  most  pleased  her.  She  would  lake  to 
you  uncommonly,  Tom;  and  would  undi  rstand 
you  far  more  delicately  than  I  ever  shall ;  -nd 
would  often  say,  I  know,  that  you  were  a  harm. 
less,  gentle,  well-intentioned,  good  ftllow." 

How  silent  Tom  Pinch  was  I 

•*  In  honour  of  old  times,"  said  Martin,  "  and  o' 


82 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


ner  Iiavingf  lieard  you  play  the  org-an  in  this  damp  I 
little  churcii  down  here  —  for  nothing  loo  —  \vc 
will  h;ive  one  in  the  house.  I  shiill  build  an  archi- 
tectural niusic-rooin  on  a  plan  of  my  own,  and 
it'll  look  rather  knowing  in  a  recess  at  one  end. 
There  you  shall  play  away,  Tom,  till  you  tire 
yourself';  and,  as  you  like  to  do  so  in  the  dark,  it 
eh^tll  he  dark;  and  many's  the  summer  evening 
she  and  I  will  sit  and  listen  to  you,  Tom  ;  be  sure 
of  that!" 

It  may  have  required  a  stronger  effort  on  Tom 
Pinch's  part  to  leave  the  seat  on  which  he  sat,  and 
shake  his  friend  by  both  hands,  with  nothing  but 
perenity  and  grateful  feeling  painted  on  his  face; 
it  may  have  required  a  stronger  etTort  to  perform 
this  simple  act  with  a  pure  heart,  than  to  achieve 
many  and  many  a  deed  to  which  the  doubtful 
trumpet  blown  by  Fame  has  lustily  resounded. 
Doubtful,  because  from  its  long  hovering  over 
scenes  of  violence,  the  smoke  and  steam  of  death 
have  clogged  the  keys  of  that  brave  instrument ; 
and  it  is  not  always  that  its  notes  are  either  true 
or  tuneful. 

"It's  a  proof  of  the  kindness  of  human  na- 
ture," said  Tom,  characteristically  putting  himself 
quite  out  of  sight  in  the  matter,  "  that  everybody 
who  comes  here,  as  you  have  done,  is  more  con- 
Biderate  and  affectionate  to  me  than  I  should  have 
any  right  to  hope,  if  I  were  the  most  sanguine 
creature  in  the  world  ;  or  should  h:ive  any  power 
to  express,  if  I  were  the  most  eloquent.  It  really 
overpowers  me.  But  trust  me,"  said  Tom,  "that 
I  am  not  ungrateful  —  that  I  never  forget  —  and 
that,  if  I  can  ever  prove  the  truth  of  my  words  to 
you,  I  will." 

"'I'hat's  all  right,"  observed  Martin,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair  with  a  hand  in  each  pocket,  and 
yawning  drearily.  "  Very  fine  talking,  Tom  ;  but 
I  'm  at  Pecksniff's,  I  remember,  and  perhaps  a 
mile  or  so  out  of  the  high-road  to  fortune  just  at 
this  minute.  So  you  've  lieard  again  this  morning 
from  what's  his  name,  eh  ?" 

"  Who  may  that  be?"  asked  Tom,  seeming  to 
enter  a  mild  protest  on  behalf  of  the  dignity  of  an 
absent  person. 

"  You  know.     What  is  it  ?    Northkey." 

"  VVestlock,"  rejoined  Tom,  in  rather  a  louder 
tone  than  usual. 

"  Ah  I  to  be  sure,"  said  Martin,  "  Westlock.  I 
knew  it  was  something  connected  with  a  point  of 
the  compass  and  a  door.  Well !  and  what  says 
Westlock  ?" 

"  Oh  !  he  has  come  into  his  property,"  answered 
Toui,  nodding  his  head,  and  smiling, 
k     "  lie's  a  lucky  dog,"  said  Martin.     "  I  wish  it 
were  mine  instead.     Is  tliat  all  the  mystery  you 
were  to  tell  me  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Tom  ;  "  not  ali.' 

"  What  is  the  rest  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"  For  the  matter  of  that,"  said  Tom,  "  it 's  no 
mystery,  and  you  won't  think  much  of  it;  but 
it 's  very  pleasant  to  mc.  John  always  used  to 
■ay  when  he  was  here,  '  Mark  my  words.  Pinch. 
When  my  father's  executors  cash  up' — he  used 
•trangc  expressions  now  and  then,  but  that  was 
his  way." 

"  Cash-up 's  a  very  good  expression,"  observed 
Martin,  "  when  other  people  don't  »|>ply  it  to  you." 
Well!    What  a  slow  f.  llnw  you  are.  Pinch  !'' 

"  Yes,  I  am  I   know,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but  you  '11 


make  me  nervous  if  you  tell  me  so.  I'm  afraid 
you  have  put  me  out  a  little  now,  for  I  lorgel  what 
I  was  going  to  say." 

"  When  John's  father's  executors  casneO  U|)" — 
said  Martin  imi)atiently. 

"  Oh,  yes,  to  be  sure,"  cried  Tom  ;  "yes.  '  Then,' 
says  John,  '  1  'II  give  you  a  dinner,  Pinch,  and 
come  down  to  Salisbury  on  purpose.'  Now,  when 
John  wrote  the  other  day — the  morning  E^ccksuifF 
left,  you  know — he  said  his  business  was  on  tiie 
point  of  being  iiiiuudiatcly  settltid,  and  us  he  wan 
to  receive  his  money  directly,  wiien  could  1  meet 
him  at  Salisbury  ?  1  wrote  and  said,  any  day  this 
week;  and  I  told  him  besides,  that  tiiere  was  a 
new  pupil  here,  and  what  a  fine  fellow  you  were, 
and  what  friends  we  had  become.  Upi>n  wliicli 
John  writes  back  this  letter" — Tom  produced  it — 
"  fixes  to-morrow  ;  sends  his  compliments  to  yuu  ; 
and  begs  tliat  we  three  may  have  tiie  |)k'asuru  of 
dining  together — not  at  the  house  where  you  and 
I  were,  either ;  but  at  the  very  first  hotel  in  the 
town.     Read  what  he  says." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Martin,  glancing  over  it  witl^ 
his  customary  coolness;  "much  obliged  to  him. 
I  'm  agreeable." 

Tom  could  have  wished  him  to  be  a  little  more 
astonished,  a  little  more  pleased,  or  in  some  toriri 
or  other  a  little  more  interested  in  such  a  great 
event.  But  he  was  perfectly  self-possessed  :  and, 
falling  into  his  favourite  sol.ice  of  whistlmg,  look 
another  turn  at  tlie  grammar-school,  as  if  nothing 
at  all  had  happened.. 

Mr.  Pecksnilf's  horse  being  regarded  in  the 
liglit  of  a  sacred  animal,  only  to  be  driven  by  hiui, 
the  chief  priest  ot  that  tcin[)le,  or  ly  some  person 
distinctly  nominated  for  the  time  being  to  that 
high  otiice  by  himselti  the  two  young  men  agr^red 
to  walk  to  Salisbury  ;  and  so,  when  the  time  came, 
they  set  off  on  tiiot ;  which  was,  altei  all,  a  better 
mode  of  travelling  tiuui  in  tiie  gig,  as  the  weutiiei 
was  very  cold  and  very  dry. 

Better!  a  rare  strong,  hearty,  healthy  walk — 
four  statute  miles  an  hour  —  preferable  to  that 
rumbling,  tumbling,  jolting,  shaking,  scraping, 
creaking,  villanous  old  gig?  Why,  the  two  things 
will  not  admit  of  comjurison.  It  is  an  insult  to 
tiie  walk,  to  set  them  side  by  side.  Wheie  is  an 
instance  of  a  gig  having  ever  circulated  a  man's 
blond,  unless  when,  putting  liim  in  danger  .if  his 
neck,  it  awakened  in  his  veins  and  in  his  ears, 
and  all  along  his  spine,  a  tingling  heat,  much 
more  peculiar  than  agreeable?  When  did  a  gig 
ever  siiarpen  anybody's  wits  and  oneriries,  unUss 
it  was  when  the  horse  bolted,  and,  crasliiug  m,.dly 
down  a  steep  hill  with  a  stone  wall  at  tiic  hottoui, 
his  desperate  circumstances  suggested  to  the  only 
gentleman  lett  inside,  some  novel  and  uiilieaid-ol" 
mode  of  dropping  out  behind  ?  Better  than  the  gig  ! 

'I'he  air  was  cold,  roin;  so  it  was,  there  is  no 
denying  it;  but  would  it  have  been  more  genial 
in  the  gig?  The  blacksmitirs  fire  burned  very 
bright,  and  leaped  up  high,  as  th<  ugh  it  w.mtej 
men  to  warm  ;  but  would  it  have  been  less  teiupt* 
ing,  looked  at  from  tlu^  clammy  cushions  of  a  gig  * 
The  wind  blew  keenly,  nipping  the  features  'tl 
the  hardy  wiglil  who  fought  his  way  along  ;  blind 
ing  him  with  his  own  hair  if  he  liad  enough  o*" 
it,  and  with  wintry  dust  il'hc  hadn't;  stopping  his 
breath  as  though  he  had  been  soused  in  a  cold 
bath  ;  tearing  aside  his  wrappings-up,  and  whist 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


8S 


f'.njr  in  \he  very  marrow  of  his  hones ;  but  it 
would  have  done  all  this  a  hundred  times  more 
fiercely  to  a  man  in  a  gig,  wouldn't  it?  A  fig  for 
gigs! 

Hetter  than  the  gig !  When  were  travellers  by 
•wheels  and  hoofs  seen  with  such  red-hot  clieeks 
Hs  those?  when  were  they  so  good-humouredly 
»nd  merrily  bioused  ?  when  did  tlieir  laughter 
ritiij  upon  ihe  air,  as  they  turned  them  round, 
wiiat  time  the  strong  gusts  came  sweeping  up ; 
and  facing  round  again  as  they  passed  by,  dashed 
on  in  such  a  glow  of  ruddy  health  as  nothing 
could  keep  pace  witii,  but  the  high  spirits  it  en- 
gendered ?  Better  than  a  gig !  Why  here  is  a 
man  in  a  gig  coming  Ihe  same  way  now.  Look 
at  him  as  he  passes  his  whip  in  his  left  hand, 
chafes  his  numbed  right  fingers  on  his  granite 
leg,  and  beats  those  marble  fnee  of  his  upon  the 
footboard.  Ha,  hn,  ha!  Who  would  exchange 
this  rapid  hurry  of  the  blood  for  yonder  stagnant 
misery,  though  its  pace  were  twenty  miles  for  one  ? 

Better  than  the  gig  !  No  man  in  a  gig  could 
have  snich  interest  in  tlie  milestones.  No  man  in 
a  gig  could  see,  or  feel,  or  think,  like  merry  users 
of  their  legs.  How,  as  the  wind  sweeps  on,  upon 
these  breezy  downs,  it  tracks  its  flights  in  darken- 
ing ripples  on  the  grass,  and  smoothest  shadows 
on  the  hills!  Look  round  and  round  upon  this 
bare  bleak  plain,  and  see  even  here,  upon  a  win- 
ter's day,  how  beautiful  the  shadows  are  !  Alas, 
it  IS  the  nature  of  their  kind  to  be  so.  The  love- 
liest things  in  life.  Tern,  are  but  shadows;  and 
they  come  and  go,  and  change,  and  fade  away,  ^s 
rapidly  as  these ! 

Another  mile,  and  then  begins  a  fall  of  snow, 
making  the  crow,  who  skims  away  so  close  above 
the  ground  to  shirk  the  wind,  a  blot  of  ink  upon 
the  landscape.  But  though  it  drives  and  drifts 
against  them  as  they  walk,  stiffening  on  their 
skirts,  and  freezing  in  the  la-slies  of  their  eyes, 
they  wouldn't  have  it  fall  more  sparingly,  no,  not 
so  much  as  by  a  single  flake,  nithough  they  had 
to  go  a  score  of  miles.  And,  lo !  the  towers  of 
the  Old  Cathedral  rise  before  tiiem,  even  now  ! 
and  by  and  by  they  come  into  the  siieltered  streets, 
made  strangely  silent  by  their  white  carpet;  and 
BO  to  the  Inn  for  which  they  are  bound;  where 
they  present  such  flushed  and  burning  faces  to  the 
cold  waiter,  and  are  so  brimful  of  vigour,  that  he 
almost  feels  assaulted  by  their  presence,  and, 
having  nothing  to  oppose  to  the  attack  (being 
fresh,  or  rather  stale,  from  the  blazing  fire  in  the 
coffee-room,)  is  quite  put  out  of  his  pale  counte- 
nance. 

A  famous  Inn  !  the  hall  a  very  grove  of  dead 
game,  and  dangling  joints  of  mutton;  and  in  one 
corner  an  illustrious  larder,  with  glass  doors,  de- 
veloping cold  fowls  and  noble  joints,  and  tarts 
wherein  the  raspberry  jam  coyly  withdrew  itself, 
as  such  a  precious  creature  should,  behind  a  lat- 
lice-work  of  pastry.  And  behold,  on  the  first 
floor,  at  the  court-end  of  the  house,  in  a  room  with 
all  the  window-curtains  drawn,  a  fire  piled  half- 
way up  the  chimney,  plates  warming  before  it, 
wax  candles  gleaming  everywhere,  and  a  table 
spread  for  three,  with  silver  and  glass  enough  for 
thirty— John  Westlock  ;  not  the  old  John  of  Peck- 
snifTs,  but  a  proper  gentleman :  looking  another 
and  a  grander  person,  with  the  consciousness  of 
heiag  bis  own  master  and  having  money  in  the 


I  bank  ;  and  yet,  in  some  respects,  the  old  John  too, 
for  he  seized  Tom  Pinch  by  both  his  hands  tlse 
instant  he  appeared,  and  fairly  fiugged  him,  in  hi» 
cordial  welcome. 

"And  this,"  said  John,  "  is  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  I 
am  very  glad  to  see  him  I"  John  had  an  ofi- 
hand  manner  of  his  own;  so  they  shook  hands 
warmly,  and  were  friends  in  no  time, 

"  Stand  off  a  moment,  Tom,"  cried  the  old 
pupil,  laying  one  hand  on  each  of  Mr.  Pinch's 
shoulders,  and  holding  him  out  at  arms'  length, 
"  Let  me  look  at  you!  Just  the  same!  Not  a 
bit  changed  !" 

"  Why,  it 's  not  so  very  long  ago,  you  know," 
said  Tom  Pinch,  "  after  all." 

"  It  seems  an  age  to  nw"  cried  John  ;  "  and  so 
it  ought  to  seem  to  you,  you  dog."  And  then  he 
pushed  Tom  down  into  the  easiest  cliair,  and 
clapped  him  on  the  back  so  heartily,  and  so  lika 
his  old  self  in  their  old  bed-room  at  old  Peck- 
snifPs,  that  it  was  a  toss-up  with  Tom  Pinch 
whether  he  should  laugh  or  cry.  Laughter  won 
it;  and  they  all  three  laughed  together. 

"  I  have  ordered  everything  for  dinner  that  we 
used  to  say  we  'd  have,  Tom,"  observed  John 
Westlock. 

"  No!"  said  Tom  Pinch,  "  Have  you?" 

"  Every  thing.  Don't  laugh  if  you  can  help  it 
before  the  waiters.  /  couldn't  when  I  was  order- 
ing it.     It 's  like  a  dream." 

John  was  wrong  there,  because  nobody  ever 
dreamed  such  a  soup  as  was  put  upon  the  table 
directly  afterwards ;  or  such  fish ;  or  such  side- 
dishes  ;  or  such  a  top  and  bottom ;  or  such  a 
course  of  birds  and  sweets ;  or  in  short  anything 
approaching  the  reality  of  that  entertainment,  at 
tcn-and-sixpence  a  head,  exclusive  of  wines.  Aa 
to  them,  the  man  who  can  dream  such  iced  cham- 
pagne, claret,  port,  or  sherry,  had  better  go  to  bed 
and  stop  there. 

But  perhaps  the  finest  feature  of  the  banquet 
was,  that  nobody  was  half  bo  much  amazed  by 
every  thing  as  John  himself,  who,  in  his  high  de- 
light, was  constantly  bursting  into  fits  of  laughter, 
and  then  endeavouring  to  appear  preternaturally 
solemn,  lest  the  waiters  should  conceive  he  wasn't 
used  to  it.  Some  of  the  things  they  brought  him 
to  carve,  were  such  outrageous  practical  jokes, 
though,  that  it  was  imfwssible  to  ctand  it;  and 
when  Tom  Pinch  insisted,  in  spite  of  the  deferen- 
tial advice  of  an  attendant,  not  only  on  breakmg 
down  the  outer  wall  of  a  raised  pie  with  a  table 
spoon,  but  on  trj'ing  to  eat  it  afterwards,  John  loflt 
all  dignity, and  sat  behind  the  gorgeous  dish-cover 
at  the  head  of  the  table,  roaring  to  that  extent  that 
he  was  audible  in  the  kitchen.  Nor  had  he  the 
least  objection  to  laugh  at  himself,  as  he  demo^ 
strated  when  they  had  all  tliree  gathered  round 
the  fire,  and  the  dessert  was  on  the  table ;  at 
which  period  the  head  waiter  inquired  with  re- 
spectful  solicitude  whether  that  port,  being  a  light 
and  tawny  wine,  was  suited  to  his  taste,  or  whe- 
ther  he  would  wish  to  try  a  fruity  port  with 
greater  body.  To  this  John  gravely  answered, 
that  he  was  well  satisfied  with  what  he  had,  which 
he  esteemed,  as  one  might  say,  a  pretty  tidy  vint- 
age; for  which  the  waiter  thanked  him  and  wittw 
drew,  and  then  John  told  his  friends,  with  a  broad 
grin,  that  he  supposed  it  was  all  right,  but  dido*, 
know  ;  and  went  off  into  a  perfect  shout. 


64 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


They  were  ^ery  merry  and  full  of  enjoyment 
the  whole  time,  but  not  the  least  pleasant  part  of 
<be  festival  was,  when  they  all  three  sat  about  the 
ire,  crurkin^r  nuts,  drinking^  wine,  and  talking 
'.heerftilly.  It  h.ippened  that  Tom  Pinch  had  a 
tviird  to  say  to  his  friend  the  organist's  assistant, 
and  so  deserted  his  warm  corner  for  a  few  minutes 
Hi  this  season, lest  it  should  grow  too  late;  leaving 
tlie  other  two  young  men  together. 

Thoy  drank  his  health  in  his  absence  of  course; 
and  John  VVestlock  took  that  opportunity  of  say- 
ino-,  that  he  had  never  had  even  a  peevish  word 
with  Tom  during-  the  whole  term  of  their  resi- 
dence  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  house.  This  naturally 
led  him  to  dwell  upon  Tom's  character,  and  to 
hint  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  understood  it  pretty  well. 
He  only  hinted  this,  and  very  distantly;  knowing 
that  it  pained  Tom  Pinnli  to  have  that  gentleman 
disparaged,  and  thinking  it  would  be  as  well  to 
leave  the  new  pupil  to  his  own  discoveries. 

"  Yes,"  said  Martin.  "  It's  impossible  to  like 
Pinch  better  than  I  do,  or  to  do  greater  justice  to 
his  good  qualities.  He's  the  most  willing  fellow 
I  ever  saw." 

"  He's  rather  too  willing,"  observed  John,  who 
was  quick  in  observation.  "  It's  quite  a  fault  in 
him." 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Martin.  "  Very  true.  There 
was  a  fellow  only  a  week  or  so  ago — a  Mr.  Tigg 
— who  borrowed  all  the  money  he  had,  on  a  pro- 
mise to  repay  it  in  a  few  days.  It  was  but  half  a 
sovereign,  to  be  sure  ;  but  it's  well  it  was  no  more, 
for  he'll  never  see  it  again." 

"  Poor  feTlow  !"  said  John,  who  had  been  very 
attentive  to  these  fi-w  words.  "  Perhaps  you  have 
not  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  thnt,  in  his 
own  pecuniary  transactions,  Tom's  proud." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  No,  I  hav'nt.  What  do 
ynii  mean  ?     Won't  he  borrow  ?" 

John  Westlock  shook  his  head. 

"That's  very  odd,"  sn id  Martin,  setting  down 
his  empty  glass.  "  He'f  a  strange  compound,  to 
be  sure." 

"  As  to  receiving  money  as  a  gift,"  resumed 
John  Westlock,  "  I  think  he'd  die  fir>;t." 

"  He's  made  up  of  simplicity,"  said  Martin. 
"  Help  yourself." 

"  You,  however,"  pursued  John,  filling  his  own 
gliiss,  and  looking  at  his  companion  with  sotne 
curi'isity,  "  who  arc  older  than  the  majority  of 
Mr.  Pecksniff's  assistants,  and  have  evidently  had 
niiji'h  more  experience,  understand  him,  I  have 
n  )  doubt,  and  see  how  liable  he  is  to  be  imposed 
UfKin." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Martin,  stretching  out  his 
legs,  and  holding  his  wine  between  his  eye  and 
the  liaht,  "  Mr.  Pecksniff  knows  that  too.  So  do 
h;s  diughters.     Eh?" 

John  Westlock  smiled,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  Ry  the  bye,"  said  Martin,  "  that  reminds  me. 
What's  your  opinion  of  Pecksniff?  How  did  he 
use  you  ?  What  do  you  think  of  him  now?  Cool- 
ly you  know,  when  it's  all  over  ?" 

"  Ask  Pinch,"  returned  the  old  pupil.  "  He 
knows  what  my  sentiments  used  to  be  upon  the 
subject     They  are  not'changed,  I  assure  you." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Martin,  "  I'd  rather  have  them 
from  you." 

"  But  Pinch  says  they  are  unjust,"  rrged  John 
with  a  (mile. 


"  Oh  !  well !  Then  I  know  what  course  tnej 
take  beforehand,"  said  Martin;  "and,  theretc>re, 
you  can  have  no  delicacy  in  speaking  plainly. 
Don't  mind  me,  I  beg.  I  don't  like  him,  I  tell  you 
frankly.  I  am  with  him  because  it  hapjiens  from 
particular  circumstances  to  suit  my  convenienco. 
I  have  some  ability,  I  believe,  in  that  way  ;  and 
the  obligation,  if  any,  will  moFt  likely  be  on  his 
side  and  not  mine.  At  the  lowest  mark,  the  balance 
will  be  even  and  there'll  be  no  obligation  at  all. 
So  you  may  talk  to  me,  as  if  I  had  no  connection 
with  him." 

"  If  you  press  me  to  give  my  opinion" — return- 
ed John  Westlock. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  snid  Martin.    "  You'll  oblige  me." 

"  I  should  say,"  resumed  the  other,  "  that  he  is 
the  most  consummate  scoundrel  on  the  face  of  the 
earth." 

"Oh  !"  said  Martin,  as  coolly  as  ever.  "  That's 
rather  strong." 

"Not  stronger  than  he  deserves,"  said  John; 
"and  if  he  culled  upon  me  to  express  my  opinion 
of  him  to  his  face,  I  would  do  so  in  tlie  very  same 
terms,  without  the  least  qualification.  His  treat- 
ment of  Pinch  is  in  itself  enough  to  justify  them; 
but  wlien  I  look  back  upon  the  five  years  I  passed 
in  that  house,  and  remember  the  hypocrisy,  the 
knavery,  the  meanness,  the  false  pretences,  the  lip 
service  of  that  fellow,  and  his  trading  in  saintly 
f:;mblance  for  the  very  worst  realities;  when  I  re- 
member how  o'len  I  was  the  vv'itness  of  all  this, 
and  how  oflen  I  was  made  a  kind  of  party  to  it 
by  the  fact  of  being  there,  with  him  f<:>r  my  teach- 
er ;  I  swear  to  yon,  that  I  almost  despise  myself." 

Martin  drained  his  glass,  and  looked  at  the  fire 

"I  don't  mean  to  say,  that  it  is  a  right  feeling," 
pursued  John  Westlock,  "  because  it  was  no  fault 
of  mine  ;  and  I  can  quite  understand — yon,  for  in- 
stance, fully  appreciating  him,  and  yet  being  forced 
by  circumstances  to  remain  there.  I  tell  you  sim- 
ply what  my  fi'cling  is;  and  even  now,  when,  a« 
you  say,  it's  all  over;  and  when  I  have  th<!  sati.s 
faction  of  knowing  that  he  always  bated  me,  and 
we  always  quarrelled,  and  I  always  told  him  my 
mind;  even  now,  I  feel  sorry  that  I  didn't  yield 
to  an  im;)ulse  I  often  had,  as  a  hoy,  of  running 
away  frotii  him  and  going  abroad." 

"  Why  !>broad  ?"  asked  Martin,  turning  his  cye« 
upon  the  speaker. 

"  In  search,"  rc|)lied  John  Westlock,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  "  of  the  livelihood  I  c;ouldn't  have 
earned  at  home.  There  would  have  been  somo 
thing  spirited  in  that.  But,  come — till  your  glass, 
and  let  us  firget  him." 

"  As  soon  us  yon  please,"  said  Martin.  "In  re- 
ference to  myself  and  my  conne'ction  with  bin-.,  I 
have  only  to  repeat  what  I  said  bef(>re,  I  have 
taken  my  own  way  with  hiin  so  fiir,  and  shall  con- 
tinue  to  do  so,  even  more  than  ever;  lor  the  fact 
is — to  tell  you  the  truth — that  I  believe  he  looks  to 
me  to  supply  his  defects,  and  couldn't  afford  to 
lose  me.  I  had  a  notion  of  that,  in  going  tlnjic. 
Your  health  !" 

"  Thank    you,"    returned   young   Westlock.  — 
"  Yours.    And  may  the  new  pupil  turn  out  as  well 
as  you  can  desire  !" 
"What  new  pupil?" 

"The  unfortunate  youth,  bnrn  under  an  auspL 
cious  star,"  returned  John  Westlock,  lauyhing; 
"  whose  parents,  or  guardians,  are  destined  to  be 


MARTIN   CnUZZLEWIT. 


85 


hook«'d  by  the  advertisement.  What !  don't  you 
know  that  he  has  advertised  again  ?" 

"  No." 

"Oh,  yes.  I  read  it  just  before  dinner  in  the 
old  newspaper.  I  know  it  to  be  his  ;  having  some 
rtason  to  remember  the  style.  Hush  !  Here's 
Pincl).  Strange,  is  it  not,  that  the  more  he  likes 
Pecksniff  (if  he  can  like  him  better  than  he  does) 
the  greater  reason  one  has  to  like  him?  Not  a 
word  more,  or  we  shall  spoil  his  whole  enjoy- 
ment." 

Tom  entered  as  t!ie  words  were  spoken,  with  a 
rndiiint  smile  upon  his  face;  and  rubbing  his 
hands,  more  from  a  sense  of  delight  than  because 
he  was  cold  (for  he  had  been  running  fast,)  sat 
down  in  his  warm  corner  again,  and  was  as  happy 
as — as  only  Tom  Pinch  could  be.  There  is  no 
other  simile  that  will  express  his  state  of  mind. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  when  he  had  gazed  at  his 
friend  for  some  time  in  silent  pleasure,  "  so  you 
really  are  a  gentleman  at  last,  John.  Well,  to  be 
Bure  !" 

"  Trying  to  be,  Tom  ;  trying  to  be,"  he  rejoin- 
ed good-humouredly.  "There  is  no  saying  what 
I  may  turn  out,  in  time." 

"  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  carry  your  own  box 
to  the  mail,  now,"  said  Tom  Pinch,  smiling  :  "  al- 
though you  lost  it  altogether  by  not  taking  it." 

"Wouldn't  I?"  retorted  John.  "That's  all 
you  know  about  it,  Pinch.  It  must  be  a  very 
heavy  box  that  I  wouldn't  carry  to  get  away  from 
Pecksniff's,  Tom." 

"There!"  cried  Pinch,  turning  to  Martin,  "I 
tJd  you  so.  The  great  fault  in  his  character  is 
his  injustice  to  Pecksniff.  You  musn't  mind  a 
H'ord  he  says  on  that  subject.  His  prejudice  is 
inost  extraordinary." 

"The  absence  of  anything  like  prejudice  on 
Tom's  part,  you  know,"  said  John  Westlock, 
laughing  heartily,  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  Mr. 
Pinch's  shoulder,  "is  perfectly  wonderful.  If  one 
man  ever  had  a  profound  knowledge  of  another, 
and  saw  him  in  a  true  light,  and  in  his  own  pro- 
per colours,  Tom  has  that  knowledge  of  Mr.  Peck- 
eniff." 

"  Why,  of  course  I  have,"  cried  Tom.  "That's 
exaetl}'  what  I  have  so  often  said  to  you.  If  you 
knew  him  as  well  as  I  do — John,  I  'd  give  almost 
any  money  to  bring  that  about  —  you'd  admire, 
respect,  and  reverence  him.  You  couldn't  help 
it.  Oil,  how  you  wounded  his  feelings  when  you 
went  awiiy !" 

"  in  had  known  whereabout  his  feelings  lay," 
retorted  young  Westlock,  "I'd  have  done  my 
best,  Tom,  with  that  end  in  view,  you  may  depend 
upon  it.  But  as  I  couldn't  wound  him  in  what  he 
has  not,  and  in  what  he  knows  nothing  of,  except 
in  his  ability  to  probe  them  to  the  quick  in  other 
people,  I  am  afraid  I  can  lay  no  claim  to  your 
compliment." 

Mr.  Pinch,  being  unwilling  to  protract  a  dis- 
cufision  which  might  possibly  corrupt  Martin, 
forbore  to  say  anything  in  replv  to  this  speech; 
hut  John  Westlock,  whom  nothing  short  of  an 
iron  gag  would  have  silenced  when  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff's merits  were  once  in  question,  continued 
notwithstanding. 

"  His  feelings  !  Oh,  he  's  a  tender-hearted  man. 
fft«  leelings  I    Oh,  he's  a  ccnsiderate,  conscien- 


tious, self-examining,  moral  vagabond,  he  is!  Hi$ 
feelings  !    Oh  !  what 's  the  matter,  Tom  !" 

Mr.  Pinch  was  by  this  time  erect  upon  the 
hearth-rug,  buttoning  his  coat  with  great  <  :  -  rj;y. 

"  I  can't  bear  it,"  said  Tom,  shaking  his  liead. 
"No.  I  really  cannot.  You  must  excuse  me, 
John.  I  have  a  great  esteem  and  friendship  for 
you;  I  love  you  very  much  ;  and  have  been  per- 
fectly charmed  and  overjoyed  to-day,  to  tind  you 
just  the  same  as  ever;  but  I  cannot  listen  to  this." 

"Why,  it's  my  old  way,  Tom;  and  you  say 
yourself  that  you  are  glad  to  find  me  unchanged." 

"  Not  in  this  respect,"  said  Tom  Pinch.  "  You 
must  excuse  me,  John.  I  cannot,  really;  I  «ill 
not.  It 's  very  wrong ;  you  should  be  more  guard- 
ed in  your  expressions.  It  was  bad  enough  when 
you  and  I  used  to  be  alone  together;  but  under 
existing  circumstances,  I  can't  endure  it,  really. 
No.     I  cannot,  indeed  !" 

"You  are  quite  right  I"  exclaimed  the  other, 
exchanging  looks  with  Martin;  "and  I  am  quite 
wrong,  Tom.  I  don't  know  how  the  deuce  we 
fell  on  this  unlucky  theme.  I  beg  your  pardon 
with  all  my  heart." 

"  You  have  a  free  and  manly  temper,  I  know," 
said  Pinch  ;  "  and  therefore,  your  being  so  unge- 
nerous in  this  solitary  instance,  only  grieves  me 
the  more.  It's  not  my  pardon  you  have  to  ask, 
John.  You  have  done  me  nothing  but  kind- 
nesses." 

"  Well !  Pecksniff's  pardon,  then,"  said  younfr 
Westlock.  "  Anything,  Tom,  or  anybody.  Perk, 
sniff's  pardon — will  that  do?  Here,  let  us  drink 
Pecksniff's  health !" 

"Thank  you,"  cried  Tom,  shaking  hands  wiiii 
him  eagerly,  and  filling  a  bumper.  "  Thank  you  ; 
I  'II  drink  it  with  all  my  heart,  John.  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff's health,  and  prosperity  to  him  1" 

John  Westlock  echoed  the  sentiment,  or  nearly 
so ;  for  he  drank  Mr.  Pecksniff's  health,  and 
Something  to  him — but  what,  was  not  quite  audi- 
ble. The  general  unanimity  being  then  com- 
pletely restored,  they  drew  their  chairs  closer 
round  the  fire,  and  conversed  in  perfect  harmony 
and  enjoyment  until  bed-tinic. 

No  slight  circumstance,  perhaps,  could  have 
better  illustrated  the  difference  of  character  be- 
tween John  Westlock  and  Martin  Chuzzlewit, 
than  the  manner  in  which  each  of  the  young  men 
contemplated  Tom  Pinch,  after  the  little  rupture 
just  described.  There  was  a  certain  amount  of 
jocularity  in  the  looks  of  both,  no  doubt,  but  there 
all  resemblance  ceased.  The  old  pu[iil  could  not 
do  enough  to  show  Tom  how  cordially  he  felt  to- 
ward him,  and  his  friendly  regard  seemed  of  a 
graver  and  more  thoughtful  kind  than  before. 
The  new  one,  on  the  other  hand,  had  no  impulse 
but  to  laugh  at  the  recollection  of  Tom's  e.\tre:iie 
absurdity  ;  and  mingled  with  his  anmsement  there 
was  something  slighting  and  contemptuous,  im'i- 
cntive,  as  it  appeared,  of  his  opinion  that  Mr 
Pinch  was  much  too  far  gone  in  simplicity,  tn  be 
admitted  as  the  friend  on  serious  and  equal  terint 
of  any  r.itional  man. 

John  Westlock,  who  did  nothing  by  halves,  if 
he  could  help  it,  had  provided  beds  for  his  two 
guests  in  the  hotel;  and  after  a  very  happy  evei. 
ning,  they  retired.  Mr.  Pinch  was  sitting  on  the 
side  of  his  bed  with  '.is  cra^rat  and  shoes  (j€  ru 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


minating  on  the  manifold  good  qualities  of  his  old 
friend,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  his 
chamber  door,  and  the  voice  of  John  himself. 

*'  You  're  not  asleep  yet,  are  you,  Tom  ?" 

"  Bless  you,  no  1  not  I.  I  was  thinking  of  you," 
/«plicd  Tom,  opening  the  door.     "  Come  in." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  detain  you,"  said  John  ; 
'*'but  I  have  forgotten  all  the  evening  a  little  com- 
Jftission  I  look  upon  myself;  and  I  am  afraid  I 
inay  forget  it  again,  if  I.  fail  to  discharge  it  at 
opce.     You  know  a  Mr.  Tigg,  Tom,  I  believe?" 

"  Tigg  I"  cried  Tom,  "  Tigg  !  The  gentleman 
who  borrowed  some  money  of  me  ?" 

"  Exactly,"  said  John  VVestlock.  "  He  begged 
nie  to  present  his  compliments,  and  to  return  it 
with  many  thanks.  Here  it  is.  I  suppose  it's  a 
good  one,  but  he  is  rather  a  doubtful  kind  of  cus- 
tomer, Tom." 

Mr.  Pincli  received  the  little  piece  of  gold  with 
a  face  whose  brightness  might  have  shamed  the 
metal;  and  said  he  had  no  fear  about  that.  He 
was  glad,  he  added,  to  find  Mr.  Tigg  so  prompt 
and  honourable  in  his  dealings;  very  glad. 

"  Why,  to  toll  you  the  truth,  Tom,"  replied  his 
friend,  "  he  is  not  always  so.  If  you  '11  take  my 
advice,  you  '11  avoid  him  as  much  as  you  can,  in 
ihe  event  of  your  encountering  him  again.  And 
by  no  means,  Tom — pray  bear  this  in  mind,  for  I 
am  very  serious — by  no  means  lend  him  money 
any  more." 

"  Ay,  ay  I"  said  Tom,  with  his  eyes  wide  open. 

"  He  is  very  far  from  being  a  reputable  ac- 
quaintance," returned  young  Westiock  ;  "  and  the 
more  you  let  him  know  you  think  so,  the  better 
for  you,  Tom." 

"  I  say,  John,"  quoth  Mr.  Pinch,  as  his  coun- 
tenance  fell,  and  he  shook  his  head  in  a  dejected 
manner,  "  I  hope  you  're  not  getting  into  bad  com- 
pany." 

"  No,  no,"  he  replied,  laughing.  "  Don't  be  un- 
easy on  that  score," 

"  Oh,  but  I  am  uneasy,"  said  Tom  Pinch;  "  I 
can't  help  it,  when  I  hear  you  talking  in  that  way. 
If  Mr.  Tiirg  is  what  you  describe  him  to  be,  you 
have  no  business  to  know  him,  John.  You  may 
langh,  but  1  don't  consid  ,r  it  by  any  means  a 
laughing  matter,  I  assure  you." 

"  No,  no,"  returned  his  friend,  composing  his 
features.     "Quite  right.     It  is  not,  certainly." 

"You  kn6w,  John,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "your 
very  good  nature  and  kindness  of  heart  make  you 
thoughtless ;  and  you  can't  be  too  careful  on  such 
a  point  as  this.  Upon  my  word,  if  I  thought  you 
were  falling  among  bad  companions,  I  sliould  be 
quite  wretched,  for  I  know  how  difficult  you  would 
find  it  to  shake  them  off.  I  would  much  rather 
have  lost  this  money,  John,  than  I  would  have  had 
it  back  again  on  such  tfrms." 

"  I  tell  you,  my  dear  good  old  fellow,"  cried  his 
friend,  shnking  him  to  and  fro  with  both  hands, 
and  smiling  at  him  with  a  cheerful,  open  counte- 
nance, that  would  have  carried  conviction  to  a 
•mud  much  more  suspicious  than  Tom's;  "I  tell 
you  there  is  no  danger." 

"Well,"  cried  Tom,  "I  am  glad  to  hear  it;  I 
am  overjoyed  to  hear  it.  I  am  sure  there  is  not, 
when  you  say  so  in  that  maimer.  You  won't  take 
rt  ill,  John,  that  I  said  what  I  did  just  now?" 

■'  111  1"  said  the  other,  ofiving  his  hand  a  hearty 
squeeze ;  "  wliy  what  do  you  think  1  am  made  of? 


Mr.  Tigg  and  I  are  not  on  such  an  intimate  foot- 
ing that  you  need  be  at  all  uneasy  ;  I  give  you 
my  solemn  assurance  of  that,  Tom.  You  are 
quite  comfortable  now?" 

"Quite,"  said  Tom. 

"  Then,  once  more,  good  night." 

"  Good  night  I"  cried  Tom  ;  "  and  such  pleasant 
dreams  to  you,  as  should  attend  the  sleep  of  tha 
best  fellow  in  the  world  I" 

"  Except  Pecksniff,"  said  his  friend,  stopping 
at  the  door  for  a  moment,  and  looking  gayly  back. 

"  Except  Pecksniff,"  answered  Tom,  with  great 
gravity  ;  "  of  course." 

And  thus  they  parted  for  the  night ;  John  West- 
lock  full  of  light-heartedness  and  good  humour; 
and  poor  Tom  Pinch  quite  satisfied,  though  still, 
as  he  turned  over  on  his  side  in  bed,  he  muttered 
to  himself,  "  I  really  do  wish,  for  all  that,  though, 
that  he  wasn't  acquainted  with  Mr.  Tigg  I" 

They  breakfasted  together  very  early  next  morn, 
ing,  for  the  two  young  men  desired  to  get  back 
again  in  good  season;  and  John  Westiock  was  to 
return  to  London  by  the  coach  that  day.  As  he 
had  some  hours  to  spare,  he  bore  them  company 
for  three  cr  four  miles  on  their  walk ;  and  only 
parted  from  them  at  last  in  sheer  necessity.  The 
parting  was  an  unusually  hearty  one,  not  only  aa 
between  him  and  Tom  Pinch,  but  on  the  side  of 
Martin  also,  who  had  found  in  the  old  pupil  a  very 
uifferent  sort  of  person  from  the  milksop  he  had 
prepared  himself  to  expect. 

Yonng  Westiock  stopped  upon  a  rising  ground, 
when  he  had  gone  a  little  distance,  and  looked 
back.  They  were  walking  at  a  brisk  pace,  and 
Tom  appeared  to  be  talking  earnestly.  Martin 
had  taken  off  his  great-coat,  the  wind  being  now 
behind  them,  and  carried  it  upon  his  arm.  As  he 
looked,  he  saw  Tom  relieve  him  of  it,  after  a  faint 
resistance,  and,  throwing  it  upon  his  own,  encum. 
her  himself  with  the  weight  of  both.  This  trivial 
incident  impressed  the  old  pupil  mightily,  for  he 
stood  there,  gazing  after  them,  until  they  were 
hidden  from  his  view;  when  he  shook  his  head,  aa 
if  he  were  troubled  by  some  uneasy  reflection, 
and  thoughtfully  retraced  his  steps  to  Salisbury. 

In  the  mean  time,  Martm  and  Tom  pursued 
their  war,  until  they  halted,  safe  and  sound,  at  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  house,  where  a  brief  epistle  from  that 
good  gentleman  to  Mr.  Pinch,  announced  the  fa- 
mily's return  by  that  night's  coach.  As  it  would 
pass  the  corner  of  the  lane  at  about  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  Mr.  Pecksniff  requested  that  the  gig 
might  be  in  waiting  at  the  finger-pf>st  about  that 
time,  together  willi  a  cart  for  the  luggage.  And 
to  the  end  that  he  might  be  received  with  the 
greater  honour,  the  young  men  agreed  to  rise 
early,  and  bo  upon  the  spot  themselves. 

It  vvas  the  least  cheerful  day  they  had  yet  pass- 
ed together.  Martin  was  out  of  spirits  and  out 
of  humour,  and  took  every  opportunity  of  conrw 
paring  his  condition  and  prospects  with  those  of 
young  Westiock;  much  to  his  own  disadvantage 
always.  This  miiod  of  his  depressed  Tom  ;  and 
neither  the  moriiinsr's  parting,  nor  yesterday's  din- 
ner, helped  to  mend  the  matter.  So  the  hours 
dragged  on  heavily  enough;  and  they  were  glad 
to  go  to  bed  early. 

They  were  not  quite  so  glad  to  gel  up  ngam  at 
half.pasf  four  o'clock,  in  all  the  shivering  disrom 
fort  of  a  dark  winter's  morning ;  but  they  luruocl 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT. 


out  punf'tually,  .ind  were  at  the  fin£fer-post  full 
I)u!l-iin-hour  before  the  appoiiittd  time.  It  was 
not  by  any  means  a  lively  nuirning-,  for  the  sky 
vv:is  black  and  cloudy,  and  it  rained  hard  ;  but 
Martin  said  there  was  some  satisfaction  in  seeing 
that  brute  of  a  horse  (by  this,  he  meant  Mr.  Peck- 
(.nifT's  Arab  steed)  getting  very  wet ;  and  that  he 
:ejoic*xi,  on  his  account,  that  it  rained  so  fast. 
Fi:  ■;■  ihis  it  may  be  inferred,  that  Martin's  spirits 
had  not  improved,  as  indeed  they  had  not;  for 
while  he  and  Mr.  Pinch  stood  waiting  un  a  hedge, 
looking  at  the  rain,  the  gig,  the  cart,  and  its  reek- 
ing driver,  he  did  nothing  but  grumble;  and,  but 
tliat  it  is  indispensable  to  any  dispute  that  there 
should  be  two  parties  to  it,  he  would  certainly 
liave  picked  a  quarrel  with  Tom. 

At  length  the  noise  of  wheels  was  faintly  audi- 
ble in  the  distance,  and  presently  the  coach  came 
splashing  through  the  mud  and  mire,  with  one 
miserable  outside  passenger  crouching  down 
among  wet  straw,  under  a  saturated  umbrella ; 
and  the  coachman,  guard,  and  horses  in  a  fellow- 
ship of  dripping  wretchedness.  Immediately  on 
its  stoppiTig,  Mr.  Pecksniff  let  down  the  window- 
glass  and  hailed  Tom  Pinch. 

"  Dear  me,  Mr.  Pinch  !  is  it  possible  that  you 
are  out  upon  this  very  inclement  morning?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  cried  Tom,  advancing  eagerly, 
"  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  and  I,  sir " 

"  Oh  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  looking.not  so  much 
at  Martin  as  at  the  spot  on  which  he  stood.  "  Oh  ! 
Indeed  I  Do  me  the  favour  to  see  to  the  trunks, 
if  you  please,  Mr.  Pinch." 

Then  Mr.  Pecksniff  descended,  and  helped  his 
daughters  to  alight;  hut  neither  he  nor  the  young 
ladies  took  the  slightest  notice  of  Martin,  who  had 
advaaced  to  offer  his  assistance,  but  was  repulsed 
by  Mr.  Pecksniff's  standing  immediately  before 
his  person,  with  his  back  toward  him.  In  the 
same  manner,  and  in  profound  silence,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff h.'.iuled  his  daughters  into  the  gig;  and  fol- 
lowing  himself  and  taking  the  reins,  drove  off 
home. 

Lost  in  astonishment,  Martin  stood  staring  at 
the  conch  ;  and  when  the  coach  had  driven  away, 
at  Mr.  Pinch  and  the  luggage  ;  until  the  cart  mov- 
ed off  too ;  when  he  said  to  Tom  : 

"  Now,  vou  will  have  the  goodness  to  tell  me 
what  ^/(!S  portends?" 

"What'"  a.sked  Tom. 

"This  fdlovv's  behaviour  —  Mr.  Pecksniff's  I 
mean.     You  saw  it?" 

"  No.  Indeed  I  did  not,"  cried  Tom,  "  I  was 
busy  with  the  trunks." 

"  It  is  no  matter,"  said  Martin.  "Come  I  Let 
us  make  haste  back."  And  without  another  word 
he  sliirlcd  off  at  such  a  pace,  that  Tom  had  some 
difiiculty  in  keeping  up  with  him. 

He  had  no  care  where  he  went,  but  walked 
througli  little  heaps  of  mud  and  little  pools  of  wa- 
ter with  tlie  utmost  indifference  ;  looking  straigiit 
before  liiiii,  and  sometimes  laughing  in  a  strange 
manner  within  himself.  Tom  felt  that  anything 
he  could  say  would  only  render  him  the  more 
obstin  itp,  and  therefore  trusted  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
manner  when  they  reached  the  house,  to  remove 
the  mistaken  impression  under  which  he  felt  con- 
vinced so  great  a  favourite  as  the  new  pupil  must 
unquestionably  be  labouring.     But  he  was  not  a 


little  amazed  himself,  when  they  ('id  roach  it,  and 
entered  the  parlour  where  Mr.  Picksnitf  was  aiU 
ting  alone  before  tlie  fire,  drinking  some  hot  tea, 
t"  find,  that  instead  of  taking  lavonrahle  notice 
of  his  relative,  and  keeping  him,  Mr.  Pinch,  in 
tbe  back. ground,  he  did  exactly  the  reverse,  and 
was  so  lavish  in  his  attentions  that  Tom  was  tho- 
roughly confounded. 

"  Take  some  tea,  Mr.  Pinch — take  some  tea,** 
said  Pecksniff,  stirring  the  fire.  "  You  must  be 
very  cold  and  damp.  ■  Pray  lake  some  lea,  and 
come  into  a  warm  place,  Mr.  Pinch." 

Tom  saw  that  Martin  looked  at  Mr.  Pecksniff 
as  though  he  could  have  easily  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  give  him  an  invitation  to  a  very  warm 
place;  but  he  was  quite  silent,  and  standing  ot». 
posite  that  gentleman  at  the  table,  regarded  hi:n 
attentively. 

"Take  a  chair,  Pinch,"  said  Pecksniff.  "Take 
a  chair,  if  you  please.  How  liave  things  gone  ia 
our  absence,  Mr.  Pinch  ?" 

"  You — you  will  be  very  much  pleased  with  the 
grammar-school,  sir,"  said  Tom.  "  It 's  nearly 
finished." 

"If  you  will  have  the  goodness,  Mr.  Pinch," 
said  Pecksniff,  waving  his  hand  and  smiling,  "we 
will  not  discuss  anything  connected  with  that 
question  at  present.  What  have  you  been  doing, 
Thomas,  humph  ."' 

Mr.  Pinch  looked  from  master  to  pupil,  and 
from  pupil  to  master,  and  was  so  perplexed  and 
dismayed,  that  he  wanted  presence  of  mind  to 
answer  the  question.  In  this  awkward  interval, 
Mr.  Pecksniff  (who  was  perfectly  conscious  of 
Martin's  gaze,  though  he  had  never  once  glanced 
toward  him)  poked  the  fire  very  much,  and  when 
he  couldn't  do  that  any  more,  drank  tea,  assidu. 
ously. 

"Now,  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  said  Martin  at  last,  ia 
a  very  quiet  voice,  "if  you  have  sufficiently  re- 
freshed  and  recovered  yourself,  I  shall  be  glad  to 
hear  what  you  mean  by  this  treatment  of  me." 

"  And  what,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  turning  his 
eyes  on  Tom  Pinch,  even  more  plcidly  and  gen- 
tly than  before,  "  what  have  you  been  doing,  Tho- 
mas, humph  ?" 

When  he  had  repeated  this  inquiry,  he  looked 
round  the  walls  of  the  room  as  if  he  were  curi- 
ous  to  see  whether  any  nails  had  been  left  there 
by  accident  in  former  times. 

Tom  was  almost  at  his  wits'  end  what  to  say 
between  the  two,  and  had  already  made  a  gesture 
as  if  he  would  call  Mr.  Pecksniff's  attention  to 
the  gentleman  who  had  last  addressed  him,  when 
Martin  saved  him  further  trouble,  by  doing  so 
himself 

"  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  he  said,  softly  rapping  the 
table  twice  or  thrice,  and  moving  a  step  or  two 
nearer,  so  that  he  could  have  touched  him  with 
his  hand  ;  "you  heard  what  I  said  just  now.  Do 
me  the  favour  to  reply,  if  you  please.  I  ask  you" 
—  he  raised  his  voice  a  little  here  —  "what  you 
mean  by  this  ?" 

"I  will  talk  to  you  sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  in 
a  severe  voice,  as  he  looked  at  him  for  tlie  first 
time,  "  presently." 

"  You  are  very  obligins^,"  returned  Martin; 
"  presentlj'  will  not  do.  I  must  trouble  you  to 
talk  to  me  at  once." 


88 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Mr.  Pecksniff  made  a  fl'int  of  beius;  deeply 
infcrested  in  his  pocketbooii,  but  it  shook  in  liis 
bands;  he  trembled  so. 

"Now,"  retorted  Martin,  rappingf  the  tahh^ 
again.     "Now,     Presently  will   not  do.     Now!" 

"  Do  you  threaten  ine,  sir  ?"  cried  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. 

Martin  looked  at  him,  and  made  no  answer; 
but  a  curious  observer  mig-ht  have  detected  an 
ominous  twitching  ;it  his  mouth,  and  perhaps  an 
involuntiiry  attraction  of  his  right  hand  in  the 
tiifection  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  cravat. 

"  I  lament  to  be  obliged  to  say,  sir,"  resumed 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  "that  it  would  be  quite  in  keeping 
with  your  character  if  you  did  threaten  me.  You 
have  deceived  me.  You  have  imposed  upon  a 
nature  which  you  knew  to  be  confiding  and  un- 
suspicious. You  have  obtained  admission,  sir," 
suid  Mr.  Pecksniff  rising,  "to  tiiis  house,  on  per- 
verted statements,  and  on  false  pretences." 

"Go  on,"  said  Martin  with  a  scornful  smile. 
"  I  understand  )'ou  now.     What  more?" 

"Thus  much  more,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot,  and  trying  to  rub  his 
liands,  as  tiiough  he  were  only  cold.  "Thus 
much  more,  if  you  force  me  to  publish  your 
fliume  before  a  third  party,  which  I  was  unwill- 
{»g  and  indisposed  to  do.  This  lowly  roof,  sir, 
iiiust  not  be  contaminated  by  the  presence  of  one, 
who  has  deceived,  and  cruelly  deceived,  an  honour- 
able and  beloved,  a  venerated  and  venerable  gen- 
tleman ;  and  who  wisely  suppressed  that  deceit 
from  me  when  he  sought  my  protection  and 
favour,  knowing  that,  humble  as  I  am,  I  am  an 
honest  man,  seeking  to  do  my  duty  in  this  carnal 
universe,  and  setting  my  face  against  all  vice  and 
treachery.  I  weep  for  your  depravity,  sir,"  said 
Wr.  Pecksniff,  "  I  mourn  over  your  corruption,  I 
pity  your  voluntary  withdrawal  of  yourself  from 
Lie  flowery  paths  of  purity  and  peace  ;"  here  he 
struck  liimself  upon  his  breast,  or  moral  garden  ; 
*  but  I  cannot  have  a  leper  and  a  serpent  for  an 
inmate.  (Jo  forth,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  stretch- 
ing out  his  hand  :  "  go  forth,  young  man  I  Like 
ail  who  know  you,  I  renounce  you  1" 

With  what  intention  Martin  made  a  stride  for- 
ward  at  these  words,  it  is  impossihle  to  say.  It 
im  enough  to  know  that  Tom  Pinch  caught  him 
HI  his  arms,  and  that  at  the  same  moment  Mr. 
Pecksniff  stepped  back  so  hastily,  that  he  missed 
his  footing,  tumbled  over  a  chair,  and  fell  in  a 
sitting  posture  on  the  ground;  where  he  remain- 
fcd  wiliiout  an  etlort  to  get  up  again,  with  his 
Lead  in  a  corner ;  perhaps  considering  it  the 
Batcst  ])lace. 

"  Let  me  go,  Pinch  !"  cried  Martin,  shaking 
him  away.  "  Why  do  you  hold  me!  Do  you 
think  a  blow  could  make  him  a  more  abject  crea- 
ture than  he  is?  Do  you  think  that  if  I  spat 
aj«>n  liim,  1  could  degrade  him  to  u  lower  level 


ti  in  his  own  7     Look    at   him.     Look   at  him, 

Pincli." 

Mr.  Pinch  involuntarily  did  so.  Mr.  Pecksniff 
sitting,  as  has  been  already  mentioned,  on  the 
carpet,  with  his  head  in  an  acute  angle  of  the 
wainscot,  and  all  the  damage  and  detriment  of  an 
uncomfortable  journey  about  him,  was  not  cxacu 
ly  a  model  of  all  that  is  prepossessing  and  digni- 
fied  in  man,  certainly.  Still  he  was  Picksmff; 
it  was  impossible  to  deprive  him  of  that  uni(|uo 
and  paramount  appeal  to  Tom.  And  he  returned 
Tom's  glance,  as  if  he  would  have  said,  '•  Ay 
Mr.  Pinch,  look  at  me  I  Here  I  am  !  You  know 
what  the  poet  says  about  an  honest  man  ;  and  an 
honest  man  is  one  of  the  few  great  works  that 
can  be  seen  for  nothing  !     Look  at  Me  1" 

"I  tell  you,"  said  Martin,  "that  as  he  lies 
there,  disgraced,  bought,  used  ;  a  cloth  for  dirty 
hands;  a  mat  for  dirty  feet;  a  lying,  fawning, 
servile  hound ;  he  is  the  very  last  and  worst 
among  the  vermin  of  the  world.  And  mark  ine^ 
Pinch.  The  day  will  come — he  knows  it:  see  it 
written  on  his  face,  the  while  I  speak — when  even 
you  will  find  him  out,  and  will  know  him  as  I  do, 
and  as  he  knows  I  do  !  He  renounce  me  .'  Cast 
your  eyes  on  the  Renouncer,  Pincli,  and  be  the 
wiser  for  the  recollection  !" 

He  pointed  at  him  as  he  spoke,  with  unutter- 
able contempt,  and  flinging  his  hat  upon  his  head, 
walked  from  the  room  and  from  the  house.  He 
went  so  rapidly  that  he  was  already  clear  of  the 
village,  when  he  heard  Tom  Pinch  calling  breath- 
lessly after  him  in  the  distance. 

"  Well !  what  now  ?"  he  said,  when  Tom  came 
up. 

"  Dear,  dear  !"  cried  Tom,  "  are  you  going  ?" 

"  Going  !"  he  echoed.     "  Going  1" 

"  I  didn't  so  much  mean  that,  as  were  you  going 
now  at  once — in  this  bad  weather — on  foot — witli- 
out  your  clothes — with  no  money  ?"  cried  Tom. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  sternly,  "  I  am." 

"And  where?"  cried  Tom.  "Oh  where  will 
you  go?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "Yes  I  do.  Pll  go 
to  America  I" 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Tom,  in  a  kind  of  agony. — 
"  Don't  go  there.  Pray  don't !  Think  belter  of 
it.  Don't  be  so  dreadfully  regardless  of  yourself. 
Don't  go  to  America  !" 

"My  mind  is  made  up,"  he  said.  "Your  friend 
was  right.  I'll  go  to  America.  God  bless  you, 
Pinch  !" 

"  Take  this  !"  cried  Tom,  pressing  a  book  upon 
him  in  great  agitation.  "  I  must  make  hast("  bach, 
and  can't  say  anything  I  would.  Heaven  he  with 
you.  Look  at  the  leaf  I  have  turned  down.  Good 
bye,  griod  bye  I" 

The  simple  fellow  wrung  him  by  the  land  with 
tears  stealing  down  his  eheelis  ;  and  they  partii 
hurriedly  upon  their  separate  ways. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


A9 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BROWING  WHAT  BECAME  OF  MARTIN  AND  HIS  DESPERATE  RESOLVE,  AF. 
TER  HE  LEFT  MR.  PECKSNIFF'S  HOUSE;  WHAT  PERSONS  HE  ENCOUN- 
TERED;   WHAT  ANXIETIES  HE  SUFFERED;  AND  WHAT  NEWS  HE  HEARD. 


Carrying  Tom  Pinch's  book  quite  unconscious- 
ly under  his  arm,  and  not  even  buttoning'  his  coat 
a«  a  protection  against  the  heavy  rain,  Martin 
went  rifigiri'dly  forwrrd  at  the  same  quick  pace, 
Until  lie  had  passed  the  finger-post,  and  was  on 
the  high  road  to  London.  He  slackened  very  lit- 
tJe  in  his  speed  even  then,  but  he  began  to  think, 
and  look  about  him,  and  to  disengage  his  senses 
from  the  coil  of  angry  passions  which  hitherto 
had  held  them  prisoner. 

It  must  be  confessed  that,  at  that  moment,  he 
had  no  very  agreeable  employment  either  for  his 
moral  or  his  physical  perceptions.  Th.e  day  was 
d.iwning  from  a  patch  of  watery  liglit  in  the  east, 
and  sullen  clouds  came  driving  up  before  it,  from 
which  the  rain  descended  in  a  thick,  wet  mist. 
It  streamed  from  every  twig  and  bramble  in  the 
hedge  ;  made  little  gullies  in  the  path  ;  ran  down 
a  hundred  channels  in  the  road ;  and  punched 
innumerable  holes  into  the  face  of  every  pond 
and  gutter.  It  fell  with  an  oozy,  slushy  sound 
aihong  the  grass;  and  made  a  muddy  kennel  of 
eirery  furrow  in  the  ploughed  fields.  No  living 
creature  was  anywhere  to  be  seen.  The  prospect 
Could  hardly  have  been  more  desolate  if  animati.'d 
nature  had  been  dissolved  in  water,  and  poured 
down  upon  the  earth  again  in  that  form. 

The  range  of  view  within  the  solitary  traveller 
was  (]uite  as  cheerless  as  the  scene  witiiout. 
Friendless  and  penniless;  incensed  to  the  last  de- 
gree ;  deeply  wounded  in  his  pride  and  self-love  ; 
full  of  independent  schemes;  and  perfectly  desti. 
tdte  of  ciny  means  of  realizing  them,  his  most 
vindictive  enemy  might  have  been  satisfied  with 
tlie  extent  of  his  troubles.  To  add  to  his  other 
miseries,  he  w.is  by  this  time  sensible  of  being 
wet  to  the  skin,  and  cold  at  his  very  heart. 

In  this  deplorable  condition,  he  remembered 
Mr  Pinch's  book;  more  because  it  was  rather 
troublesome  to  carry,  than  from  any  hope  of  being 
comforted  by  that  parting  gift.  He  looked  at  the 
dingy  lettering  on  the  back,  and  finding  it  to  be 
nn  odd  volume  of  the  "  Bachelor  of  Salamanca," 
ill  the  Frriich  tongue,  cursed  Tom  Pinch's  folly 
t  venty  times.  He  was  on  the  point  of  throwing 
i'  away,  in  his  ill-hutnour  and  vexation,  when  he 
l.nhoiight  himself  that  Tom  had  referred  him  to 
n  leat^  turn 'd  down;  and  opening  it  at  that  place, 
t  at  he  might  have  additional  cause  of  complaint 
ojf.iin-;t  him  for  supposing  that  any  cold  scrap  of 
the  Bach'  lor's  wisdom  could  cheer  him  in  such 
circi:nwtanci^s,  fiuiid — 

Well,  well!  not  much,  but  Tom's  nil.  The 
^:di'  sovi  reign.  He  had  wrapped  it  hastily  in  a 
piece  of  [)aper,  nnd  pinned  it  to  the  lenf.  These 
woids  were  scrawled  in  pencil  on  the  inside:  "  I 
d/.n't  want  it  ;  indeed,  I  should  not  know  what  to 
do  wifii  it,  if  I  had  it." 

TiK're  are  sonie  falsehoods,  Tom,  on  vvhiHi  men 
nioiint,    ai    an    1  right    wines,    towards    heaven. 
Tiierc  ari'  .some  ti  .Ui)s,coId,  bitter,  taunting  truths, 
12 


wherein  your  worldly  scholars  are  very  apt  and 
punctual,  which  bind  men  down  to  earth  witu 
leaden  chains.  Who  would  not  rather  have  to 
fan  him,  in  his  dying  hour,  tlie  lightest  feather  of 
a  falsehood  such  as  thine,  than  all  the  quills  that 
have  been  plucked  from  the  sharp,  porcupine,  re- 
proachful truth,  since  time  began  ! 

Martin  felt  keenly  for  himself,  and  he  felt  this 
good  deed  of  Tom's  keenly.  After  a  few  minntc8 
it  had  the  effect  of  raising  his  spirits,  and  remind- 
ing him  that  he  was  not  altogether  destitute,  as 
he  had  left  a  fair  stock  of  cloth(;s  behind  him,  and 
wore  a  gold  huntitig-watch  in  his  pocket.  He 
found  a  curiotis  gratification,  too,  in  thinking 
what  a  winning  fellow  he  must  be  to  have  made 
such  an  impression  upon  Tom;  and  in  reflecting 
how  superior  he  was  to  Tom  ;  and  how  much 
more  likely  to  make  his  way  in  the  world.  Ani- 
mated  by  these  thoughts,  and  strengthened  in 
his  design  of  endeavouring  to  push  his  fortune  in 
anotlier  country,  he  resolved  to  get  to  London  as 
a  rallying-point,  in  the  best  way  he  could;  and  to 
lose  no  time  about  iL 

He  was  ten  good  miles  from  the  village  made 
illustrious  by  being  the  abiding-plar  e  of  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, when  he  stopped  to  breakfiist  at  a  little  road- 
side alehouse;  and  resting  upon  a  higli-backed 
settle  before  the  fire,  pulled  off  his  coat,  and  hunjj 
it  before  the  cheerful  blaze,  to  dry.  It  was  a  very 
different  place  from  the  last  tavern  in  which  he 
had  regaled  :  boasting  no  greater  extent  of  acconv 
modation  than  the  brick-floored  kitchen  yielded : 
but  the  mind  so  soon  accommodates  itself  to  the 
necessities  of  the  body,  that  this  poor  wagoner's 
house-of-caii,  which  he  would  have  despised  ye». 
terday,  became  now  quite  a  choice  hotel;  while 
his  dish  of  eggs  and  bacon,  and  his  mug  of  beer, 
were  not  by  any  means  the  coarije  fire  he  had  sup- 
posed, but  fully  bore  out  the  inscription  on  the 
window. shutter,  which  proclaimed  those  viands 
to  be  "  Good  entertainment  for  Travellers." 

He  pushed  away  his  empty  plate  ;  and  with  a 
second  mug  upon  the  hearth  before  him,  looked 
thoughtfully  at  the  fire  until  his  eyes  ached.  Then 
he  looked  at  the  highly-coloured  scripture  piec»  s  on 
the  walls,  in  little  black  frames  like  common  shar- 
ing glasses,  and  saw  how  the  Wise  Men  (with  a 
strong  family  likeness  among  them)  worshipped  in 
a  pink  manger;  and  how  the  Prf)digal  Son  came 
home  in  red  rags  to  a  purple  father,  and  alri'Td3 
feasted  his  imagination  on  a  sea-green  falf.  'I'htn 
he  glanced  through  the  window  at  the  falling  rain, 
coming  down  aslant  upon  the  signpost  over  againsj 
the  house,  and  overflowing  the  horse-trough  ;  and 
then  he  looked  at  the  fire  again,  and  seemed  to 
descry  a  doubly-distant  I^ondon,  retreatmg  among 
the  fragments  of  the  burning  wood. 

He  had  repeated  this  process  in  just  the  same 
order,  many  times,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of  tie 
cessity,  when  the  sound  of  wheels  called  his  at 
tcntion  to  the  window,  out  of  its  regular  tiim 


90 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


and  there  he  beheld  a  kind  of  light  van  drawn  by 
four  horses,  and  laden,  as  well  as  he  could  see  (for 
It  was  covered  in),  with  corn  and  straw.  The 
driver,  who  was  alone,  stopped  at  the  door  to  wa- 
ter his  team,  and  presently  came  stamping  and 
shi.kiiif,'  the  wet  off  his  hat  and  coat,  into  the 
room  where  Martin  sat. 

He  was  a  red-faced  burly  young  fellow;  smart 
in  his  way,  and  with  a  good-humoured  counte- 
nance. As  lie  advanced  towards  the  fire,  he  touch- 
ed his  siiining  forehead  with  the  forefinger  of  his 
stitl' leather  ^love,  by  way  of  salutation  ;  and  said 
(r.itlicr  unnecessarily)  that  it  was  an  uncommon 
wet  day. 

"  Very  wet,"  said  Martin. 

"  I  don't  know  as  ever  I  see  a  wetter." 

"  I  never  felt  one,"  said  Martin. 

The  driver  frlanced  at  Martin's  soiled  dress,  and 
nis  dump  shirt-sleeves,  and  his  coat  hung  up  to 
dry  ;  and  said,  after  a  pause,  as  he  warmed  his 
bands : 

"You  have  been  caught  in  it,  sir?" 

"  Yes,"  was  the  short  reply. 

"  Out  riding,  may  be?"  said  the  driver. 

"I  should  have  been  if  I  owned  a  horse;  but  I 
don't,"  returned  Martin. 

"That's  bad,"  said  the  driver. 

"  And  may  be  worse,"  said  Martin. 

Now,  the  driver  said  "  That's  bad,"  not  so  much 
because  Martin  didn't  own  a  horse,  as  because  he 
eaid  he  didn't  with  all  the  reckless  desperation  of 
his  mood  and  circumstances,  and  so  left  a  great 
deal  to  be  inferred.  Martin  put  his  hands  In  his 
pockets  and  whistled,  when  he  had  retorted  on  the 
driver  :  thus  giving  him  to  understand  that  he 
didn't  care  a  pin  for  Fortune;  thai  he  was  above 
pretending  to  be  her  favourite  when  [ic-.  ■ifas  not ; 
and  that  he  snaj)ped  his  fingers  at  der,  ilie  driver, 
and  everybody  else. 

The  driver  looked  at  him  stealthily  for  a  min- 
ute or  so;  and  in  the  pauses  of  his  warming, 
v-istlcd  too.  At  length  he  asked,  as  he  pointed 
his  tliumb  towards  the  road, 

"  Up  or  down  ?" 

"  Which  is  up  ?"  said  Martin. 

"London,  of  course,"  said  the  driver. 

"  Up  then,"  said  Martin.  He  tossed  his  head 
in  a  careless  manner  afterwards,  as  if  he  would 
have  added,  "Now  you  know  all  about  it;"  put 
his  hands  deeper  into  his  pockets;  changed  his 
tune,  and  whistled  a  little  louder. 

"  /'m  going  np,"  observed  the  driver  ;  "  Houns- 
low,  ten  miles  this  side  London." 

"Are  you?"  cried  Martin,  stopping  short  and 
looking  at  liim. 

The  driver  sprinkled  the  fire  with  his  wet  hat 
until  it  hissed  again,  and  answered,  '  Ay ;  to  be 
■ure  he  was.' 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Martin,  "  I  '11  be  plain  with 
you.  You  may  suppose  from  my  dress  that  I 
have  money  to  spare.  I  have  not.  All  I  can  af- 
'oid  for  coacli-hire  is  a  crown,  for  I  have  but  two. 
If  you  can  take  me  for  that,  and  my  waistcoat, 
or  this  silk  iiandkcr?hief,  do.  If  you  can't,  leave 
it  aione. ' 

"Short  and  sweet,"  remarked  the  driver. 

"You  want  more?"  said  Martin.  "Then  I 
haven't  got  more,  and  I  can't  get  it,  so  there's  an 
end  of  that."  Whereupon  he  begun  to  whistle 
•gain. 


"  I  didn't  say  I  wanted  more,  did  I  ?"  aske# 
the  driver,  with  something  like  indignation. 

"You  didn't  say  my  offer  was  enough,"  tg- 
joined  Martin. 

"  Why  how  could  I,  when  you  wouldn't  let  nit"? 
In  regard  to  the  waistcoat,  I  wouldn't  have  a 
man's  waistcoat,  much  less  a  gentleman's  waist- 
coat,  on  my  mind,  for  no  consideration  ;  but  the 
silk  handkerchief's  another  thing  ;  and  if  you 
was  satisfied  when  we  got  to  Ilounslow,  1  shouldn't 
object  to  that  as  a  gift." 

"  Is  it  a  bargain,  then  ?"  said  Martin. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  returned  the  other. 

"Then  finish  this  beer,"  said  Martin,  hand- 
ing  him  the  mug,  and  pulling  on  his  coat  with 
great  alacrity ;  "  and  let  us  be  off  as  soon  as  you 
like." 

In  two  minutes  more  he  had  paid  his  bill,  which 
amounted  to  a  shilling;  was  lying  at  full  length 
on  a  truss  of  straw,  high  and  dry  at  the  top  of 
the  van,  with  the  tilt  a  little  open  in  front  for  the 
convenience  of  talking  to  his  new  friend  ;  and 
was  moving  along  in  the  right  direction  with  a 
most  satisfactory  and  encouraging  briskness. 

The  driver's  name,  as  he  soon  informed  Mar- 
tin, was  William  Simmons,  better  known  as  Bill; 
and  his  spruce  appearance  was  sufficiently  ex- 
plained by  his  connexion  with  a  large  stage-coach- 
mg  establishment  at  Ilounslow,  whilher  he  was 
cor  veying  his  lf)ad  from  a  farm  belonging  to  the 
concern  in  Wiltshire.  He  was  frequently  up  and 
down  the  road  on  such  errands,  he  said,  and  to 
look  after  the  sick  and  rest  horses,  of  which  ani- 
mals he  had  much  to  relate  that  occupied  a  long 
time  in  the  telling.  He  aspired  to  the  dignity  of 
the  regular  box,  and  expected  an  appointment  on 
the  first  vacancy.  He  was  musical  besides,  and 
had  a  little  key-bugle  in  his  pocket,  on  which, 
whenever  the  conversation  flagged,  he  played  tli© 
first  part  of  a  great  many  tunes,  and  regularly 
broke  down  in  the  second. 

"Ah  I"  said  Dill,  with  a  sigh,  as  he  drew  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  bis  lips,  and  put  this  in- 
strument  in  his  pocket,  after  screwing  otT  the 
mouthpiece  to  drain  it;  "Lummy  Ned  of  the 
Light  Salisbury,  he  was  the  one  for  musical  taU 
ents.  He  iras  a  guard.  What  you  may  call  a 
Guardian  Angel,  was  Ned." 

"  Is  he  dead  ?"  asked  Martin, 

"  Dead  I"  replied  the  other,  with  a  contemptu- 
ous  emphasis.  "  Not  he.  You  won't  catch  Ned 
a  dying  easy.  No,  no.  He  knows  better  than 
that." 

"You  spoke  of  liim  in  the  past  tense,"  ob- 
served Martin,  "  so  I  supposed  he  was  no  more." 

"He's  no  more  in  Enujland,"  said  Bill,  "if 
that's  what  you  mean.  He  went  to  the  U-nited 
States." 

"  Did  he  ?"  asked  Martin,  with  sudden  interest 
"  When  ?" 

"  F'ive  year  ago,  or  thenabout,"  said  Bill.  "  He 
had  set  up  in  the  public  line  here,  and  couldn't 
meet  his  engagements,  so  he  cut  off  to  Liver- 
pool one  day  without  saying  anything  abont  it, 
and  went  and  shipped  himself  for  the  U-nitcd 
States." 

"  Well  ?"  said  Martin. 

"  Well  I  as  he  landed  there  without  a  jirnny  to 
bless  himself  with,  of  rnnrse  they  was  very  glad 
to  see  him  in  tlie  C-nited  States." 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


91 


"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Martin,  with 
4o>nc  scorn. 

•'What  do  I  mean?"  said  Dill.  "Why,  thot. 
AH  men  are  alike  in  the  U-nited  States,  an't  they? 
It  makes  tie  odds  whether  a  man  has  a  thousand 
piniiids,  or  nothin^jf,  there — [mrticular  'a  New 
York,  I  'in  told,  where  Ned  landed." 

"  New  York,  was  it  !"  asked  iVIartin,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Yes,"  s.iid  Bill.  "  New  York.  I  know  that, 
because  he  sent  word  home  that  it  brought  Old 
Yurk  to  his  mind  quite  wivid  in  consequenee  of 
beiiiij  so  exactly  unlike  it  in  every  respect.  1 
dun't  understand  wot  particular  business  Ned 
turned  liis  mind  to,  when  he  got  there;  but  he 
wrote  home  that  him  and  his  iViends  was  always 
a  singing  Ale  Columbia,  and  blowing  up  the  Pre- 
eident,  so  I  suppose  it  was  something  in  the  public 
line,  or  free-and-easy  way,  again.  Any  how,  he 
made  his  fortune." 

"No!"  cried  Martin. 

"  Yes  he  did,"  said  Bill.  "  I  know  that,  be- 
cause he  lost  it  all  the  day  after,  in  six-and-twenty 
banks  as  broke.  He  settled  a  lot  of  the  notes  on 
his  (dther,  when  it  was  ascertained  that  they  was 
really  stopped,  and  sent  'em  over  with  a  dutiful 
letter.  1  know  that,  because  they  was  shown 
down  our  yard  for  the  old  geniiernar.'s  benefit, 
that  lie  might  treat  himself  with  tobacco  in  the 
work  us." 

"  He  was  a  foolish  fellow  not  to  take  care  of 
his  money  when  he  had  it,"  said  Martin,  indig- 
nantly. 

'  There  vou  're  ri^ht,"  said  Bill,  "  especially  as 
It  was  all  in  paper,  and  he  might  have  took  care  of 
it  so  very  easy,  by  folding  it  up  in  a  small  parcel." 

M^irtiii  said  nothing  in  reply,  but  soon  after- 
ward fell  asleep,  and  remained  so  for  an  hour  or 
more.  When  he  awoke,  finding  it  had  ceased  to 
rain,  he  took  his  seat  beside  the  driver,  and  asked 
him  several  questions,  as  how  long  had  the  for- 
tunate guard  of  the  liight  Salisbury  been  in  cross- 
ing the  Atlantic;  at  what  time  of  the  year  had 
he  sailed  ;  what  was  the  name  of  the  ship  in  which 
he  made  the  voyage;  how  much  had  he  paid  for 
passage-money;  did  he  sulTer  greatly  from  sea- 
sickness ?  and  so  forth.  But  on  these  points  of 
det.iil,  liis  friend  was  possessed  of  little  or  no  in- 
formation ;  either  answering  obviously  at  random, 
or  acknowledging  that  lie  had  never  heard,  or  had 
forgotten  ;  nor,  although  he  returned  to  the  charge 
very  often,  could  he  obt  lin  any  useful  intelligence 
on  these  essential  particulars. 

They  jogged  on  all  day,  and  slopped  so  often — 
now  to  refresh,  now  to  change  their  team  of  horses, 
now  to  exchange  or  bring  away  a  set  of  harness, 
now  on  one  point  of  business,  and  now  upon  an- 
other, connected  with  the  coaching  on  that  line 
of  roari — that  it  was  midnig-ht  when  they  reached 
Hounslow.  A  little  short  of  the  stables  for  which 
t.'ie  vail  was  houiid,  Mirtin  got  down,  paid  his 
crown,  .ind  forced  iiis  silk  handkerchief  upon  his 
honest  friend,  notwithstinding  the  many  protesta- 
tions that  he  didn't  wish  to  deprive  him  of  it,  with 
which  he  tried  to  give  the  lie  to  his  longing  looks. 
That  done,  they  parted  company;  and  when  the 
van  had  driven  into  its  own  yard,  and  the  gates 
were  closed,  Martin  stood  in  the  dark  street,  with 
R  pretty  strong  sense  of  being  shut  out,  alone, 
■pun  the  dreary  world,  without  tiie  key  of  it. 


But  in  this  moment  of  despondency,  and  often 
afterward,  the  recollection  of  Mr.  Peciisnitf  ope- 
rated as  a  cordial  to  him,  awakening  in  his  breast 
an  indignation  ih.it  was  very  wholesome  in  nerving 
hull  to  ohsliiiD'e  endurance.  Under  the  influence 
of  this  fiery  dtain  he  started  off  for  London  with- 
out more  ado;  and,  arriving  there  in  the  midille 
of  the  night,  and  not  knowing  where  to  find  a 
tavern  open,  was  fain  to  stroll  about  the  streets 
and  market-pl.ices  until  morning. 

He  found  himself,  about  an  liour  before  dawn, 
in  the  humble  regions  of  the  Adelphi ;  and  ad- 
dressing himself  to  a  man  in  a  fur  cap,  who  was 
taking  down  the  shutters  of  an  obscure  public 
house,  infornied  him  that  he  was  a  stranger,  and 
inquired  it' he  could  have  a  bed  there.  It  happen, 
ed,  by  good  luck,  that  he  could.  Though  none 
of  the  gaudiest,  it  was  tolerably  clean,  and  Martin 
felt  very  glad  and  grateful  when  lie  crept  into  it, 
for  warmth,  rest,  and  fbrgetf'ulness. 

It  was  quite  late  in  the  afternoon  when  he 
awoke ;  and  by  the  time  he  had  washed,  and 
dressed,  and  broken  his  fast,  it  was  growing  dusk 
again.  This  was  all  the  better,  for  it  was  a  matter 
of  absolute  necessity  that  he  should  part  with  his 
watch  to  some  obliging  pawn-broker ;  and  he 
would  have  waited  until  after  dark  lor  this  pur- 
pose,  though  it  had  been  the  longest  day  in  the 
year,  and  lie  had  begun  it  without  a  breakfast. 

He  passed  more  Golden  Balls  than  all  the  jug- 
glers in  Europe  have  juggled  with,  in  the  course 
of  their  united  performances,  before  he  could  de- 
termine in  favour  of  any  particular  shop  where 
those  symbols  were  displayed.  In  the  end,  he 
came  back  to  one  of  the  first  he  had  seen,  and 
entering  by  a  side-door  in  a  court,  where  the 
three  balls,  with  the  legend  "  Money  Lent,"  were 
repeated  in  a  ghastly  transparency,  passed  into 
one  of  a  series  of  little  closets,  or  private  boxe.s, 
erected  for  the  accommodation  of  the  more  bash- 
ful  and  uninitiated  customers.  He  bolted  himself 
in ;  pulled  out  his  watch  ;  and  laid  it  on  the  coun- 
ter. 

"  Upon  my  life  and  soul !"  said  a  low  voice  in 
the  next  box  to  the  shopman  who  was  in  treaty 
with  him,  "you  must  make  it  more:  you  must 
make  it  a  trifle  more,  you  must  indeed  !  Yc).i 
must  dispense  with  one  half-quarter  of  an  ounce 
in  weighing  out  your  pound  of  flesh,  my  best  of 
friends,  and  make  it  two-and-six." 

Murtin  drew  back  involuntarily,  for  he  knew 
the  voice  at  once, 

"  You  're  always  full  of  your  chaff,"  said  the 
shopman,  rolling  up  the  article  (which  looked 
like  a  shirt)  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  nib- 
bing his  p(Ui  upon  the  counter, 

"  I  shall  never  be  full  of  my  wheat,"  st.id  Mr 
Tigg,  "  as  long  as  I  come  here.  Ha,  ha  I  Not 
bad  I  Make  it  two-and-six,  my  dear  friend,  posi- 
tively for  this  occasion  only,  Halt'-a-crown  is  a 
delightful  coin — Two-and-six!  Going  at  two-and 
six  !      For  the  last  time,  at  two-and-six  I" 

"  It  'II  never  be  the  last  time  till  it 's  quite  worn 
out,"  rejoined  the  shopman,  "  Its  grown  yellow 
in  the  service,  as  it  is." 

"  Its  master  has  grown  yellow  in  the  service 
if  you  mean  that,  my  friend,"  said  Mr.  Tigg;  "iu 
the  patriotic  servce  of  an  ungrateful  country 
You  are  making  it  two-and-six,  I  think?" 

"1  'm  making  it  "  returned  the  shopman,  "  wliA* 


w 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


It  always  has  been — two  shillings.  Same  name  as  I 
DiHU.il,  1  suppose  ?" 

"Still  ti.e  same  name,"  said  Mr.  Ti^g;  "my 
cl.:iiii  to  the  dormant  peerage  not  being  yet  esla- 
olislicd  by  the  House  of  Lords." 

"  The  old  address?" 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Tigg  ;  "  I  have  removed 
n\v  town  establishment  from  thirty-eight,  May- 
fair,  to  number  fifteen -hundred -and -forty -two, 
FaiU-lanc." 

"  C'oiiie,  I  'm  not  going  to  put  down  that,  you 
know,"  said  the  shopman,  with  a  grin. 

"  You  may  put  down  what  you  please,  my 
friciici,"  quoth  Mr.  Tigg.  "The  fact  is  still  the 
(tame.  The  apartments  for  the  under-butler  and 
the  fifth  footman  being  of  a  most  confounded  low 
and  vulgar  kind  at  thirty-eight,  Mayfair,  I  have 
been  compelled,  in  my  regard  for  the  feelings 
which  do  them  so  much  honour,  to  take  on  lease, 
f<jr  Eleven,  fijurteen,  or  twenty-one  years,  renewa- 
ble at  tiie  option  of  the  tenant,  the  elegant  and 
commodious  family  mansion,  number  fitleen-hun- 
dred-and-forty-two,  Park-l;me.  Make  it  two-and- 
»ix,  and  come  and  see  me  1" 

The  shopman  was  so  highby  entertained  by  this 
piece  of  humour,  that  Mr.  Tigg  himself  could  not 
repress  some  little  show  of  exultation.  It  vented 
it'^elti  in  part,  in  a  desire  to  see  how  the  occupant 
of  the  next  box  received  his  pleasantry;  to  ascer- 
tain  which,  he  glanced  round  the  partition,  and 
imme(li.:tely,  by  the  gaslight,  recognised  Martin. 

"I  wish  I  may  die,"  said  Mr.  Tigg,  strelohing 
out  his  body  so  fiir  that  his  head  was  as  much  in 
Martin's  little  cell  as  Martin's  own  head  was, 
•*  but  this  is  one  of  the  most  tremendous  meetings 
in  Ancient  or  Modern  History!  How  are  you  ? 
What  is  the  news  from  the  agricultural  districts? 
How  are  our  friends  the  P.'s  ?  Ha,  ha  I  David, 
ptiy  particular  attention  to  this  gentleman,  imme- 
djately,  as  a  friend  of  mine,  I  beg." 

"  Here  I  Please  to  give  me  the  most  you  can 
ibr  this,"  said  Martin,  handing  the  watch  to  the 
ehopnian,  "  I  want  money  sorely." 

"  He  wants  money  sorely  I"  cried  Mr.  Tigg, 
with  excessive  sympathy.  "  David,  you  will  have 
the  goodness  to  do  your  very  u'.most  for  my  friend, 
who  wants  money  sorely.  You  will  deal  with  my 
friend  as  if  he  were  myself.  A  gold  hunting- 
watch,  David,  engine-turned,  capped  and  jewelled 
iii  four  holts,  e'scape  movement,  horizontal  lever, 
and  warranted  1o  perform  correctly,  upon  my 
persona!  reputation,  who  have  observed  it  nar- 
rowly for  m;my  years,  under  the  most  trying  cir- 
eumslanees — "  here  he  winked  at  Martin,  that  he 
might  understand  tliis  reconmiendation  would 
hiive  an  inmienso  efl'eet  upon  the  shopman:  — 
"  wh;it  do  you  say.  David,  to  my  friend  ?  Be  very 
patlicular  to  deserve  my  custom  and  recommen- 
dation, David." 

"I  eun  lend  you  three  pound  on  this,  if  you 
like,"  s.iid  the  shopman  to  Mnrlin,  eonfidrntiallv. 
"  Jt's  very  old.l'asliioned.      I  couldn't  say  more." 

•'  And  dtvilish  handsome,  loo,"  cried  Mr.  Tigg. 
"  Two  twelve-six  for  the  watch,  and  scven-and-six 
for  personal  regard.  I  am  gratified:  it  may  be 
weakness,  but  1  am.  Three  poniul  wilj  do.  We 
lake  it.  The  name  rif  my  friend  is  Smivey  : 
I'^liieken  Smivey,  of  Holborn,  twenty.six-;ind-a. 
jalf  IJ :  lodger."  Here  he  winked  iit  Martin 
•^uin,  lo  apprise  hitn  that  al!  the  Ibrms  and  cere- 


monies prescribed  by  law  were  now  complred 
with,  and  nothing  remained  but  the  receipt  of  tlw 
money. 

In  point  of  fact,  this  proved  to  be  the  case ;  for 
Martin,  who  had  no  resource  but  to  take  what 
was  offered  him,  signified  his  ac()uiescence  by  a 
nod  of  his  head,  and  presently  came  out  with  the 
cash  in  his  pocket.  He  was  joined  in  the  cntrv 
by  Mr.  Tigg,  who  warm])'  congratiihited  liim,  <i8 
he  look  his  arm  and  accompanied  him  into  the 
street,  on  the  successful  issue  of  t!ie  neifoi-iation. 

"As  for  my  part  in  the  same,"  said  .Mr.  Tigg, 
"  don't  mention  it.  Don't  compliment  me,  for  I 
can't  bear  it  I" 

"I  have  no  such  intention,  I  assure  you,"  re- 
torted Martin,  releasing  his  arm,  and  stopping. 

"  You  oblige  me  very  much,"  said  ^ir.  Tigg. 
"  Thank  you." 

"Now,  sir,"  observed  Martin,  biting  his  lip, 
"this  is  a  large  town,  and  we  c.nn  easily  fimi  dif. 
ferent  ways  in  it.  If  you  will  show  me  wliich  is 
your  way,  I  will  take  another." 

Mr.  Tigg  was  about  to  speak,  but  Martin  inter- 
posed : 

"  I  need  scarcely  tell  you,  after  what  you  have 
just  seen,  that  I  have  nothing  to  bestow  upon 
your  friend,  Mr.  Slyme.  And  it  is  quite  as  unn©. 
cessary  for  me  to  tell  you  that  I  don't  desire  tlie 
honoui-  of  your  comjiany." 

'Stop  I"  cried  Mr.  Tigg,  holding  out  his  hand 
"  Hold  I  There  is  a  most  remarkably  long-headed. 
fl<.>iviri,'-bearded,  and  patriarchal  proverb,  which 
observes  that  it  is  the  duty  of  a  man  to  Ix-  just 
before  he  is  generous.  Be  just  now,  and  you  can 
be  generous  presently.  Do  not  cntn.'^e  me  with 
the  man  Slyme.  Do  not  distinguish  the  man 
Slyme  as  a  friend  of  mine,  for  he  is  no  such  tiling. 
I  have  been  coiiip(;lled,  sir,  to  ab^mdon  the  party 
whom  you  call  Slyme.  I  have  no  knowledge  of 
the  party  whom  3'ou  call  Slyme.  "I  am,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Tigtf,  striking  liimself  upon  the  breast, 
"a  premium  tulip,  of  a  very  different  <rrowth  and 
cultivation  from  the  cabbage  Slyme,  sir." 

"  It  matters  very  little  to  me,"  said  Martin, 
coolly,  "whether  you  have  set  up  as  a  vagabond 
on  your  own  account,  or  are  still  trading  on  behalf 
of  Mr.  Slyme.  I  wish  to  hold  no  correspondenco 
with  you.  In  the  devil's  name,  mm,"  said  Mar. 
tin,  scarcely  able  despite  his  vexition  to  repress  a 
smile,  as  Mr.  Tigg  stood  leaning  his  bark  against 
the  shutters  of  a  shop-window,  a(l)u.>;tiiig  his  hair 
with  great  composure,  "will  you  go  one  way  or 
other  !" 

"  You  will  allow  me  to  remind  you,  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Twigg,  with  sudden  disrnitv,  "  tluit  you — not 
I — that  you — I  say  empliaticallv,  yni/ — have  re- 
duced the  proceedings  ol"  this  evening  to  a  rold 
and  distant  matter  of  busim-ss,  when  I  was  (li.-<- 
posed  to  place  them  on  a  friendly  (iiOting.  It  be- 
ing made  a  matter  of  business,  sir,  I  he;.;  to  s:iv 
that  I  expect  a  trifie  (whieli  I  shall  bestow  in 
C^harity)  as  commission  upon  the  ppcuniHry  ail- 
vance,  in  which  I  have  rendered  yon  my  Immhle 
services.  AHer  the  terms  in  wliieli  ynu  liavi'  ad- 
dressed  me,  sir,"  concluded  Mr.  'I'igi:,  "you  will 
not  insult  me,  if  you  please,  by  offering  more  than 
half  a  crown." 

Martin  drew  that  piece  of  money  from  his 
pocket,  and  tossed  it  towards  him.  Mr.  Tigg 
caught  it,  looked  at  it  to  assure  himself  of  ill 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


93 


gorwlness,  spun  it  in  the  air  after  the  manner  of 
a  piernun,  and  buttoned  it  up.  Finally,  he  raised 
his  hut  an  inch  or  two  from  hia  head,  with  a 
military  air,  and,  after  pausing'  a  moment  with 
dtep  (rr.ivity,  as  to  decide  m  which  direction  he 
nhiiuld  g-n,  and  to  what  Earl  or  Marquis  amon^ 
iiis  friends  he  should  g'ive  the  preference  in  his 
next  call,  stuck  his  hands  in  his  skirt-pockets  and 
swaggered  round  the  corner.  Martin  took  the 
directly  opposite  course  ;  and  so,  to  his  great  con- 
tent, liiey  part;  d  company. 

It  was  with  a  hitter  sense  of  humiliation  that 
he  cursed,  a<,rain  and  again,  the  mischance  of 
having  encountered  this  man  in  the  pawnbro- 
ker's shop.  Tlie  only  comfort  he  had  in  the  re- 
collection was  Mr.  Tigg's  voluntary  avowal  of  a 
separation  between  himself  and  Slyine,  that  would 
at  least  prevent  his  circumstances  (so  Martin  ar- 
gued) from  being  known  to  any  member  of  his 
family,  the  bare  possibility  of  which  filled  him 
with  shame  and  wounded  pride.  Abstractedly, 
there  was  greater  reason,  perhaps,  for  sujiposing 
any  declaration  of  Mr.  Tigg's  to  be  filse,  than 
for  attaching  the  least  credence  to  it;  but  remem- 
bering the  terms  on  which  the  intimacy  between 
that  gentleman  and  his  bosom  friend  had  sub- 
sisted, and  tiie  strong  prob;ibility  of  Mr.  Tigsj's 
having  established  an  independent  business  of  his 
own  on  Mr.  Slyme's  connexion,  it  had  a  reason- 
able appe^irance  of  probability :  at  all  events, 
Martin  hoped  so  ;  and  that  went  a  long  way. 

His  first  step,  now  that  he  had  a  supply  of 
ready  money  for  his  present  necessities,  was  to 
retain  his  bed  at  the  public-house  until  farther 
notice,  and  to  write  a  formal  note  to  Tom  Pinch 
{for  he  knew  Pecksniff  would  see  it),  requesting 
to  have  liis  clothes  forwarded  to  IjOndon  by  coach, 
with  a  direction  to  be  left  at  tlie  ofrice  until  called 
fcr.  These  measures  taken,  he  passed  the  interval 
before  the  box  arrived — tliree  days — in  making 
inquiries  relative  to  American  vessels,  at  the 
offices  of  various  shipping-agents  in  the  city  ;  and 
in  lingering  about  the  docks  and  wharves,  with 
the  faint  hope  of  stumbling  upon  some  engage- 
ment for  the  voyage,  as  clerk  or  supercargo,  or 
custodian  of  something  or  somebody,  which  would 
enable  him  to  procure  a  free  passage.  But  finding 
80on  that  no  such  means  of  employment  were 
likely  to  present  themselves,  and  dreading  the 
consequences  of  delay,  he  drew  up  a  short  ad- 
vertisement, stating  what  he  wanted,  and  inserted 
it  in  the  leading  newspapers.  Pending  the  receipt 
of  the  twenty  or  thirty  answers  which  he  vaguely 
expected,  he  reduced  his  wardrobe  to  the  n^ir- 
rowest  limits  consistent  with  decent  respectability, 
and  carrif;d  the  overplus  at  different  times  to  the 
pawnbroker's  shop,  for  conversion  into  money. 

And  it  was  strange,  very  strange,  even  to  him- 
self, to  find  how,  by  quick  though  almost  imper- 
ceptible degrees,  lie  lost  his  delicacy  and  self- 
respect,  and  gradually  came  to  do  that  as  a  matter 
of  course,  without  the  least  compunction,  which 
but  a  few  short  days  before  had  galled  him  to  the 
quick.  The  first  time  he  visited  the  pawnbroker's, 
he  felt  on  his  way  there  as  if  every  person  whom 
he  passed  suspected  whither  he  was  going ;  and 
on  his  way  back  again,  as  if  the  whole  human 
tide  he  stemmed  knew  well  where  he  had  come 
from.  When  did  he  care  to  think  of  their  dis- 
oemment  now  !    In  his  firbt  wanderings  up  and 


1  down  the  wearj  streets,  he  coimterfci'ed  the  w.ilk 
of  one  who  h..d  an  object  in  view:  but  simii  there 
Came  upon  him  the  sauntering,  slii)-slKjd  gait  of 
listless  idleness,  and  the  lounging  at  slrei  l-i'ornors, 
and  plackmg  and  biting  at  stray  bits  .>  .Iraw, 
and  strolling  up  and  down  the  same  place,  and 
looking  into  the  same  shop-windows,  with  a 
miserable  inditference,  fifty  times  a  day.  At  first, 
he  came  out  from  his  lodging  with  an  uneasy 
sense  of  being  observed  —  even  by  those  chano3 
passers-bv,  on  whom  he  had  never  looked  before, 
and  hundreds  to  one  would  never  see  again  —  is- 
suing  in  the  morning  from  a  public-li.mse;  but 
now,  in  his  comings-out  and  goings-in  he  did  not 
mind  the  lounge  about  the  door,  or  to  stmd  surv 
ning  himself  in  careless  thought  beside  the  wooden 
stem,  studded  from  head  to  heel  with  \j'yfi'',  on 
which  the  beer-pots  dangled  like  so  m.jny  boutjhs 
upon  a  pewter  tree.  And  yet  it  took  liut  five 
weeks  to  reach  the  lowest  round  of  this  tall  l.iddcr  ! 

Oh,  moralists,  who  treat  of  happiness  ind  s.-lf. 
respect,  innate  in  every  sphere  of  life,  and  shed, 
ding  light  on  every  gfrain  of  dust  in  God's  high- 
way, so  smooth  below  your  carriage-wlicel<,  so 
rough  beneath  the  tread  of  naked  feet,  —  bethink 
yourselves  in  looking  on  the  swift  descent  of  men 
who  have  lived  in  their  own  esteem,  that  there 
are  scores  of  thousands  breathing  now,  and  bre;ith- 
ing  thick  with  p  linful  toil,  who  in  that  high  re. 
spect  have  never  lived  at  all,  or  h.id  a  chance  of 
life  !  Go  ye,  who  rest  so  placidly  upon  t!ie  sacred 
Bard  who  had  been  young,  and  when  he  strung 
his  harp  was  old,  and  had  never  seen  the  righteous 
forsaken,  or  his  seed  begging  their  bread;  go, 
Teachers  of  content  and  honest  pride,  into  ti)e 
mine,  the  mill,  the  forge,  the  squalid  drplhs  of 
deepest  ignorance,  and  uttermost  abyss  of  man's 
neglect,  and  say  can  any  hopeful  plant  spring  up 
in  air  so  foul  that  it  extinguishes  the  soiii's  bright 
torch  as  fast  as  it  is  kindled  !  And,  oh  !  ye  Pha. 
risees  of  the  nineteen  hundredth  year  of  t^hristiin 
Knowledge,  who  soundingly  appeal  to  human 
nature,  see  that  it  be  human  first.  Take  heed  it 
has  not  been  transformed,  during  your  slumber 
and  the  sleep  of  generations,  into  the  nature  of 
the  Beasts! 

Five  weeks!  Of  all  the  twenty  or  thirty  an- 
swers,  not  one  had  come.  His  nioney — even  tire 
additional  stock  he  had  raised  from  the  disposal 
of  his  spare  clothes  (and  that  was  not  nineh,  for 
clothes,  though  dear  to  bnv,ar6  cheap  to  pawn) — 
was  fast  diminishinir.  Yet  what  could  he  do  ? 
At  times  an  atrony  came  over  him  in  which  Iw 
darted  forth  again,  though  he  Wcis  but  newly 
home,  and,  returning  to  some  piace  wlieie  he  h  id 
been  already  twenty  times,  made  soin.^  new  at- 
tempt to  gain  his  end,  but  always  u  i  uicoi  ssfully 
He  was  years  and  years  too  old  tor  a  cibin-boy 
and  years  upon  years  too  inexperienced  to  be  an- 
cepted  as  a  common  seamm.  His  dress  and 
manner,  too,  militated  fatally  agiinst  a\iy  such 
proposal  as  the  latter;  and  yet  he  was  red'ieed  to 
making  it;  for  even  if  he  could  have  contdnplated 
the  being  set  down  in  America,  totally  w  iihout 
money,  he  had  not  enough  left  now  for  a  steerage 
passage  and  the  poorest  provisions  upon  the 
voyage. 

It  is  an  illustration  of  a  very  common  tendency 
in  the  mind  of  man,  that  all  this  time  he  nevei 
once  doubted,  one  may  ahnust  oiy  tlic  certaint" 


91 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTIRES   OF 


of  doirii^  ereal  things  in  the  New  World,  if  he  j 
C'.nM  only  get  there.  In  proportion  as  he  became 
niore  and  more  dejected  by  his  present  circum- 
etiinces,  and  the  means  of  g^ainin£f  America  re- 
Ci  <l(d  I'rom  his  g^rasp,  the  more  he  fretted  himself 
with  the  conviction  that  that  was  the  only  place 
in  which  he  could  hope  to  achieve  any  high  end, 
and  worried  his  brain  with  the  thought  that  men 
going  iliere  in  the  meunwliile  mitrht  anticipate 
him  in  the  attainment  of  those  objects  which  were 
deartst  to  his  heart.  He  often  thonglit  of  John 
Wesllock,  and  besides  looking  out  for  him  on  all 
occasions,  actually  walked  about  London  for  three 
davs  together,  for  the  express  purpose  of  meeting 
with  him.  But,  although  he  failed  in  this ;  and 
although  he  would  not  have  scrupled  to  borrow 
money  of  him  ;  and  although  he  believed  that 
John  would  have  lent  it;  yet  still  he  could  not 
bring  his  mind  to  write  to  Pinch  and  inquire 
where  he  was  to  be  found.  For  although,  as  we 
huve  seen,  he  was  fond  of  Tom  after  his  own 
fashion,  iic  could  not  endure  tfie  thought  (fieling 
so  suf)erior  to  Tom)  of  making  him  the  stepping-. 
Stone  to  iiis  fortune,  or  being  anything  fo  him  but 
a  patron  ;  and  his  pride  so  revolted  from  the  idea, 
that  it  restr;iined  him,  even  now. 

It  might  have  yielded,  however;  and  no  doubt 
must  have  yielded  soon,  but  for  a  very  strange 
and  unSorjked-for  occurrence. 

TiiC  five  wefks  had  quite  rim  out,  and  he  was 
in  a  truly  desperate  plight,  when  one  evening, 
having  just  returned  to  his  lodging,  and  being  in 
the  act  of  lighting  his  candle  at  the  gas  jet  in  the 
bar  before  stalking  moodily  up  stairs  to  his  own 
^oom,  his  landlord  e:il!ed  liim  by  his  name.  Now, 
t^  he  had  never  told  it  to  tlic  man,  but  hud  scru- 
pulously kept  it  to  himself,  he  was  not  a  little 
startled  by  this ;  and  so  plainly  shovi-ed  his  ag-i- 
lation,  that  the  landlord,  to  reassure  him,  said  "it 
was  only  a  letter." 

"  A  letter  !"    cried  Martin. 

"For  Mr.  Martin  Cin^zzlewit,"  said  the  land- 
lord,  reading  the  superscription  of  ont^  he  held  in 
his  hand.     "Noon.     Chief Ollice.     P^id." 

Martin  took  it  from  him,  thanked  him,  and 
walked  upstairs.  It  was  not  sealed,  but  pasted 
close ;  the  handwriting  was  quite  unknown  to 
bim.  He  opened  it,  and  found  enclosed,  without 
any  name,  address,  or  other  inscription  or  expla- 
nation of  any  kind  whatever,  a  Bank  of  England 
note  for  Twenty  Pounds, 

To  say  that  he  was  perfi'Ctly  stunned  with 
astonishment  and  delight;  that  he  looked  again 
and  ai.'-ain  at  the  note  and  the  wrapper;  that  he 
hurried  bt-low  stairs  to  make  quite  certain  that 
the  note  was  a  gftod  nolo;  and  then  hurried  up 
again  to  satisfy  hitnsclf  lor  tlie  fiftieth  time  that 
he  had  not  overlooked  some  scrap  of  writing  on 
the  wrapper;  that  he  exhausted  and  bewildered 
himself  with  conjectures  ;  and  could  make  nothing 
of  it  bu*  that  there  the  note  was,  and  he  was  sud- 
denly enriched  ;  would  be  only  to  relate  so  many 
matters  of  course,  to  no  purpose.  The  final  iip- 
ehot  of  the  business  at  that  time  was,  that  he 
resolved  to  treat  himself  to  a  comfortable  but 
frugal  meal  in  hits  own  ehatriber ;  and  having 
ordered  a  fire  to  be  kmdlcd,  went  out  to  purchase 
.1  forthwith. 

He  bought  some  cold  beef,  and  ham,  and  Frencii 
bread,  and  butter,  and  came  back  witii  his  pockets 


pretty  heavily  laden.  It  was  somewhat  of  a 
damping  circumstance  to  find  the  room  full  of 
smoke,  which  was  attributable  to  two  causes: 
firstly,  to  the  flue  being  naturally  vicious  and  a 
smoker;  and  secondly,  to  their  having  forg-otten 
in  lighting-  the  fire,  an  odd  sack  or  two  and  some 
other  trifles,  which  had  been  put  up  the  chinme>- 
to  keep  the  rain  out  7'hev  had  already  remedied 
this  oversight,  however;  and  propped  up  the  «iiu 
dow-sash  with  a  bundle  of  firewoorl  to  keep  it 
open;  so  that,  except  in  being  rather  inflamma- 
tory to  the  eyes  and  choking  to  the  lungs,  the 
apartment  was  quite  comfortable. 

Martin  was  in  no  vein  to  quarrel  with  it,  if  it 
had  been  in  less  tolerable  order,  especi^iUy  when 
a  gleaming  pint  of  porter  was  set  upon  the  table, 
and  the  servant-s-irl  withdrew,  bearing  with  her 
particular  instructions  relative  to  the  prodnrtion 
of  something  hot,  when  he  should  ring  the  bell. 
The  cold  meat  being  wrapped  in  a  play-bill, 
Martin  laid  the  cloth  by  spreading  that  document 
on  the  little  round  table  with  the  print  downwards; 
and  arranging  the  collation  upon  it.  The  foot  of 
the  bed,  which  was  very  close  to  the  fire,  answered 
for  a  sideboard  ;  and  when  he  had  completed  these 
preparations,  he  squeezed  an  old  arm-chair  into 
the  warmest  corner,  and  sat  down  to  enjoy  him 
self. 

He  had  begun  to  eat  with  a  great  appetite, 
g'ancing  round  the  room  meanwhile  with  a  tri- 
umphant anticipation  of  quitting  it  for  ever  on 
the  morrow,  when  his  attention  was  arrested  by 
a  stealthy  footstep  on  the  stairs,  and  presently  by 
a  knock  at  his  chamber  door,  which  although  it 
was  a  gentle  knock  enon2:h,  comrnunie:itr-d  such 
a  start  to  the  bundle  of  firewood  that  it  instantly 
leaped  out  of  window,  and  plunged  into  the 
street. 

"  More  coals,  I  suppose,"  said  Martin.  "Come 
in  !" 

"  It  an't  a  liberty,  sir,  though  it  seems  so," 
rejoined  a  man's  voice.  "  Your  servant,  sir. 
Hope  j'ou're  pretty  well,  sir." 

Martin  stared  at  the  face  that  was  bowing  in 
the  doorway  :  perfectly  remembering  the  features 
and  expression,  but  quite  forgetting  to  whom  they 
belonged. 

"Taplcy,  sir,"  said  his  visitor.  "  Him  as  for- 
merly lived  at  the  Dragon,  sir,  and  was  forced  to 
leave  in  consequence  of  a  want  of  jollitv,  sir." 

"To  be  sure  I"  cried  Martin.  "Why,  how 
did  you  come  here  ?" 

"Right  through  the  passage  and  up  the  stairs 
sir,"  said  Mark. 

"  How  did  you  find  me  out,  I  mean  ?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Mark,  "  I  've  passed  you  once 
or  twice  in  the  street  if  I'm  not  mistaken;  and 
when  I  was  a  looking  in  at  the  beef-and-ham 
shop  just  now,  along  with  a  himgry  sweep,  na 
was  very  much  calculated  fo  make  a  man  jolly, 
sir — I  see  you  a  buying  that." 

Martin  reddened  as  he  pointed  to  the  tabic, 
and  said,  somewhat  hastily  : 

"  Wei! !    what  then  ?" 

"  Why  then,  sir."  said  Mark,  "  I  made  bold  to 
foller  ;  and  as  I  told  'em  down  stairs  that  you 
expected  me,  I  was  let  up." 

"  Are  you  charged  with  any  message,  that  yoo 
told  them  you  were  expected  7"  inquired  Martin 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


05 


"  N..,  sir,  I  ii'n't,"  caid  Mnrk.  "That  was 
what  yiHt  may  call  a  pious  fraud,  sir,  that  was." 

Marlia  cast  an  angry  looi<  at  Inui :  but  there 
w;is  soiiiciniiig  in  the  teilow's  murry  face,  and  in 
his  niaiiner —which  with  all  its  cheerfulness  was 
far  from  bei.ig  obtrusive  or  familiar  —  tiiat  quite 
disarmed  hiiK.  He  had  lived  a  solitary  life  too, 
for  many  weeks,  and  the  voice  was  pleasant  in 
his  ear. 

"Taploy,"  he  isaid,  "  I  'II  deal  openly  with  you. 
From  all  tliat  I  can  judge,  and  from  all  I  have 
heard  of  you  through  Pinch,  you  are  not  a  likely 
kind  of  fellow  to  have  been  brought  litre  by  im- 
pertinent curiosity  or  any  other  offensive  motive. 
Bit  down.     I  'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Thankee, sir,"  said  Mark.  "  I'daslieve  stand." 

"If  you  don't  sit  down,"  retorted  Martin,  "I'll 
not  talk  to  you." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  observed  Mark.  "  Your 
will's  a  law,  sir.  Down  it  is;"  and  he  sat  down 
accordingly  upon  the  bedstead. 

"  Help  yourself,"  said  Martin,  handing  him 
the  only  knife. 

"Thankee,  sir,"  rejoined  Mark,  "After  you've 
done." 

"  If  you  don't  take  it  now,  you'll  not  have 
any,"  said  Martin. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  rejoined  Mark.  "That  being 
your  desire  —  now  it  is."  With  which  reply  he 
gravely  helped  himself,  and  went  on  eating. 
Martin  having  done  the  like  for  a  short  tune  in 
silence,  said,  abruptly, 

"  VV'iiat  are  you  doing  in  London  ?" 

"Nothing  at  all,  sir,"  rejoined  Mark. 

"  How 's  that  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"  I  want  a  place,"  said  Mirk. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,"  said  Martin. 

"  —  To  attend  upon  a  single  gentleman,"  re- 
Bumed  Mark.  "  If  from  the  country,  the  more 
desirable.  Make-shifts  would  be  prelerred.  Wages 
no  object" 

He  said  this  so  pointedly,  that  Martin  stopped 
in  his  eating,  and  said,  "  If  you  mearj  me — " 

"  Yes,  I  do,  sir,"  interposed  Mark. 

"  Then  you  may  judge  from  my  style  of  living 
here,  of  my  means  of  keeping  a  nMn-servant. 
Besides,  I  am  going  to  America  immediately." 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  .Vlurk,  quite  unmoved  by 
this  intelligence,  "  t'rom  all  tiiat  ever  I  heard 
about  it,  I  should  say  America  's  a  very  likely 
sort  of  a  place  lor  me  to  be  jolly  inl" 

Again  Martin  looked  at  him  angrily  ;  and  again 
his  anger  melted  away  in  spite  of  himself 

"  Lord  bless  you,  sir,"  s.iid  Mark,  "  what  is  the 
use  of  us  a  going  round  and  roujid,  and  hiding 
behind  the  corner,  and  dodging  up  and  down, 
when  we  can  come  straight  to  the  point  in  six 
words  I  I've  had  my  eye  upon  you  any  time 
this  fortnight.  I  see  well  enough  that  there's  a 
Bcrew  loose  in  your  ati'iirs.  I  know'd  well 
enough  the  first  time  1  see  you  down  at  llie  L)ra- 
g'Mi  that  it  must  be  so,  sooner  or  later.  Now,  sir, 
here  I  am  without  a  sitiwation;  without  any 
want  of  wages  for  a  year  to  come  ;  fir  I  saved  up 
(I  didn't  i.iean  to  do  it,  but  I  couldn't  help  it)  at 
the  Dragon — here  am  I  with  a  liking  for  what's 
wentersome  and  a  liking  for  you,  and  a  wish  to 
come  out  strong  under  circumstances  as  would 
keep  other  men  down  :  and  will  yuu  take  me,  or 
will  you  leave  me  ?" 


"  How  can  I  take  you  ?"  cried  Marlm. 

"When  I  say  take,"  rejoined  Mark,  "I  mean 
will  you  let  ene  go ;  and  when  I  say  will  you  lei 
me  go,  I  mean  will  you  let  me  go  along  with  you; 
for  go  I  will,  .somehow  or  another.  Now  that 
you've  said  America,  I  see  clear  at  once  that 
that 's  the  place  for  me  to  be  jolly  in.  Therefore, 
if  I  don't  pay  my  own  passage  in  the  ship  you  go 
in,  sir,  I  '11  pay  my  own  passage  in  another.  And 
mark  my  words :  if  I  go  alone,  it  shall  be,  to 
carry  out  the  principle,  in  the  rottenest,  craziest, 
leakingest  tub  of  a  vessel  that  a  place  can  be  got 
in  for  love  or  money.  So,  if  I'm  lost  upun  the 
way,  sir,  there '11  be  a  drowned  n)an  at  yoor  diior, 
and  always  a  knocking  double  knocks  at  it,  too, 
or  never  trust  me  1" 

"This  is  mere  folly,"  said  Martin, 

"Very  good,  sir,"  returned  Mark,  "  1  'm  glad 
to  hear  it,  because  if  you  don't  mean  to  let  me  go, 
you'll  be  more  comfortable,  perhaps,  on  account 
of  thinking  so.  Therefore,  I  contradict  no  gen- 
tleman.  liut  all  I  say  is,  that  if  I  don't  einignie 
to  America,  in  that  case,  in  the  beastlier',  old 
cocklesliell  as  goes  out  of  port,  I  'm — " 

"  You  don't  mean  what  you  say,  I  'm  sure  ?" 
said  Martiti. 

"  Yes  I  do,"  cried  Mark, 

"  I  tell  you  I  know  better,"  rejoined  Martin, 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Mark,  with  the  same 
air  of  perfect  satisfaction.  "  Let  it  stand  that 
way  at  present,  sir,  and  wait  to  see  how  it  turns 
out.  Why,  love  my  heart  alive  I  'he  only  doubt 
I  have  is,  whether  there's  any  civ^dit  in  going 
with  a  gentleman  like  you,  that's  as  certain  to 
make  Imis  way  there  as  a  gimlet  is  to  go  through 
soil  deal." 

'i'his  was  touching  Martin  oii  his  weak  point, 
and  having  him  at  a  great  advantage.  He  could 
not  help  thinking,  either,  what  a  brisk  fellow  tliii 
.Mark  was,  and  how  great  a  change  he  had 
wrought  in  the  atmosphere  of  the  dismal  littki 
room  already, 

"  Why,  certainly,  Mark,"  he  said,  "  I  iiave 
hopes  of  doing  well  there,  or  I  shouldn't  go.  I 
may  have  the  qualifications  for  doing  well,  per- 
haps." 

"Of  course  you  have,  sir,"  returned  Mark 
Tapley.     "  Everybody  knows  that." 

"  You  see,"  said  Martin,  leaning  his  chin  u|ion 
his  hand,  and  looking  at  the  fire,  "ornamental 
architecture  apj)lied  to  domestic  purposes,  can 
hardly  fail  to  be  in  great  request  in  that  countrv  ; 
for  men  are  constantly  changing  their  resideoc^  s 
there,  and  moving  further  off;  and  it's  clear  they 
must  have  houses  to  live  in." 

"  I  should  say,  sir,"  observed  Mark,  "  that 
that  *s  a  state  of  things  as  o|>ens  one  of  the  jolliest 
look-outs  for  d<}mestic  architecture  that  ever  I 
heerd  tell  on." 

Martin  glanced  at  him  hastily,  not  feeling  quite 
free  from  a  suspicion  that  this  remark  implied  a 
doubt  of  the  successful  issue  of  his  plans.  But 
Mr,  Tapley  was  eating  the  boiled  beef  and  bread 
with  such  entire  good  faith  and  singleness  of 
purpose  expressed  in  his  visage,  that  he  could  not 
but  te  satisfied.  Another  doubt  arose  in  his  mind, 
however,  as  this  one  disappeared.  He  produco<l 
the  blank  cover  in  which  the  note  had  been  en. 
closed,  and  fi.xing  his  eyes  on  Mark  as  he  put  it 
in  his  hands,  said, 


9fi 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  Now  tell  me  the  truth.  Do  you  know  any- 
tliiiit,'  about  tliat  ?" 

Mark  turned  it  over  and  over  ;  held  it  near  his 
eyes  ;  held  it  away  irotn  him  at  arm's  length  ; 
iu'ld  it  with  tlie  superscription  upwards,  and  with 
tlie  superscri|ition  downwards;  and  shook  his 
head  witii  sucii  a  fjcriuine  expression  of  astonish- 
ment at  being-  asked  the  question,  that  Martin 
/aid,  as  he  took  it  !roin  him  again: 

"No,  I  see  you  don't.  How  should  you! 
Tiioiigli,  indeed,  your  knowing  about  it  would  not 
be  more  extraordinary  than  its  being  here,  (."ome, 
'I'aplty,"  he  addud,  alter  a  moment's  thouglit, 
"  I  'II  trust  you  with  my  history,  such  as  it  is, 
and  then  you  'II  see,  more  clearly,  what  sort  of 
t^  riunt  s  you  would  link  yourself  to,  ifyou  followed 
me." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mark ;  "  but 
afore  you  enter  upon  it,  will  you  take  me  if  I 
choose  to  go?  Will  you  turn  off  me  —  Mark 
Tapley — formerly  of  the  Blue  Dragon,  as  can  be 
well  reconunended  by  Mr.  Pinch,  and  as  wants  a 
gentleman  of  your  strength  of  mind  to  look  up  to; 
or  will  you,  in  climbing  the  ladder  as  yuu  're 
certain  to  get  to  the  top  of,  take  me  along  with 
you  at  a  respectful  distance  ?  Now, sir,"  said  Mark, 
"  it 's  of  very  little  importance  to  you,  I  know  — 
there's  the  difficulty  ;  but  it's  of  very  great  im- 
portance to  me ;  and  will  you  be  so  good  as  to 
consider  of  it?" 

If  this  were  meant  as  a  second  appeal  to  Mar- 
tin's weak  side,  tbunded  on  his  observation  of  the 
effect  of  the  first,  Mr.  'I'apley  was  a  skilful  and 
glirewd  observer.  Whether  an  intentional  or  an 
accidental  shot,  it  hit  the  mark  full ;  for  Martin, 
relenting  more  and  more,  said,  with  a  condescen- 
sion whi^h  was  inexpressibly  delicious  to  him, 
after  hi?  recent  humiliation  : 

"  We  '11  see  about  it,  Tapley.  You  shall  tell 
me  in  what  disposition  you  tind  yourself  to-mor- 
row." 

"  Then,  sir,"  said  Mark,  rubbing  his  hands, 
"  the  job's  done.  Go  on,  sir,  ifyou  please.  I'm 
all  attention." 

ThrovTing  himself  back  in  his  arm-chair,  and 
looking  at  tlie  fire,  with  now  and  then  u  glance  at 
Mark,  who  at  such  times  nodded  his  head  sagely, 
to  express  his  profound  interi  st  and  attention  ; 
Martin  ran  over  the  chief  points  in  his  history,  to 
the  same  eti'eet  as  he  had  relatud  tlii-m,  weeks 
before,  to  Mr.  Pinch.  Out  he  adapted  them,  ac- 
cording to  tlie  b(  st  of  his  judgment,  to  Mr.  Tap- 
ley's  comprehension  ;  and  with  tliat  view  made 
as  light  of  his  love  affair  as  he  could,  and  referred 
to  it  in  very  few  words.  But  here  he  reckoned 
without  his  host;  tor  Mark's  interest  was  keenest 
in  this  part  of  the  business,  and  prompted  him  to 
ask  sundry  questions  in  relation  to  it  ;  for  which 
he  apologisL'd  as  one  in  some  measure  privileged 
to  do  so,  from  having  seen  (as  Martin  explained 
lo  him)  the  young  lady  at  the  Blue  Dragon. 

"  And  a  young  lady  as  any  gentlen)an  ought  to 
leel  more  proud  of  being  in  love  with,"  said  Mark, 
**  don't  draw  breath." 

"  Ay  I  Vou  saw  her  when  she  was  not  happy," 
Mid  Martin,  gazing  nt  the  fire  again.  "  If  you 
Jiad  seen  her  in  the  old  times,  indeed — " 

"  VVhy,  she  certainly  was  a  little  down-hearted, 
Mir,  and  so;nething  paler  in  her  colour  than  I 
wu'd  have  wished,"  said  Mark,  "but  none  the 


worse  in  her  looks  for  that.  I  think  she  secmbd 
better,  sir,  after  she  come  to  London." 

Martin  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the  fire  ;  stared 
at  Mark  as  if  he  thought  he  had  suddenly  gofte 
mad  ;  and  asked  him  what  he  meant. 

"  No  offence  intended,  sir,"  urged  Mark.  "  I 
don't  mean  to  say  she  was  any  tlie  happier,  \vith» 
out  you;  but  I  thought  she  was  a  looking  better, 
sir." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  she  has  been  in  f-on. 
don  ?"  asked  Martin,  rising  hurriedly,  and  pusli- 
ing  back  his  chair. 

"  Of  course  I  do,"  said  Mark,  rising  too,  in 
great  amazement,  from  the  bedstead. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  she  's  in  London 
now?" 

"  Most  likely,  sir.  I  mean  to  say  she  was  a 
week  ago." 

"  And  you  know  where  ?" 

"  Yes  1"  cried  Mark.     "  What!     Don't  you  ?" 

"  ^ly  good  fellow  1"  exclaimed  Martin,  clutclw 
ing  him  by  both  arms,  "  I  have  never  seen  l»er 
since  I  left  my  grandfather's  house." 

"  U  hy  then  !"  cried  Mark,  giving  the  little 
table  such  a  blow  with  his  clenched  fist  that  the 
slices  of  beef  and  ham  danced  upon  it,  while  all 
his  features  seemed,  with  delight,  to  be  going  up 
into  his  forehead,  and  never  coming  back  again 
any  more,  "if  I  an't  your  nat'ral  born  servant, 
hired  by  Fate,  there  an't  such  a  thing  in  natur' 
as  a  Blue  Dragon.  What !  when  I  was  a  ram- 
bling  up  and  down  a  old  churchyard  in  the  city, 
getting  myself  into  a  jolly  state,  didn't  I  see  your 
grandfather  a  toddling  to  and  fro  for  pretty  nigh 
a  mortal  hour !  Didn't  I  watch  him  into  Cod- 
gers's  commercial  boarding-house,  and  watch 
him  out,  and  watch  him  home  to  his  hotel,  and  go 
and  tell  him  as  his  was  the  service  for  wj  money, 
and  I  had  said  so,  afore  I  left  tl'r,  )>rogon! 
Wasn't  the  young  lady  a  sitting  with  hini  then, 
and  didn't  she  fall  a  laughing  in  a  maiiiier  as  was 
beautiful  to  see  !  Didn't  your  granJrathcr  say, 
'Come  back  again  next  week;'  and  didn't  I  go 
next  week  ;  and  didn't  he  say  that  he  couldn't 
make  up  his  mind  to  trust  nobody  no  more,  and 
therefore  wouldn't  engage  me;  but  at  the  same 
time  stood  something  to  drink  as  was  hand>otnp  ! 
Why,"  cried  i\Ir.  Tapley,  with  a  comical  mixture 
of  delight  and  cliagrin,  "  where 's  the  credit  of  a 
man's  being  jolly  under  such  circumstances  I  who 
could  help  it,  when  things  come  about  like  this  I" 

For  some  moments,  Martin  stood  gazing  at 
him,  as  if  he  really  doubted  the  evidence  of  his 
senses,  and  could  not  believe  that  Mark  stojd 
there,  in  the  body,  before  him.  At  length  he 
asked  him  whether,  if  the  young  lady  were  still 
in  London,  he  thought  lie  could  contrive  to  de- 
liver a  letter  to  her  secretly. 

"Do  I  think  I  can!"  cried  Mark.  "  Think  I 
can  !     Here,  sit  down,  sir.     Write  it  out,  sir  I" 

With  that  he  cleared  the  table  by  the  summa- 
ry process  of  tilting  everything  upon  it  into  t!»e 
fire-place  ;  snatched  some  writing  materials  from 
the  mantel-shelf;  set  Martin's  cliair  before  them  ; 
forced  him  down  into  it;  dipped  a  pen  into  ttie 
ink ;  and  put  it  in  his  hand, 

"  Cut  away,  sir  !"  cried  Mark,  "  Make  it 
strong,  sir.  Let  it  be  wery  pointed,  sir.  Do  I 
think  so  ?     /should  think  so.     Go  to  work,  sir  1" 

Martin  required  no  further  adjuration,  but  went 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


97 


I.  work  at  a  crcat  rate;  while  Mr,  Tapley,  in- 
stalliiitr  liimseli' without  any  more  fbrmaiities  into 
ihe  functions  of  his  valet  and  g-eneral  attendant, 
divested  himself  of  iiis  coat,  and  went  on  to  clear 
the  fire-place  and  arrang-e  the  room  :  talking  to 
himself  in  a  low  voicg  the  whole  time. 

"Jolly  sort  of  lori<;ing-s,"  said  Mark,   rubbing 
his   nose  with    the    knob  at  the  end   of  the  fire- 
s!iiivol,   and    looking   uround   the   poor  chamber; 
"  that 's  a  comlbrt.    The  rain  's  come  through  tiie  j 
fuof  too.     'I'hat  an't  bad.     A  lively  old  bedstead,  | 


I  '11  be  bound  ;  po|)ilatcd  by  /ots  of  wannires,  no 
doubt.  Come  !  my  spirits  is  a  getting  up  agam. 
An  uncommon  ragged  nightcap  this.  A  very 
good  sign.  VVe  shall  do  yet !  Here,  .Tane,  tii y 
dear,"  calling  down  the  stairs,  "bring  up  that 
there  hot  tumbler  for  my  master,  as  was  a  mixing 
when  I  come  in.  That's  right,  sir,"  to  Martin, 
"Go  at  it  as  if  you  meant  it,  sir.  Be  very  ten- 
der, sir,  if  you  please.  You  can't  make  it  loo 
strong,  sir  1" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN  WHICH  MARTIN  BIDS  ADIEU  TO  THE  LADY  OF  HIS  LOVE;  AND  HONOUttS 
AV  OBSCURE  INDIVIDUAL  WHOSE  FORTUNE  HE  INTENDS  TO  MAKE,  BY 
COMMENDING  HER  TO  HIS  PROTECTION. 


The  letter  being  duly  signed,  sealed,  and  de- 
livered, was  handed  to  Mark  Tapley,  for  imme- 
diate conveyance  if  possible.  And  he  succeeded 
so  well  in  his  embassy  as  to  be  enabled  to  return 
that  same  night,  just  as  the  house  was  closing, 
with  the  welcome  intelligence  that  he  had  sent  it 
up  stiirs  to  the  young  lady,  enclosed  in  a  small 
manuscript  of  his  own,  purporting  to  contain  his 
farther  petition  to  be  engaged  in  Mr.  Chuzzlewit's 
eervice  ;  and  that  she  had  herself  come  down  and 
told  him,  in  gieat  haste  and  agitation,  that  she 
would  meet  the  gentleman  at  eight  o'clock  to- 
irmrrow  morning  in  St.  James's  Park.  It  was  then 
agreed  between  the  new  master  and  the  new  man, 
that  Mark  should  be  in  waiting  near  the  hotel  in 
good  time,  to  escort  the  young  lady  to  the  place 
of  appointment ;  and  when  they  had  parted  for 
the  night  with  this  understanding,  Mark  took  up 
his  pen  again  ;  and  before  he  went  to  bed  wrote 
another  letter,  whereof  more  will  be  seen  pre- 
sently. 

He  was  up  before  daybreak,  and  came  upon  the 
park  with  the  morning,  which  was  clad  in  the 
least  engaging  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five 
dresses  in  the  wardrobe  of  the  year.  It  was  raw, 
damp,  dark,  and  dismal ;  the  clouds  were  as 
muddy  as  the  ground  ;  and  the  short  perspective 
of  every  street  and  avenue  was  closed  up  by  the 
mist  as  by  a  filthy  curtain. 

"  Fine  weather,  indeed,"  Martin  bitterly  solilo- 
quized, "  to  be  walking  up  and  down  here  in,  like 
a  thief  I  Fine  vceather  indeed,  for  a  meeting  of 
lovers  in  the  open  air,  and  in  a  public  walk  !  I 
need  be  departing  with  all  speed  for  another  coun- 
try ;  for  I  have  come  to  a  pretty  pass  in  this  !" 

He  might  perhaps  have  gone  on  to  reflect  that 
of  all  mornings  in  the  year,  it  was  not  the  best 
calculated  for  a  young  lady's  coming  forth  on 
such  an  errand,  either.  But  he  was  stopped  on 
the  road  to  this  reflection,  if  his  thoughts  tended 
that  way,  by  her  appearance  at  a  short  distance, 
on  which  he  hurried  forward  to  meet  her.  Her 
squire,  Mr.  Tapley,  at  the  same  time  fell  discreetly 
back,  and  surveyed  the  fog  above  him  with  an  ap- 
pearance of  attentive  interest. 

"  My  dear  Martin  !"  said  Mary. 

"  My  dear  Mary  I"  said  Martin  ;  and  lovers  are 
*uch  a  smgular  kind  of  people  that  this  is  all  they 
13 


did  say  just  then,  though  Martin  took  her  arm, 
and  her  hand  too,  and  they  paced  up  and  down  a 
short  walk,  that  was  least  exposed  to  observation, 
half  a  dozen  times. 

"If  you  have  changed  at  all,  my  love,  since  we 
parted,"  said  Martin  at  length,  as  he  looked  upon 
her  with  a  proud  delight,  "it  is  only  to  be  more 
beautiful  than  ever  !" 

Had  she  been  of  the  common  metal  of  love- 
worn  young  ladies,  she  would  have  denied  this  in 
her  most  interesting  manner;  and  would  have 
told  him  that  she  knew  she  had  become  a  perfect 
fright;  or  that  she  had  wasted  away  witli  weeping 
and  anxiety;  or  that  her  mental  sufferings  were 
unspeakable;  or  would,  either  by  tears  or  words, 
or  a  mixture  of  both,  have  furnished  him  with 
some  other  information  to  that  efl'cet,  and  made 
him  as  miserable  as  possible.  Birt  she  had  been 
reared  up  in  a  sterner  school  than  the  minds  of 
most  young  girls  are  formed  in;  she  had  had  her 
nature  strengthened  by  the  hands  of  iiard  endu- 
rance and  necessity  ;  had  come  out  from  her  young 
trials  constant,  self-denying,  earnest,  and  rievoted  ; 
had  acquired  in  her  maidenhood — whether  hap- 
pily in  the  end,  for  herself  or  him,  is  foreign  to 
our  present  purpose  to  inquire — something  of  thaf 
nobler  quality  of  gentle  hearts  which  is  developed 
often  by  the  sorrows  and  struggles  of  matronly 
years,  but  often  by  their  lessons  only.  Unspoiled, 
unpampered  in  her  joys  or  griefs;  with  frank, 
and  full,  and  deep  affection  for  the  object  of  her 
early  love;  she  saw  in  him  one  who  for  her  sake 
was  an  outcast  from  his  home  and  fortune,  and 
she  had  no  more  idea  of  bestowing  tliat  Inve  upon 
him  in  other  than  cheerful  and  sustaining  words, 
full  of  high  hope  and  grateful  trustfulness,  than 
she  had  of  being  unworthy  of  it,  in  her  lightesj 
thought  or  deed,  for  any  base  temptation  that  the 
world  could  offer. 

"  What  change  is  there  in  you,  Martin,"  she  re- 
plied ;  "  for  that  concerns  me  nearest  ?  You  look 
mo'e  anxious  and  more  thoughtlul  than  you  used." 

"  Why  as  to  that,  my  love,"  said  Martin,  as  iif 
drew  her  waist  within  his  arm,  first  looking  round 
to  see  that  there  were  no  observers  near,  and  hi; 
holding  Mr.  Tapley  more  intent  than  ever  on  tlif- 
fog ;  "  it  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not ;  for  my  lil'e 
— especially  of  ^ate — has  been  a  hard  one." 


OS 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  I  know  it  must  have  been,"  she  answered. 
'  When  li;ive  I  loigotten  to  think  of  it  and  you  ?" 
"  Not  olten,  I  hope,"  said  Martin.  "  Not  often, 
I  am  sure.  Not  often,  I  have  .«omc  riglit  to  ex- 
pect, M.iry  ;  for  I  have  undergone  a  <;reat  deal  of 
vi'xation  and  privation,  and  1  naturally  look  for 
that  return,  you  know." 

"A  very,  very  poor  return,"  she  answered  with  a 
fainter  sniile.  "But  you  have  it,  and  will  have  it 
always.  You  have  paid  a  dear  price  for  a  poor 
heart,  Martin  ;  but  it  is  at  least  your  own  and  a 
.rue  one." 

"  Of  course  I  feel  quite  certnin  of  that,"  said 
Martin,  "or  I  should  n't  have  put  myself  in  my 
present  position.  And  don't  say  a  poor  heart, 
Mary,  for  I  say  a  rich  one.  "  Now,  I  am  about 
to  break  a  design  to  you,  dearest,  which  will 
startle  you  at  first,  but  which  is  undertaken  for 
your  sake.  I  am  going,"  he  added  slowly,  look- 
ing far  into  the  deep  wonder  of  her  dark  bright 
eyes,  "  abroad." 
*  "Abroad,  Martini" 

"  Only  to  America.  See  now — how  you  droop 
directly  1" 

"  If  I  do,  or,  I  hope  I  may  say,  if  I  did,"  she 
answered,  raising  her  head  after  a  short  silence, 
and  looking  once  more  into  his  face,  "  it  was  for 
grief  to  tiiink  of  what  you  are  resolved  to  undergo 
for  me.  I  would  not  venture  to  dissuade  you, 
Martin  ;  but  it  is  a  long,  long  distance;  there  is  a 
wide  ocean  to  be  crossed  ;  illness  and  want  are  sad 
calamities  in  any  place,  but  in  a  foreign  country 
dreadful  to  endure.  Have  you  thought  of  all  this?" 
•'  Thought  of  it !"  cried  Martin,  abating  in  his 
fondness — and  he  was  very  fond  of  her — hardly 
an  iota  of  his  usual  impetuosity.  "  What  am  I 
to  do  ?  It  'e  very  well  to  say,  Have  I  thought  of 
it  ?  my  love  ;  but  you  should  ask  me  in  the  same 
breath,  have  I  thought  of  starving  at  home;  have 
I  thought  of  doing  porter's  work  for  a  living; 
have  I  thought  of  holding  horses  in  the  street  to 
earn  my  roll  of  bread  from  day  to  day  ?  Come, 
come,"  he  added,  in  a  gentler  tone,  "  do  not  hang 
down  your  head,  my  dear,  for  I  need  the  en- 
couragement that  your  sweet  face  alone  can  give 
me.  Why,  that's  well!  Now  you  are  brave 
again !" 

"  I  am  endeavouring  to  be,"  she  answered, 
emiling  through  her  tears. 

"  Endeavouring  to  be  anything  that 's  good, 
and  being  if,  is,  with  you,  all  one.  Don't  I  know 
that  of  old  ?"  cried  Martin,  gaily.  "  So  I  That's 
famous  !  Now  I  can  tell  you  all  my  plans  as 
cheerfully  as  if  you  were  my  little  wife  already, 
Mary." 

She  hung  more  closely  on  his  arm,  and  looking 
jpward  in  his  face,  bade  him  speak  on. 

"  You  see,"  said  Martin,  playing  with  the  little 
hand  upon  his  wrist, "  that  my  attempts  to  advance 
myself  at  home  have  been  baffled  and  rendered 
abortivf!.  I  will  not  say  by  whom,  Mary,  for  that 
would  give  pain  to  us  both.  But  so  it  is.  Have 
you  heard  him  speak  of  late  of  any  relative  of 
nnne  or  his,  called  Pecksniff'?  Only  tell  me 
what  I  ask  you,  no  more." 

"  I  iiave  heard  to  my  surprise,  that  he  is  a  bet- 
ter man  than  was  sufiposed." 

**  I  thought  so,"  interrupted  Martin. 
"And   that  it  is  likely  we  may  come  to  know 
('•m,  if  not  to  visit  and  reside  with  him  and — I 


think — his  daughters.     He  Aas  daughters,  bs"  he. 

love  ?" 

"A  pair  of  them,"  Martin  answered.  A  pre. 
cious  pair  !     Gems  of  the  first  water  '" 

"Ah!     You  are  jesting  I" 

"  There  is  a  sort  of  jesting  which  is  very  much 
in  earnest,  and  includes  some  pretty  serious  dis. 
gust,"  said  Martin.  "  I  jest  in  reference  to  Mr. 
Pecksniff  (at  whose  house  I  have  been  living  as 
his  assistant,  and  at  whose  hands  I  have  received 
insult  and  injury),  in  that  vein.  Whatever  be- 
tides, or  however  closely  you  may  be  brought  into 
communication  with  his  family,  never  forget  tiiat, 
Mary  ;  and  never  for  an  instant,  whatever  appear- 
ances may  seem  to  contradict  me,  lose  sight  of 
this  assurance — Pecksniff"  is  a  scoundrel." 

"  Indeed  I" 

"  In  thought,  and  in  deed,  and  in  everything 
else.  A  scoundrel  from  the  topmost  hair  of  his 
head,  to  the  nethermost  atotn  of  his  heel.  Of  his 
daughters  I  will  only  say  that,  to  the  best  of  my 
knowledge  and  belief,  they  are  dutiful  young  la- 
dies, and  take  after  their  father,  closely.  This  is 
a  digression  from  the  main  point,  and  yet  it  brings 
me  to  what  I  was  going  to  say." 

He  stopped  to  look  into  her  eyes  again,  and 
seeing,  in  a  hasty  glance  over  his  shoulder,  that 
there  was  no  one  near,  and  that  Mark  was  still 
intent  upon  the  fog,  not  only  looked  at  her  lips 
'jo,  but  kissed  them  into  the  bargain. 

"  Now,  I  am  going  to  America,  with  great 
prospects  of  doing  well,  and  of  returning  home 
myself  very  soon  ;  it  may  be  to  take  you  there 
for  a  few  years,  but,  at  all  events,  to  claim  you 
for  my  wife;  which,  after  sueh  trials,  I  should  do 
with  no  fear  of  your  still  thinking  it  a  duty  to 
cleave  to  him  who  will  not  suffer  me  to  live  (for 
this  is  true)  if  he  can  help  it,  in  my  own  land 
How  long  I  may  be  absent  is,  of  course,  uncer- 
tain ;  but  it  shall  not  be  very  long.  Trust  me  for 
that." 

"  In  the  meantime,  dear  Martin " 

"That's  the  very  thing  I  am  coming  to.  In 
the  meantime  you  shall  hear,  constantly,  of  all 
my  goings-on.     Thus." 

He  paused  to  take  from  his  pocket  the  letter  he 
had  written  over-night,  and  then  resumed  : 

"  In  this  fellow's  employment,  and  living  in 
this  fellow's  house,  (by  fellow,  I  mean  Mr.  Peck- 
enifT,  of  course),  there  is  a  certain  i)erson  of  the 
name  of  Pinch — don't  forget  it ;  a  poor,  strange, 
simple  oddity,  Mary  ;  but  thoroughly  honest  and 
sincere;  full  of  zeal ;  and  with  a  cordial  regard 
for  me;  which  I  mean  to  return  one  of  these 
days,  by  setting  him  up  in  life  in  some  way  or 
other." 

"  Your  old  kind  nature,  Martin  !" 

"  Oh  !"  said  Martin,  that's  not  worth  speaking 
of,  my  love.  lie's  very  grateful  and  desirous  to 
serve  me  ;  and  I  am  more  than  repaid.  Now  one 
night  I  told  this  Pinch  my  history,  and  all  about 
myself  and  you;  in  which  he  was  not  a  lillle  in- 
terested, I  can  tell  yoUj  for  he  knows  you  !  Ay, 
you  may  look  surprised — and  the  longer  the  het- 
tcr,  for  it  becomes  you — but  you  have  heard  him 
play  the  organ  in  the  church  of  that  villiige  before 
now;  and  he  has  seen  you  listening  to  his  niusio, 
and  has  caught  his  inspiration  from  you,  too:" 

"  Was  he  the  organist  ?"  ciied  Mary.  "  I  thanh 
him  from  my  heart." 


Mr.  Tapley  acts  Third  Party  with  great  discretion. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


99 


"  Yes,  he  was,"  said  Martin,  "  and  is,  and  gets 
not'nmg  for  it  cither.  There  never  was  such  a 
Biinple  fellow!  Quite  an  infant!  But  a  very 
good  sort  of  creature,  I  assure  you." 

*  I  am  sure  of  thul,"  she  said,  with  great 
earnestness.     "  He  must  be  I" 

"  Oh,  yes,  no  doubt  at  all  about  it,"  rejoined 
Martin,  in  his  usual  careless  way.  "  lie  is. 
Well !  It  has  occurred  to  me — but  stay,  if  I  read 
you  what  I  liave  written  and  intend  sending  to 
him  by  post  to-night,  it  will  explain  itself.  '  My 
dear  Tom  Pincli.'  That's  rather  familiar,  per- 
haps," said  Martin,  suddenly  remembering  that 
he  was  proud  when  tiiey  had  last  met,  "  but  I  call 
him  my  dear  Tom  Pinch,  because  he  likes  it, 
and  it  pleases  him." 

"  Very  right,  and  very  kind,"  said  Mary. 

"  Exactly  so  !"  cried  Martin.  "  It 's  as  well  to 
be  kind  whenever  one  can  ;  and,  as  I  said  before, 
he  really  is  an  excellent  fellow.  '  My  dear  Tom 
Pinch, — I  address  this  under  cover  to  Mrs.  Lupin, 
at  the  Blue  Dragon,  and  have  begged  her  in  a 
short  note  to  deliver  it  to  you  without  saying 
anything  about  it  elsewhere  ;  and  to  do  the  same 
•with  all  future  letters  she  may  receive  from  me. 
My  reason  for  so  doing  will  be  at  once  apparent 
to  you.'  I  don't  know  that  it  will  be,  by  the 
bye,'  said  Martin,  breaking  off,  "for  he's  slow 
of  comprehension,  poor  fellow  ;  but  he  '11  find  it 
out  in  time.  My  reason  simply  is,  that  I  don't 
want  my  letters  to  be  read  by  other  people ;  and 
particularly  by  the  scoundrel  whom  he  thinks  an 
angel." 

"  Mr.  Pecksniff  again  ?"  asked  Mary. 

"  The  same,"  said  Martin  :  "  '  —  will  be  at 
once  apparent  to  you.  I  have  completed  my 
arrangements  for  going  to  America ;  and  you 
will  be  surprised  to  hear  that  I  am  to  be  accom- 
panied by  Mark  Tapley,  upon  whom  I  have 
stumbled  strangely  in  London,  and  who  insists 
on  putting  himself  under  my  protection' — mean- 
ing, my  love,"  said  Martin,  breaking  off  again, 
"our  friend  in  the  rear,  of  course." 

She  was  delighted  to  hear  this,  and  bestowed  a 
kind  glance  upon  Mark,  which  he  brought  his 
eyes  down  from  the  fog  to  encounter,  and  receiv- 
ed with  immense  satisfaction.  She  said  in  his 
hearing,  too,  that  he  was  a  good  soul  and  a  merry 
creature,  and  would  be  faithful,  she  was  certain ; 
commendations  which  Mr.  Tapley  inwardly  re- 
solved to  deserve,  from  such  lips,  if  he  died  for  it. 

"  '  Now,  my  dear  Pinch,'  "  resumed  Martin, 
proceeding  with  his  letter;  "'I  am  going  to  re- 
pose great  trust  in  you,  knowing  that  I  may  do 
eo  with  perfect  reliance  on  your  honour  and 
secrecy,  and  having  nobody  else  just  now  to  trust 
in.'  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  say  that,  Martin." 

"AVouldn't  you?  Well!  I '11  take  that  out. 
h  'e  perfectly  true,  though." 

*•  But  it  might  seem  ungracious,  perhaps." 

''Oh,  I  don't  mind  Pinch,"  said  Martin. 
*  There  's  no  occasion  to  stand  on  any  ceremony 
with  him.  However,  I  '11  take  it  out,  as  you 
wish  it,  and  make  the  full  stop  '  at  secrecy.' 
Very  well  I  '  I  shall  not  only'  —  this  is  the  letter 
again,  you  know." 

"  I  understand." 

" '  I  shall  not  only  enclose  my  letters  to  the 
young  lady  of  whom  I  have   told  you    to  your 


I  charge,  to  be  forwarded  as  she  may  request,  hut 
I  most  earnestly  commit  her,  the  young  lady 
herself,  to  your  care  and  regard,  in  the  event  of 
your  meeting  in  my  absence.  I  have  reason  to 
tliink  that  the  probabilities  of  encountering  each 
other — perhaps  very  frequently — are  now  neithi  r 
remote  nor  few ;  and  although  in  your  position 
you  can  do  very  little  to  lessen  the  uneasiness  of 
hers,  I  trust  to  you  implicitly  to  do  that  much 
and  so  deserve  the  confidence  I  have  reposed  in 
you.'  You  see,  my  dear  Mary,"  said  Martin, 
"  It  will  be  a  great  consolation  to  you  to  have 
anybody,  no  matter  how  simple,  with  whom  you 
can  speak  about  me  ;  and  the  very  first  time  you 
talk  to  Pinch,  you  '11  feel  at  once  that  there  is  no 
more  occasion  for  any  embarrassment  or  hesifa- 
tion  in  talking  to  him,  than  if  he  were  an  old 
woman." 

"  However  that  may  be,"  she  returned,  smiling, 
"  he  is  your  friend,  and  that  is  enough." 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  is  my  frie.id,"  said  Martin,  "  cer- 
tainly. In  fact,  I  have  told  him  in  so  many 
words  that  we  '11  always  take  notice  of  him,  and 
protect  him  ;  and  it 's  a  good  trait  in  his  charac- 
ter that  he  's  grateful  —  very  grateful  indeed. 
You  '11  like  him  of  all  things,  my  love,  I  know. 
You'll  observe  very  much  that's  comical  and 
oldfashioned  about  Pinch,  but  you  needn't  mind 
laughing  at  him ;  for  he  '11  not  care  about  it. 
He  '11  rather  like  it,  indeed." 

"  I  don't  think  I  shall  put  that  to  the  test, 
Martin." 

"  You  won't  if  you  can  help  it,  of  course,"  he 
said,  "  but  I  think  you  '11  find  him  a  little  tot 
much  for  your  gravity.  However,  that's  neither 
here  nor  there,  and  it  certainly  is  not  the  letter, 
which  ends  thus:  '  Knowing  that  1  need  not  im- 
press the  nature  and  extent  of  that  confidence 
upon  you  at  any  greater  length,  as  it  is  already 
sufficiently  established  in  your  mind,  I  will  only 
say  in  bidding  you  farewell,  and  looking  forward 
to  our  next  meeting,  that  I  shall  charge  myself 
from  this  time,  through  all  changes  for  the  bettt  r, 
with  your  advancement  and  happiness,  as  if  they 
were  my  own.  You  may  rely  upon  that.  And 
always  believe  me,  my  dear  Tom  Pinch,  faith- 
fully your  friend,  Martin  Chuzzlewit.  P.  S.  J 
enclose  the  amount  which  you  so  kindly' — Oh," 
said  Martin,  cheeking  himself,  and  folding  up 
the  letter,  "that's  nothing!" 

At  this  crisis  Mark  Tapley  interposed,  with  an 
apology  for  remarking  that  the  clock  of  tlie 
Horse  Guards  was  striking. 

"  Which  I  shouldn't  have  said  nothing  about, 
sir,"  added  Mark,  "if  the  young  lady  hadn't 
begged  me  to  be  particular  in  mentioning  it." 

"  I  did,"  said  Mary.  "  Thank  you.  You  are 
quite  right.  In  another  minute  I  shall  be  ready 
to  return.  We  have  time  for  a  very  tew  words 
more,  dear  Martin,  and  although  1  had  much  to 
say,  it  must  remain  unsaid  until  the  happy  time 
of  our  next  meeting.  Heaven  send  it  may  comi; 
speedily  and  pros-perously  !  But  I  have  no  fear 
of  that." 

"Fear  I"  cried  Martin.  "Why,  who  has? 
What  are  a  few  months  ?  What  is  a  whole  year  T 
When  I  come  gaily  back,  with  a  road  tiimnrrh 
life  hewn  out  before  me,  then  indeed,  lookii.'g 
back  upon  this  parting,  it  may  seem  a  dism.-J 
one.     But  now  I  I  swear  I  wouldn't  have  it  hat- 


100 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


pen  under  more  favourable  auspices,  if  I  could  : 
for  ihen  I  should  be  less  inclined  to  go,  and  less 
impressed  with  the  necessity." 

"Yes,  yes.  I  feel  that  too.  When  do  you 
go  : 

"  To-night.  We  leave  for  Liverpool  to-night. 
A  vessel  sails  from  that  port,  as  I  hear,  in  three 
days.  In  a  month,  or  less,  we  shall  be  there. 
Why,  what's  a  month!  How  many  months 
have  flown  by  since  our  last  parting  !" 

"  Long  to  look  back  upon,"  said  Mary,  echoing 
his  cheerful  tone,  "  but  nothing  in  their  course  !" 

"Nothing  at  all!"  cried  Martin.  "I  shall 
have  change  of  scene  and  change  of  pbce ; 
change  of  people,  change  of  manners,  change  of 
cares  and  hopes !  Time  will  wear  wings  indeed  ! 
I  can  bear  anything,  so  that  I  have  swift  action, 
Mary." 

Was  he  thinking  solely  of  her  care  for  him, 
when  he  took  so  little  heed  of  her  share  in  the 
separation  ;  of  her  quiet  monotonous  endurance, 
and  her  slow  anxiety  from  day  to  day  ?  Was 
there  nothing  jarring  and  discordant  even  in  his 
tone  of  courage,  with  this  one  note  self  for  ever 
audible,  however  high  the  strain  ?  Not  in  her 
ears.  It  had  been  better  otherwise,  perhaps,  but 
BO  it  was.  She  heard  the  same  bold  spirit  which 
had  flung  away  as  dross  all  gain  and  profit  for 
her  sake,  making  light  of  peril  and  privation  that 
she  might  be  calm  and  happy  ;  and  she  heard  no 
more.  That  heart  where  self  has  found  no  place 
and  raised  no  throne,  is  slow  to  recognise  its  ugly 
presence  when  it  looks  upon  it.  As  one  possess- 
ed of  an  evil  spirit  was  held  in  old  time  to  be 
alone  conscious  of  the  lurking  demon  in  the 
breasts  of  other  men,  so  kindred  vices  know  each 
other  in  their  hiding-places  every  day,  when  Vir- 
tue is  incredulous  and  blind. 

"  The  quarter  's  gone  !"  cried  Mr.  Tapley,  in  a 
voice  of  admonition. 

"  I  shall  be  ready  to  return  immediately,"  she 
said.  "  One  thing,  dear  Martin,  I  am  bound  to 
tell  you.  You  intreated  me  a  few  minutes  since 
only  to  answer  what  you  asked  me  in  reference 
to  one  theme,  but  you  shoulr*  and  must  know — 
otherwise  I  could  not  be  at  ease — that  since  that 
separation  of  which  I  was  the  unhappy  occasion, 
he  has  never  once  uttered  your  name  ;  has  never 
coupled  it,  or  any  faint  allusion  to  it,  with  passion 
or  reproach  ;  and  has  never  abated  in  his  kind- 
ness to  me." 

"  I  thank  him  for  that  last  act,"  said  Martin, 
"  and  for  nothing  else.  Though  on  consideration 
I  may  thank  him  for  his  other  forbearance  also, 
inasmuch  as  I  neither  expect  nor  desire  that  he 
will  mention  my  name  again.  He  may  once, 
perhaps — to  coujile  it  with  reproach — in  his  will. 
Let  him,  if  he  please !  By  the  time  it  reaches 
me,  he  will  be  in  his  grave :  a  satire  on  his  own 
anger,  God  help  him!" 

"Martin!  Jf  you  would  but  sometimes,  in 
•ome  quiet  hour;  beside  the  winter  fire;  in  the 
Bummer  air ;  when  you  hear  gentle  music,  or 
think  of  Death,  or  Home,  or  Childhood  ;  if  you 
would  at  such  a  season  resolve  to  think,  but  once 
a  month,  or  even  once  a  year,  of  hirii,  or  any  one 
who  ever  wronged  you,  you  would  forgive  him 
in  your  heart,  I  know  !" 

"  If  I  believed  that  to  be  true,  Mary,"  he  ra- 
llied, "  I  would  resolve  at  no  such  time  to  bear 


him  m  my  mind  :  wishing  to  spare  myself  (h^ 
shame  of  such  a  weakness.  I  was  not  born  to 
be  the  toy  and  puppet  of  any  man,  far  less  his  ; 
to  whose  pleasure  and  caprice,  in  return  for  any 
good  he  did  me,  my  vv'hole  youth  was  sacrificed. 
It  became  between  us  two  a  fair  exchange  —  a 
barter  —  and  no  more:  and  there  is  no  such  bal- 
ance  against  me  that  I  need  throw  in  a  mawkish 
forgiveness  to  poise  the  scale.  He  has  forbidden 
all  mention  of  me  to  you,  I  know,"  iie  added 
hastily.     "Come!     Has  he  not  ?" 

"That  was  long  ago,"  she  returned;  "imme- 
diately after  your  parting;  before  you  had  left 
the  house.     He  has  never  done  so  since." 

"  He  has  never  done  so  since,  because  he  has 
seen  no  occasion,"  said  Martin  ;  "but  that  is  of 
little  consequence,  one  way  or  other.  Let  all 
allusion  to  him  between  you  and  me  be  interdicU 
ed  from  this  time  forth.  And  therefore,  love — " 
he  drew  her  quickly  to  him,  for  the  time  of  part- 
ing had  now  come — "  in  the  first  K-tter  that  you 
write  to  me  through  the  Post-office,  addressed  tu 
New  York  ;  and  in  all  the  others  that  you  send 
through  Pinch ;  remember  he  has  no  existence, 
but  has  become  to  us  as  one  who  is  dead.  Now, 
God  bless  you  !  This  is  a  strange  place  for  such 
a  meeting  and  such  a  parting ;  but  our  ne.xt 
meeting  shall  be  in  a  better,  and  our  next  and 
las*  parting  in  a  worse." 

"  One  other  question,  Martin,  I  must  ask. 
Have  you  provided  money  for  this  journey  ?"' 

"  Have  I  ?"  cried  Martin ;  it  might  have  been 
in  his  pride ;  it  might  have  been  in  his  desire  to 
set  her  mind  at  ease  :  "  Have  I  provided  money  ? 
Why,  there  's  a  question  for  an  emigrant's  wife  ! 
How  could  I  move  on  land  or  sea  without  it, 
love  ?" 

"  I  mean,  enough." 

"  Enough  !  More  than  enough.  Twenty  times 
more  than  enough.  A  pocket-full.  Mark  and 
I,  for  all  essential  ends,  are  quite  as  rich  as  if  w« 
had  the  purse  of  Fortunatus  in  our  b.iggage." 

"  The  half  hour  's  a  going  I"  cried  Mr.  Tapley. 

"Good  bye  a  hundred  times!"  cried  Mary,  in 
a  trembling  voice. 

But  how  cold  the  comfort  in  Good  bye !  Mark 
Tapley  knew  it  perfectly.  Perhaps  he  knew  it 
from  his  reading,  perhaps  from  his  experience, 
perhaps  from  intuition.  It  is  impossible  to  say; 
but  however  he  knew  it,  his  knowledge  instinc- 
tively suggested  to  him  the  wisest  course  of  pro- 
ceeding tiiat  any  man  could  have  adojjted  under 
the  circumstances.  He  was  taken  with  a  violent 
fit  of  sneezing,  and  was  obliged  to  turn  his  liead 
another  way.  In  doing  which,  he,  in  a  manner, 
fenced  and  screened  the  lovers  into  a  corner  by 
themselves. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  but  Mark  had  an 
undefined  sensation  that  it  was  a  satisfactory  one 
in  its  way.  Then  Mary,  with  her  veil  lowered, 
passed  him  with  a  quick  step,  and  beckoned  him 
to  follow.  She  stopped  once  more  before  they 
lost  that  corner ;  looked  back ;  and  waved  her 
hand  to  Martin.  He  made  a  start  towards  them 
at  the  moment  as  if  he  bad  some  other  t'arewel! 
words  to  say;  but  she  only  hurried  oft" the  faster 
and  Mr.  Tapley  followed  as  in  duty  bound. 

Wl)en  he  rejoined  Martin  again  in  his  own 
chamber,  he  found  that  gentleman  seated  moodily 
before  the  dusty  grate,  with  his  two  feet  on  tJie 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT 


101 


fender,  his  two  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin 
supported,  in  a  not  very  ornamental  manner,  on 
tlie  paltns  of  his  hands. 

"  Well,  Mark  ?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mark,  taking  a  long  breath, 
"  I  see  tlie  young  lady  safe  home,  and  I  feel 
pretty  comfort;ible  after  it.  She  sent  a  lot  of  kind 
words,  sir,  and  this,"  handing  him  a  ring,  "for  a 
parting  keepsake." 

"  Diamonds  !"  said  Martin,  kissing  it  —  let  us 
do  him  justice,  it  was  tor  her  sake,  not  theirs  — 
and  putting  it  on  his  little  finger.  "Splendid  dia- 
monds. My  grandfather  is  a  singular  character, 
Mark.     He  must  have  given  her  tiiis,  now." 

Mark  Tapley  knew  as  well  that  she  hud  bought 
it,  to  the  end  that  that  unconscious  speaker  might 
carry  some  article  of  sterling  value  with  him  in 
his  necessity  ;  as  he  knew  that  it  was  day,  and 
not  night.  Though  he  had  no  more  acquaintance 
of  his  own  knowledge  with  the  history  ol'the  glit- 
tering trinket  on  Martin's  outspread  finger,  tlian 
Martin  himself  had,  he  was  as  certain  that  in  its 
purchase  she  had  expended  her  whole  stock  of 
hoarded  money,  as  if  he  had  seen  it  paid  down 
coin  by  coin.  Her  lover's  strange  obtuseness  in 
relation  to  this  little  incident,  promptly  suggested 
to  Mark's  mind  its  real  cause  and  root;  and  from 
that  moment  he  had  a  clear  and  perfect  insight 


into  the  0(12'  abso.-bing  principle  ;)f  Maitin'f 
character. 

''She  is  worthy  of  the  sacrifices  I  have  made," 
said  Martin,  folding  his  arms,  and  looking  at  tiie 
ashes  in  the  stove,  as  if  in  resumption  of  some 
former  thoughts.  "  Well  worthy  of  them.  No 
riches," — here  he  stroked  his  chin,  and  mused — 
"  could  have  compensated  for  the  loss  of  such  a 
nature.  Not  to  mention  that  in  gaining  her  atfec 
tion,  I  have  followed  the  bent  of  my  own  wishes^ 
and  balked  the  selfish  schemes  of  others  who 
had  no  right  to  form  them.  Slie  is  quite  worthy — 
more  than  worthy — of  the  sacrifices  I  have  made. 
Yes,  she  is.     No  doubt  of  it." 

These  ruminations  might  or  might  not  have 
reached  Mark  Tapley  ;  for  though  they  were  I  y 
no  means  addressed  to  him,  yet  they  were  softly 
uttered.  In  any  case,  he  stood  there,  watching 
Martin,  with  an  indescribable  and  most  involved 
expression  on  his  visage,  until  that  young  mm 
roused  himself  and  looked  towards  him  ;  when  he 
turned  away,  as  being  suddenly  intent  on  certain 
preparations  for  the  journey,  and,  without  givii:g 
vent  to  any  articulate  sound,  smiled  with  surpass- 
ing gliastliness,  and  seemed  by  a  twist  of  his 
features  and  a  motion  of  his  lips,  to  release  him- 
self of  this  word : 

"  Jolly'" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  BURDEN  WHEREOF,  IS  HAIL  COLUMBIA! 


A  DARK  and  dreary  night ;  people  nestling  in 
their  beds  or  circling  late  about  the  fire ;  Want, 
colder  than  Charity,  shivering  at  the  street  cor- 
ners; church-towers  humming  with  the  faint 
vibration  of  their  own  tongues,  but  newly  resting 
from  the  ghostly  preachment  "  One  !"  The  earth 
covered  with  a  sable  pall  as  for  the  burial  of  yes- 
terday;  the  clumps  of  dark  trees,  its  giant  plumes 
of  funeral  feathers  waving  sadly  to  and  fro :  all 
hushed,  all  noiseless,  and  in  deep  repose,  save  the 
swift  clouds  that  skim  across  the  moon,  and  the 
cautious  wind,  as,  creeping  after  them  upon  the 
ground,  it  stops  to  listen,  and  goes  rustling  on, 
and  stops  again,  and  follows,  like  a  savage  on  the 
trail. 

Whither  go  the  clouds  and  wind  so  eagerly  ? 
If  like  guilty  spirits  they  repair  to  some  dread 
conference  with  powers  like  themselves,  in  what 
wild  region  do  the  elements  hold  council,  or 
where  unbend  in  terrible  disport? 

Here !  Free  from  that  cramped  prison  called 
the  earth,  and  out  upon  the  waste  of  waters. 
Here,  roaring,  raging,  shrieking,  howling,  all 
night  long.  Hither  come  the  sounding  voices 
from  the  caverns  on  the  coast  of  that  small  island, 
Sleeping  a  thousand  miles  away  so  quietly  in  the 
midst  of  angry  waves  ;  and  hither,  to  meet  them, 
rush  the  b'asts  from  unknown  desert  places  of  the 
world.  Here,  in  the  fury  of  their  unchecked 
liberty,  they  storm  and  buffet  with  each  other, 
until  the  sea,  lashed  into  passion  like  their  own, 
leaps  up  in  ravings  mightier  than  theirs,  and  the 
«hole  scene  is  whirlmg  madness. 

On,  on,  on,  over  the  countless   miles  of  angry 


I  space  roll  the  long,  heaving  billows.  Mounta.ie 
and  caves  are  here,  and  yet  are  not;  for  what 
is  now  the  one,  is  now  the  other;  then  all  is  but 
a  boiling  heap  of  rushing  water.  Pursuit,  and 
flight,  and  mad  return  of  wave  on  wave,  and 
savage  struggle,  ending  in  a  spouting-up  of  foam 
that  whitens  the  black  night ;  incessant  change 
of  place,  and  form,  and  hue;  constancy  in  nothing 
but  eternal  strife  ;  on,  on,  on,  they  roll,  and  darker 
grows  the  night,  and  louder  howl  (he  winds,  and 
more  clamorous  and  fierce  become  the  million 
voices  in  the  sea,  when  the  wild  cry  goes  forth 
upon  the  storm  "A  ship!" 

Onward  she  comes,  in  gallant  combat  with 
the  elements,  her  tall  masts  trembling,  and  her 
timbers  starting  on  the  strain ;  onward  she 
comes,  now  high  upon  the  curling  billows,  nnv7 
low  down  in  the  hollows  of  the  sea,  as  hiding  for 
the  moment  from  its  fury  ;  and  every  storm-voiee 
in  the  air  and  water  cries  more  loudly  yet,  "  A 
ship !" 

Still  she  comes  striving  on:  and  at  her  bold- 
ness and  the  spreading  cry,  the  angry  waves  rise 
up  above  each  other's  hoary  heads  to  look  ,  and 
round  about  the  vessel,  far  as  the  mariners  '>n 
her  decks  can  pierce  into  the  gloom,  they  press 
upon  her,  forcing  each  other  down,  and  starting 
up,  and  rushing  forward  from  afar,  in  drcadfu. 
curiosity.  High  over  her  they  break;  and  round 
her  surge  and  roar ;  and  giving  place  to  others, 
moaningly  depart,  and  dash  themselves  to  frag- 
ments in  their  baffled  anger:  still  she  cnine« 
onward  bravelv.  And  though  the  eager  niulii 
tude  cxowd  ttiidi.  and  fast  upon  her  «I1  the  night. 


102 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURED   OF 


and  tJrtwn  of  ^ay  Jiscoveis,th;3  uijtirir.g  train  yet 
hearing  down  upon  the  ship  in  an  eternity  of 
troubled  water,  onward  she  conits,  with  dim  lights 
burning  in  her  hull,  and  people  there  asleep :  as 
if  no  deadly  element  were  peering  in  at  every 
seam  and  clink,  and  no  drowned  seamen's  grave, 
with  hut  a  plunk  to  cover  it,  were  yawning  in  the 
Unfathomable  depths  below. 

Among  these  sleepy  voyagers  were  Martin  and 
IVIark  Taple}',  wlio,  rocked  into  a  heavy  drowsi- 
ness by  the  unaccustomed  motion,  were  as  insen- 
sible to  the  foul  air  in  which  they  lay,  as  to  the 
uproar  without.  It  was  broad  day,  when  the 
latter  awoke  with  a  dim  idea  that  lie  was  dream- 
ing of  having  gone  to  sleep  in  a  four-post  bed- 
stead which  had  turned  bottom  upwards  in  the 
course  of  the  night.  There  was  more  reason  in 
this  too,  than  in  the  roasting  of  eggs;  for  the  first 
objects  Mr.  Tapley  recognised  when  he  opened 
his  eyes  were  his  own  heels — looking  down  at 
him,  as  he  afterwards  observed,  from  a  nearly 
perpendicular  elevation. 

"  Well  1"  said  Mark,  getting  himself  into  a 
sitting  posture,  after  various  ineffectual  struggles 
with  the  rolling  of  the  ship.  "  This  is  the  first 
time  as  ever  I  stood  on  my  head  all  night." 

"You  shouldn't  go  to  sleep  upon  the  ground 
with  your  head  to  leeward,  then,"  growled  a  man 
in  one  of  the  berths, 

"  With  my  head  to  where?"  asked  Mark. 

The  man  repeated  his  previous  sentiment. 

''  No,  I  won't  another  time,"  said  Mark,  "  when 
I  know  whereabouts  on  the  map  that  country  is. 
In  the  meanwhile  I  can  give  you  a  better  piece 
of  advice.  Don't  you  nor  any  other  friend  of  mine 
never  go  to  sleep  with  liis  head  in  a  ship,  any 
more." 

The  man  gave  a  grunt  of  discontented  acqui- 
escence, turned  over  in  his  berth,  and  drew  his 
blanket  over  his  head. 

'•  For,"  said  Mr.  Tapley,  pursuing  the  theme  by 
way  of  soliloquy,  in  a  low  lone  of  voice  ;  "  the  sea 
is  as'nonscnsical  a  thing  as  anything  going.  It 
never  knows  what  to  do  with  itself  It  hasn't  got 
no  employment  for  its  mind,  and  is  always  in  a 
state  of  v:icancy.  Like  then  Polar  bears  in  the 
wild-beast-shows  as  is  constantly  a  nodding  their 
heads  from  side  to  side,  it  never  can  be  quiet. 
Which  is  entirely  owing  to  its  uncommon 
stupidity." 

"  Is  that  you,  Mark  ?"  asked  a  faint  voice  from 
another  berth. 

"  It's  as  much  of  me  as  is  left,  sir,  after  a  fort- 
night of  this  work,"  Mr.  Tapley  replied.  "  What 
with  leading  the  life  of  a  fly  ever  since  I  've  been 
aboard — for  I  've  been  perpetually  holding-on  to 
something  or  other,  in  a  upside-down  position — 
v;hat  with  that,  sir,  and  putting  a  very  little  into 
myself,  and  taking  a  good  deal  out  in  various 
ways,  there  an't  too  much  of  me  to  swear  by. 
How  do  you  find  yourself  this  morning,  sir  ?" 

"Very  miserable,"  said  Martin,  with  a  peevish 
groan.     "  Ugh  !     This  is  wretched,  indeed  !" 

"Creditable,"  niutteied  Mark,  pressing  one 
nnnd  upon  his  aching  head,  and  looking  round 
him  with  a  ruefiil  grin.  "That's  the  great  com- 
fort It  is  credituhle  to  keep  vp  one's  spirits 
nere.     Virtue's  its  own  reward.     So 's  jollity." 

Mark  was  so  far  right,  that  unquestionably  any 
man  who   retained    his   cheerfulness  among  the 


steerage  accommodations  of  that  njble  and  fast 
sailing  line  of  packct-sl.ip,  "The  Screw,"  was 
solely  indebted  to  his  own  resources,  and  shipped 
his  good  humour,  like  his  provisions,  without  any 
contribution  or  assistance  from  the  owners.  A 
dark,  low,  stifling  cabin,  surrounded  by  berths  all 
filled  to  overflowing  with  men,  women,  and  chil- 
dren, in  various  stages  of  sickness  and  misery,  is 
not  the  liveliest  place  of  assembly  at  any  time; 
but  when  it  is  so  crowded  (as  tlie  steerage  cabin 
of  the  "Screw"  was,  every  passage  out,)  that 
niattrasses  and  beds  are  heaped  upon  the  floor,  to 
the  extinction  of  everything  like  comfort,  cleanli- 
ness, and  decency,  it  is  liable  to  operate  not  only 
as  a  pretty  strong  barrier  against  amiability  of 
temper,  but  as  a  positive  encourager  of  selfish  and 
rough  humours.  Mark  felt  this,  as  he  sat  looking 
about  liiin  ;  and  his  spirits  rose  proportionately. 

There  were  English  people,  Irish  ptople,  Welsh 
people,  and  Scotch  people  there ;  all  with  their 
little  store  of  coarse  food  and  shabby  clothes  ;  and 
nearly  all,  with  their  families  oi  cliildreii.  There 
were  children  of  all  ages ;  from  the  baby  at  the 
breast,  to  the  slattern-girl  who  was  as  much  a 
grown  woman  as  her  mother.  Every  kind  of 
domestic  suffering  that  is  bred  in  poverty,  illness, 
banishment,  sorrow, and  long  travel  in  bad  weather, 
was  crammed  into  the  little  space ;  and  yet  was 
there  infinitely  less  of  complaint  and  querulous- 
ncLS,  and  infinitely  more  of  mutual  assistance  and 
general  kindness  to  be  found  in  that  unwhole- 
some ark,  than  in  many  brilliant  ball-rooms. 

Mark  looked  about  him  wistfully,  and  his  fa;e 
brightened  as  he  looked.  Here  an  old  grandmo- 
ther was  crooning  over  a  sick  child,  and  rocking 
it  to  and  fro,  in  arms  hardly  more  wasted  than  its 
own  young  limbs ;  here  a  poor  woman  with  an 
infant  in  her  lap,  mended  another  little  creature's 
clothes,  and  quieted  another  who  was  creeping  up 
about  her  from  their  scanty  bed  upon  the  floor. 
Here  were  old  men  awkwardly  engaged  in  little 
household  olfices,  wherein  they  would  have  been 
ridiculous  but  for  their  good-will  and  kind  pur- 
pose;  and  here  were  swarthy  fellows  —  giants  in 
their  way — doing  such  little  acts  of  tenderness  for 
those  about  them,  as  might  have  belonged  to  gen- 
tlest-hearted dwarfs.  The  very  idiot  in  the  corner 
who  sat  mowing  there,  all  day,  had  his  faculty  of 
imitation  roused  by  what  he  saw  about  him  ;  and 
snapped  his  fingers,  to  amuse  a  crying  child. 

"  Now,  then,"  said  Mark,  nodding  to  a  woman 
who  was  dressing  her  three  children  at  no  great 
distance  from  liiin  —  and  the  grin  upon  his  face 
had  by  this  lime  spread  t>om  ear  to  ear — "  Hand 
over  one  of  them  young  uns,  according  to  custom." 

"  I  wish  you'd  get  breakfast,  Mark,  instead  of 
worrying  with  people  who  don't  belong  to  you," 
observed  Martin,  petulantly. 

"All  right,"  said  Mark.  " SAe '11  do  that  It's 
a  fair  division  of  labour,  sir.  I  wash  her  boys,  and 
she  makes  our  tea.  I  never  could  make  tea,  but 
any  one  can  wash  a  boy." 

The  woman,  who  was  delicate  and  ill,  felt  and 
understood  his  kindness,  as  well  she  might,  for 
she  had  been  coviTed  every  night  with  his  great- 
coat, while  he  had  had  for  his  own  bed  the  bare 
boards  and  a  rug.  But  Martin,  who  seldom  got 
up  or  looked  about  him,  was  quite  incensed  by  the 
folly  ot  liiis  speech,  and  expressed  his  dissatia- 
taction  by  an  impatient  groan. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT, 


103 


"So  it  is,  ccrt.-iinly,"  said   Mark,  Itrupiiingf  the  I 
rliild's   iiair  as  cooll)'  as  il'  he  liad  been  born  and 
Dnd  a  barber. 

"  \\'liat  are  you  talking  about  now?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  VVi.at  yoti  said,"  replied  Mark;  "or  what 
you  meant,  when  you  gave  that  there  dismal  vent 
to  your  feelings.  I  quite  go  along  with  it,  sir.  It 
ig  very  liard  upon  her." 

"  What  is  ?" 

"Making  the  voyage  by  herself  along  with 
these  young  impediments  here,  and  going  such  a 
way  at  such  a  time  of  year  to  join  her  husband. 
If  you  don't  want  to  be  driven  mad  with  yellow 
soap  in  your  eye,  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Tapley 
to  the  second  urchin,  who  was  by  this  time  under 
his  hands  at  the  basin,  "you'd  better  shut  it." 

"  Where  does  she  join  her  husband  ?"  asked 
Martin,  yawning. 

"  Wliy,  I'm  very  much  afraid,"  said  Mr.  Tap- 
ley,  in  a  low  voice,  "that  siie  don't  know.  I  hope 
she  mayn't  miss  liim.  But  she  sent  iier  last  letter 
by  liand,  and  it  don't  seem  to  have  been  very 
clearly  understood  between  'em  without  it,  and  if 
slie  don't  sec  liim  a  waving  his  pocket-handker- 
chief on  the  shore,  like  a  picter  out  of  a  song- 
book,  my  opinion  is,  she  '11  break  her  heart." 

"  Why,  how,  in  Folly's  name,  does  the  woman 
come  to  be  on  board  ship  on  such  a  wild-goose 
venture  I"  cried  Martin, 

Mr.  Tapley  glinced  at  him  for  a  moment  as  he 
lay  prostrate  in  his  berth,  and  then  said,  very 
quietly, 

"  Ah  !  How,  indeed  !  I  can't  think  !  He  's 
been  away  from  her  for  two  year;  she's  been 
very  poor  and  lonely  in  her  own  country ;  and 
has  always  been  a  looking  forward  to  meeting 
him.  It's  very  strange  she  should  be  here. 
Quite  amazing  I  A  little  mad,  perliaps!  There 
can't  be  no  other  way  of  accounting  for  it." 

Martin  was  too  far  gone  in  the  lassitude  of  sea- 
sickness to  make  any  reply  to  these  words,  or 
even  to  attend  to  them  as  they  were  spoken.  And 
the  subject  of  their  discourse  returning  at  this 
crisis  with  some  hot  tea,  effectually  put  a  stop  to 
any  resumption  of  the  theme  by  Mr.  Tapley  ; 
who,  when  the  meal  was  over  and  he  had  adjust- 
ed Martin's  bed,  went  up  on  the  deck  to  wash 
the  breakflist  service,  which  consisted  of  two  half- 
pint  tin  mugs,  and  a  shaving-pot  of  the  same 
metal. 

It  is  due  to  Mark  Tapley  to  state,  that  he 
suffered  at  least  as  much  from  sea-sickness  as 
anv  man,  woman,  or  child,  on  board  ;  and  that 
he  had  a  peculiar  faculty  of  knocking  himself 
about  on  the  smallest  provocation,  and  losing  liis 
It-gs  at  every  lurch  of  the  ship.  But  resolved,  in 
his  usual  phrase,  to  "come  out  strong"  under  dis- 
advantageous circumstances,  he  was  the  life  and 
snul  of  the  steerage,  and  made  no  more  of  stop- 
ping in  the  middle  of  a  facetious  conversation  to 
go  away  and  be  excessively  ill  by  himself,  and 
afterwards  come  back  in  the  very  best  and  gayest 
of  tempers  to  resume  it,  than  if  such  a  course  of 
proceeding  had  been  the  commonest  in  the 
world. 

It  cannot  be  said  that  as  his  illness  wore  off, 
his  cheerfulness  and  good-nature  increased,  be- 
cause they  would  hardly  admit  of  augmentation; 
but  his  cheerfulness  among  the  weaker  menibLrs 


of  the  party  was  much  enlarged  ;  and  at  all  lim-s 
and  seasons  there  he  was  exerting  it.  If  aglenn 
of  sun  shone  out  of  the  dark  sky,  df)wn  Mn  k 
tumbled  into  the  cabin,  and  presently  up  he  chum 
again  with  a  woman  in  his  arms,  or  half  a  dozen 
children,  or  a  man,  or  a  bed,  or  a  saucepan,  or  a 
basket,  or  something  animate  or  inanimate,  th  .t 
he  thought  would  be  the  better  for  the  air.  If 
an  hour  or  two  of  fine  weather  in  the  niidii.e 
of  tlie  day  tem])ted  those  who  seldom  or  nevir 
came  on  deck  at  other  times,  to  crawl  into  the 
long-boat,  or  lie  down  upon  the  spare  spars,  and 
try  to  eat,  there  in  the  centre  of  the  group  was 
Mr.  Ta[)ley,  handing  about  salt  beef  and  biscuit, 
or  dispensing  tastes  of  grog,  or  cutting  up  the 
children's  provisions  with  his  pocket-knife,  lor 
their  greater  ease  and  comfort,  or  rea<ling  aloud 
from  a  venerable  newspaper,  or  singing  some 
roaring  old  song  to  a  select  party,  or  writing  the 
beginning  of  letters  to  their  friends  at  iiome  lor 
people  who  couldn't  write,  or  cracking  jokes  wilii 
the  crew,  or  nearly  blown  over  the  side,  or  emer- 
ging, half-drowned,  from  a  shower  of  spray,  or 
lending  a  hand  somewhere  or  other;  hut  always 
doing  something  for  the  general  entertainment. 
At  night,  when  the  cooking-fire  was  lighted  on 
the  deck,  and  the  driving  sparks  that  flew  among 
the  rigging,  and  the  cloud  of  sails,  snemed  to 
menace  the  ship  v^ith  certain  annihilation  hy 
fire,  in  case  the  elements  of  air  and  water  faiK  d 
to  compass  her  destruction  ;  there  again  was 
Mr.  Tapley,  with  his  coat  off  and  his  shirt- 
sleeves turned  up  to  his  elbows,  doing  all  kinds 
of  culinary  offices ;  compounding  the  strangest 
dishes ;  recognized  by  every  one  as  an  establish- 
ed authority;  and  helping  all  parties  to  achieve 
something,  which,  left  to  themselves,  they  never 
could  have  done,  and  never  would  have  dreamed 
of.  In  short,  there  never  was  a  more  popular 
character  than  Mark  Tapley  became  on  board 
that  noble  and  fast-sailing  line-of-packet  ship,  the 
Screw  ;  and  he  attained  at  last  to  such  a  pitch  of 
universal  admiration,  that  he  began  to  have  grave 
doubts  within  himself  whether  a  man  might 
reasonably  claim  any  credit  for  being  jolly  under 
such  exciting  circumstances. 

"  If  this  was  going  to  last,"  said  IVIr.  Tapley, 
"  there'd  be  no  great  difference,  as  I  can  perceive, 
between  the  Screw  and  the  Dragon.  I  never  am 
to  get  any  credit,  I  think.  I  begin  to  be  afraid 
that  the  Fates  is  determined  to  make  the  world 
easy  to  me." 

"Well,  Mark,"  said  Martin,  near  whose  bertii 
he  had  ruminated  to  this  effect,  "  when  will  this 
be  over  ?" 

"  Another  week,  they  say,  sir,"  returned" Mark, 
"will  most  likely  bring  us  into  port.  The  ship's 
going  along  at  present,  as  sensiixle  as  a  ship  can, 
sir ;  though  I  don't  mean  to  say  as  that 's  anv 
very  high  praise." 

"  I  don't  think  it  is,  indeed,"  groaned  Martin 

"  You'd  feel  all  the  better  for  it,  sir,  if  you  was 
to  turn  out,"  observed  Mark. 

"And  be  seen  by  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  on 
the  after-deck,"  returned  Martin,  with  a  scornfu! 
emphasis  upon  the  words,  "  mingling  with  tne 
beggarly  crowd  that  are  stowed  awav  in  tfiis  vile 
hole,  I  should  be  greatly  the  better  for  that,  iin 
doubt !" 

"I'm  thankful  that  I  can't  say  irom  mv  ow^ 


104 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


experience  what  the  feelings  of  a  g-entleman  may 
Vji,"  said  Mark,  "  but  I  should  have  thought,  sir, 
as  a  gentkrnan  would  feel  a  deal  more  unconi- 
fc.'table  down  here,  than  up  in  the  fresh  air,  cs- 
ptcially  when  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  the 
aiter-cabin  know  just  as  much  about  him  as  lie 
dues  about  them,  and  are  likely  to  trouble  their 
heads  about  him  in  the  same  [iroportion.  I  should 
have  thought  that,  certainly." 

"  I  Itll  you,  then,"  rejoined  Martin,  "  you 
would  have  thougiit  wrong,  and  do  think  wrong." 

"  Very  likely,  sir,"  said  Mark,  with  imperturb- 
able good  temper.     "I  often  do." 

"  As  to  lying  here,"  cried  Martin,  raising  him- 
self on  his  elbow,  and  looking  angrily  at  his  fol- 
lower. "  Do  you  suppose  it 's  a  pleasure  to  lie 
h( re  ?" 

"All  the  mad. houses  in  the  world,"  said  Mr. 
Tapley,  "couldn't  produce  such  a  maniac  as  tlie 
man  must  be  who  could  think  that." 

"Then  why  are  you  for  ever  goading  and  urg- 
jng  me  to  get  up  '!"  asked  Martin.  "  I  lie  here 
because  I  do  not  wish  to  be  recognised  in  tiie 
belter  days  to  wliich  I  aspire,  by  any  purse-proud 
citizen,  as  the  man  who  came  over  with  him 
among  the  steerage  passengers.  I  lie  here,  be- 
cause I  wish  to  conceal  my  circumstances  and 
myself,  and  not  to  arrive  in  a  new  world  badged 
and  ticketed  as  an  utterly  poverty-stricken  man. 
it'  I  could  have  afforded  a  passage  in  the  after- 
cabin,  I  should  have  held  up  my  head  with  the 
rt  St.  As  I  couldn't,  1  hide  it.  Do  you  under- 
sJand  that  ?" 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  said  Mark.  "  I  didn't 
k.oowyoii  took  it  so  much  to  heart  as  this  comes  to." 

"Of  couise  you  didn't  know,"  returned  his 
master.  "  Flow  should  you  know,  unless  I  told 
you?  It 's  no  trial  to  i/oti,  Mark,  to  make  your- 
self comfortable  and  to  bustle  about.  It's  as  na- 
tural for  3'ou  to  do  so  under  the  circumstances  as 
it  is  for  me  not  to  do  so.  Why,  you  don't  suppose 
liiere  is  a  living  creature  in  tliis  ship  who  can  by 
possibility  have  half  so  much  to  undergo  on  board 
of  her  as  /  have?  Do  you  ?"  he  asked,  sitting 
upright  in  his  berth  and  looking  at  Mark,  with 
an  expression  of  great  earnestness  not  unmixed 
with  wonder. 

Mark  twisted  his  face  into  a  tight  knot,  and 
with  his  head  very  much  on  one  side  pondered 
upon  this  f]uesition  as  if  he  felt  it  an  extremely 
difficult  one  to  answer.  He  was  relieved  from 
his  embarrassment  by  Martin  himselfj  who  said, 
as  he  stretched  himself  upon  his  back  again  and 
resumed  the  book  he  had  been  reading : 

"But  what  is  the  use  of  my  putting  such  a 
case  to  you,  when  the  very  essence  of  what  I 
have  bec'n  saying,  is,  that  you  cannot  by  possi- 
bility understand  it!  Make  me  a  little  brandy- 
and-water — cold  and  verv  weak — and  give  me  a 
biscuit,  and  tell  3'our  1  lend,  who  is  a  nearer 
neighbour  of  ours  than  I  could  wish,  to  try  and 
Keep  her  children  a  little  quieter  to-night  tiian 
she  did  list  night,  that'^  a.  good  lillow." 

Mr.  Tapley  set  hims(  If  t"  obey  these  orders 
%vith  irrtat  alacrity,  and  pending  their  exeeulinn. 
It  may  In  presumed  his  llnggini^r  spirits  revived  : 
inURinuili  as  lie  several  tunes  observed,  bilow  his 
breath,  that  in  resfKct  of  its  power  of  im|)nrtiiig  a 
••redit  to  jollity,  the  Screw  unrpiestionably  had 
« line  decided  advantages  over  thu  Dragon.     He 


also  remarked,  that  it  was  a  high  gratification  to 
him  to  reflect  that  he  would  carry  its  main  ex- 
cellence  ashore  with  him,  and  have  it  constantly 
beside  him  wherever  he  went;  but  what  he  meant 
by  these  consolatory  thoughts  he  did  not  explain. 

And  now  a  general  excilenient  began  to  prevail 
on  board;  and  various  predictions  relative  to  thf 
precise  day,  and  even  the  precise  hour  at  which 
they  would  reach  New  York,  were  freely  broach 
ed.  There  was  infinitely  more  crowding  on  deck 
and  looking  over  the  ship's  side  than  there  had 
been  before ;  and  an  epidemic  broke  out  for  pack- 
ing up  things  every  morning,  which  required  un- 
packing again  every  night.  Those  who  had  any 
letters  to  deliver,  or  any  friends  to  meet,  or  any 
settled  plans  of  going  anywhere  or  doing  any- 
thing, discussed  their  prospects  a  hundred  times 
a  day  ;  and  as  this  class  of  passengers  was  very 
small,  and  the  number  of  those  who  had  no  pros- 
pects whatever  was  very  large,  there  were  plent) 
of  listeners  and  few  talkers.  Those  who  had  been 
ill  all  along  got  well  now,  and  those  who  had 
been  well  got  better.  An  American  gentleman 
in  the  after-cabin,  who  had  been  wrapped  up  in 
fur  and  oilskin  the  whole  passage,  unexpectedly 
appeared  in  a  very  shiny,  tall,  black  hat,  and  con. 
stantly  overhauled  a  very  little  valise  of  pale 
leather,  which  contained  his  clothes,  linen, 
brushes,  shaving  apparatus,  hooks,  trinkets,  and 
oth^r  baggage.  He  likewise  stuck  liis  hands 
deep  into  his  pockets,  and  walked  the  deck  with 
his  nostrils  dilated,  as  already  ii^ialing  the  air  of 
Freedom  which  carries  death  to  all  tyrants,  and 
can  never,  (under  any  circumstances  worth  men. 
tioning)  be  breathed  by  slaves.  An  English  gen- 
tleman who  was  strongly  suspected  of  having  run 
away  from  a  bank,  with  something  in  his  posses- 
sion  belonging  to  its  strong-box  besides  the  key, 
grew  eloquent  upon  the  subject  of  the  rights  ot' 
man,  and  hummed  the  Marseillaise  Hymn  con- 
stantly. In  a  word,  one  great  sensation  pervadid 
the  whole  ship,  and  the  soil  of  America  lay  close 
before  them  :  so  close  at  last,  that,  upon  a  certain 
starlight  night,  they  took  a  pilot  on  board,  and 
within  a  few  hours  afterwards  lay  to  until  the 
morning,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  steam-boat  in 
which  the  passengers  were  to  be  conveyed 
ashore. 

Off  she  came,  soon  aOer  it  was  light  next 
morning,  and,  lying  alongside  an  hour  or  more — 
during  which  period  the  very  firemen  were  ob- 
jects of  hardly  less  interest  and  curiosity,  than  if 
they  had  been  so  many  angels,  good  or  bad- 
look  all  her  living  freight  aboard.  Among  them, 
Mark,  who  still  had  his  friend  and  her  three 
children  under  his  close  protection  ;  and  Mar- 
tin, who  had  once  more  dressed  himself  in  his 
usual  attire,  but  wore  a  soiled,  old  cloak  abov-i 
his  ordinary  clothes,  until  sueh  time  as  he  should 
separate  for  ever  tVom  his  lute  companions. 

The  steatncr — which,  with  its  machinery  or 
deck,  looked,  as  it  worked  its  long  slim  leijs,  l.ke 
some  enormously  magnified  insect  or  antediluvian 
monster — dashed  at  a  great  speed  up  a  boautitui 
hay  ;  and  presently  they  («aw  some  hciglits,  and 
islands,  and  a  long,  flat,  straggling  city. 

"And  this,"  said  Mr.  'Fapley,  looking  fir 
ahead,  "  is  the  Land  of  I/ibertv,  is  it  ?  Very  well. 
I  'm  agreeable.  Any  land  will  do  for  nie,  after 
so  much  water !" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


105 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


MARTIN  DISEMBARKS  FROM  THAT  NOBLE  AND  FAST-SAILING  LINE  OF 
PACKET  SHIP,  THE  SCREW,  AT  THE  PORT  OF  NEW  YORK,  IN  THE 
UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA.  HE  MAKES  SOME  ACQUAINTANCES,  AND 
DINES  AT  A  BOARDING-HOUSE.  THE  PARTICULARS  OF  THOSE  TRANS- 
ACTIONS. 


Some  trifling^  excitement  prev.iiled  upon  the 
very  brink  ai.d  margin  of  llio  land  of  liberty ;  for 
an  aldcrnian  had  been  clcctid  the  day  before;  and 
Party  Feeling-  naturally  running  rather  high  on 
such  an  exeiiing  occasion,  the  friends  of  the  dis- 
appointed candidate  iiad  found  it  necessary  to 
assert  the  great  principles  of  Purity  of  Election 
and  Freedom  of  0[)inion  by  breaking  a  few  legs 
and  arms,  and  furtliermore  pursuing  one  obnoxi- 
ous gentleman  through  the  streets  with  the  design 
of  slitting  his  nose.  These  good-humoured  little 
outbursts  of  the  popular  fancy  were  not  in  them- 
selves  sufficiently  remarkable  to  create  any  great 
stir,  after  the  lapse  of  a  whole  night ;  but  they 
found  fresh  life  and  notoriety  in  the  breath  of  the 
news-boys,  who  not  only  proclaimed  them  with 
shrill  yells  in  all  the  highways  and  byeways  of 
the  town,  upon  the  wharves  and  among  the  ship- 
ping but  on  tlie  deck  and  down  in  the  cabins  of 
the  steam-boat;  which,  before  she  touched  the 
shore,  was  boarded  and  overrun  by  a  legion  of 
those  young  citizens. 

"Here's  this  morning's  New  York  Sewer!" 
cried  one.  "Here's  this  morning's  New  York 
Slabber  I  Here's  the  New  York  Family  Spy! 
Here's  the  New  York  Private  Listener  !  Here's 
tiie  New  York  Peeper  !  Here  's  the  New  York 
Plunderer  I  Here's  the  New  York  Keyhole  Re- 
porter! Here's  the  New  York  Rowdy  Journal! 
Here's  all  the  New  York  papers!  Here's  full 
particulars  of  the  patriotic  loco-foco  movement 
yesterday,  in  which  the  whigs  was  so  chawed  up; 
arid  the  last  Alabama  gouging  case;  and  the  in- 
teresting Arkansas  dooel  with  Bowie  knives  ;  and 
nil  the  Political,  Commercial,  and  Fashionable 
News.  Here  they  are !  Here  they  are!  Here's 
the  papers,  here's  the  papers!" 

"  Here's  the  Sewer  !"  cried  another.  "  Here's 
the  New  York  Sewer  !  Here's  some  of  the  twelfth 
thousand  of  to-day's  Sewer,  with  the  best  accounts 
of  the  markets,  and  all  the  shipping  news,  and 
four  whole  columns  of  country  correspondence, 
and  a  full  account  of  the  Ball  at  Mrs.  White's  last 
night,  where  all  the  beauty  and  fashion  of  New 
York  v/as  assembled,  with  the  Sewer's  own  par- 
ticulars of  the  private  lives  of  all  the  ladies  that 
was  there!  Here's  the  Sewer!  Here's  some  of 
the  twelfth  thousand  of  the  New  York  Sewer! 
Here's  the  Sewer's  exposure  of  the  Wall  Street 
Gang,  and  the  Sewer's  exposure  of  the  Washing- 
ton Gang,  and  tiie  Sewer's  exclusive  account  of  a 
flagrant  act  of  dishonesty  committed  by  the  Se- 
cretary of  State  when  he  was  eight  3'ears  old ; 
now  commuiiicated,  at  a  great  expense,  by  his 
own  nurse.  Here's  the  Sewer!  Here's  the  New 
York  Sewer,  in  its  twelfth  thousand,  with  a 
whole  column  of  New  Yorkers  to  be  shown  up, 
and  all  their  names  printed  !  Here's  the  Sewer's 
article  upon  the  .Tudsre  that  tried  him,  day  afore 
Yesterday,  for  libel,  and  the  Sewer's  triL-'tti  to  the 
14 


I  independent  Jury  that  didn't  convict  him,  and  the 
Sewer's  account  of  what  they  migtit  have  expected 
if  they  had  !  Here's  the  Sewer,  here's  the  Sewer  ' 
Here's  the  wide-awake  Sewer;  always  on  the 
look-out;  the  lending  Journal  of  the  United  States, 
now  in  its  twelftli  thousand,  and  still  a  printmg 
off: — Here's  the  New  York  Sewer!" 

"  It  is  in  such  enlightened  means,"  said  :i 
voice,  almost  in  Martin's  ear,  "  that  the  bubbling 
passions  of  my  country  find  a  vent." 

Martin  turned  involuntarily,  and  saw,  standing 
close  at  his  side,  a  sallow  gentleman,  with  sunken 
cheeks,  black  hair,  small  twinkling  eyes,  and  a 
singular  expression  hovering  about  that  region  of 
his  face,  which  was  not  a  frown,  nor  a  leer,  and 
yet  might  have  been  mistaken  at  the  first  glance 
for  either.  Indeed  it  would  have  been  difficult  on 
a  much  closer  acquaintance,  to  describe  it  in  any 
more  satisfactory  terms  than  as  a  mixed  expres- 
sion of  vulgar  cunning  and  conceit.  This  gentle- 
man wore  a  rather  broad-brimmed  hat  for  the 
greater  wisdom  of  his  appearance;  and  had  his 
arms  folded  for  the  greater  inipressiveness  of  his 
attitude.  He  was  somewhat  shabbily  dressed  in 
a  blue  surtout  reaching  nearly  to  his  ancles,  shi  rt 
loose  trousers  of  the  game  colour,  and  a  faded  buff 
waistcoat,  through  which  a  discoloured  shirt-fiili 
struggled  to  force  itself  into  notice,  as  asserting 
an  equality  to  civil  rights  v^'ith  the  other  portions 
of  his  dress,  and  maintaining  a  declaration  of  In- 
dependence  on  its  own  account.  His  feet,  which 
were  of  unusually  large  proportions,  were  leisurely 
crossed  before  him  as  he  half  leaned  against,  half 
sat  upon,  the  steam-boat's  side ;  and  his  thick 
cane,  shod  with  a  mighty  ferrule  at  one  end  and 
armed  with  a  great  metal  knob  at  the  other,  de- 
pended from  a  line-and-tassel  on  his  wrist.  Thus 
attired,  and  thus  composed  into  an  aspect  of  great 
profundity,  the  gentleman  twitched  up  the  right- 
hand  corner  of  his  mouth  and  his  right  eye, 
simultaneously,  and  said,  once  more  : 

"  It  is  in  such  enlightened  means,  that  tiie 
bubbling  passions  of  my  country  find  a  vent." 

As  he  looked  at  Martin,  and  nobody  else  was 
by,  Martin  inclined  his  head,  and  said : 
"  You  allude  to — " 

"  To  the  Palladium  of  rational  Liberty  at  home, 
sir,  and  the  dread  of  Foreign  oppression  abroad," 
returned  the  gentleman,  as  he  pointed  with  his 
cane  to  an  uncommonly  dirty  news-boy  with  one 
eye.  "To  the  Envy  of  the  world,  sir,  and  the 
leaders  of  Human  Civilisation.  Let  me  ask  you, 
sir,"  he  added,  bringing  the  ferrule  of  his  stick 
heavily  upon  the  deck  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
must  not  be  equivocated  with,  "  how  do  you  like 
my  Country  ?" 

"  I  am  hardly  prepared  to  answer  that  question 
yet,"  said  Martin,  "  seeing  that  I  have  not  been 
ashore." 

"  Well,  I  should  expect  you  were  not  orepaied 


106 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


vir,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  to  behold  such  signs 
I'f  National  Prosperity  as  those?" 

He  pointed  to  the  vessels  lying-  at  the  wharves; 
and  then  gav(^  a  vague  flourisii  with  his  stick,  as 
A  lie  would  include  the  air  and  water,  generally, 
in  tliis  remark. 

"  Really,"  said  Martin,  "  I  don't  know.  Yes. 
I  think  I  was." 

'riie  gentleman  glanced  at  him  with  a  knowing 
look,  and  said  he  liked  liis  policy.  It  was  naiu- 
rul,  lie  Siiid,  and  it  pleased  him  as  a  philosopher  to 
observe  the  prejudices  of  human  nature. 

"  You  have  brought,  I  see,  sir,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing round  towards  Martin,  and  resting  his  chin 
on  the  top  of  his  stick,  "the  usual  amount  of 
misery  and  poverty,  and  ignorance  and  crime,  to 
be  located  in  the  bosom  of  the  Great  Republic. 
Well,  sir !  let  'em  come  on  in  ship-loads  from  the 
old  country  :  when  vessels  are  about  to  founder, 
the  rats  are  said  to  leave  'em.  There  is  con- 
siderable of  truth,  I  find,  in  that  remark." 

"  The  old  ship  will  keep  afloat  a  year  or  two 
longer  yet,  perhaps,"  said  Martin  with  a  smile, 
partly  occasioned  by  what  tiie  gentleman  said, 
and  partly  by  his  manner  of  saying  it,  which  was 
odd  enough,  for  he  emphasized  all  the  small 
words  and  syllables  in  his  discourse,  and  left  the 
others  to  take  care  of  themselves  :  as  if  he  thought 
Mie  larger  parts  of  speech  could  be  trusted  alone, 
out  the  little  ones  required  to  be  constantly  looked 
after. 

"  Hope  is  said  by  the  poet,  sir,"  observed  the 
gentleman,  "  to  be  the  nurse  of  Yonng  Desire." 

Martin  signified  that  he  had  heard  of  the  car- 
dinal virtue  in  question  serving  occasionally  in 
that  domestic  capacity. 

"  She  will  not  rear  her  infant  in  the  present 
instance,  sir,  you  '11  find,"  observed  the  gentleman. 

"  Time  will  show,"  said  Martin. 

The  gentleman  nodded  his  head,  gravely  ;  and 
said  "  What  is  your  name,  sir  ?" 

Martin  told  him. 

"  How  old  are  you,  sir?" 

Martin  told  him. 

"  What 's  your  profession,  sir  ?" 

Martin  told  him  that,  also. 

"  What  is  your  destination,  sir?"  inquired  the 
gentleman. 

"  Really," .  said  Martin,  laughing,  "  I  can't 
satisfy  you  in  that  particular,  for  I  don't  know  it 
myself." 

"Yes?"  said  the  gentleman. 

"No,"  said  Martin. 

The  gentleman  adjusted  his  cane  under  his  left 
«rm,  and  took  a  more  deliberate  and  complete 
<!urvey  of  Martin  than  he  had  yet  had  leisure  to 
make.  When  he  had  completed  his  inspection, 
he  pet  out  his  right  hand,  shook  Martin's  hand, 
and  said  : 

"  My  name  is  Colonel  Diver,  sir.  I  am  the 
Editor  of  the  New  York  Rowdy  Journal." 

Martin  received  the  communication  with  that 
d(!gree  of  respect  which  an  announcement  so  dis- 
•inguished  app(  ared  to  demand. 

"The  New  York  Rowdy  Journal,  sir,"  resumed 
t.'ic  colonel,  "  is,  as  I  expect  you  kriovv,  the  organ 
ui  our  aristo<Tacy  in  this  city." 

"Oh  !  there  is  an  aristocracy  here,  then  ?"  said 
Vlartin.     "  Of  what  is  it  cornposid  i"' 

"Of  intelligence,  sir,"  replied  the  colonel;  "of 


intelligence  and  virtue.     And  of  t/ieir  necessary 
consequence  in  this  repub.ic — dollars,  sir" 

Martin  was  very  glad  to  hear  this,  feeling  well 
assured  that  if  intelligence  and  virtue  led,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  to  the  acquisition  of  dollars,  he 
would  speedily  become  a  great  capitalist.  He 
Was  about  to  express  the  gratification  such  ncw^- 
afForded  him,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  the 
captain  of  the  ship,  who  came  up  at  the  momei.t 
to  shake  hands  with  the  colonel  ;  and  who,  seeing 
a  well-dressed  stranger  on  deck  (for  Martin  ha'J 
thrown  aside  his  cloak),  shook  hands  with  him 
also.  This  was  an  unspeakable  relief  to  Miirtiii, 
who,  in  spite  of  the  acknowledged  supremacy  of 
Intelligence  and  Virtue  in  that  happy  country, 
would  have  been  deeply  mortified  to  appear  belore 
Colonel  Diver  in  the  poor  character  of  a  steerage 
passenger. 

"  Well,  cap'en  !"  said  the  colonel. 

"  Well,  colonel  !"  cried  tiie  captain.  "  You  're 
looking  most  uncommon  bright,  sir.  I  can  hardly 
realise  its  being  you,  and  that 's  a  fact." 

"  A  good  passage,  cap'en?"  inquired  the  colonel, 
taking  him  aside. 

"  Well  now  !  It  was  a  pretty  spanking  run, 
sir,"  said,  or  rather  sung,  the  captain,  who  was  a 
genuine  New  Englander  :  "  con-siderin'  the 
weather." 

"  Yes  ?"  said  the  colonel. 

"Well !  It  was,  sir,"  said  the  captain.  "  I  've 
just  now  sent  a  boy  up  to  your  office  with  the 
passenger-list,  colonel." 

"  You  haven't  got  another  boy  to  spare,  p'rapa, 
cap'en  ?"  said  the  colonel,  in  a  tone  almost 
amounting  to  severity. 

"  I  guess  there  air  a  dozen  if  you  want  'em, 
colonel,"  said  the  captain. 

"  One  moderate  big  'un  could  convey  a  dozen 
of  champagne,  perhaps"  observed  the  colonel, 
musing,  "  to  my  office.  You  said  a  spanking 
run,  I  think  ?" 

"Well  I  so  I  did,"  was  the  reply. 

"  It's  very  nigh,  you  know,"  observed  the  colo- 
nel. "I'm  glad  it  was  a  spanking  run,  cap'en. 
Don't  mind  about  quarts,  if  you're  short  of  'em. 
The  boy  can  as  well  bring  four-and-twenty  pints, 
and  travel  twice  as  once. — A  first-rate  spanker, 
cap'en,  was  it?     Yes  ?" 

"A  most  e — tarnal  spanker,"  said  the  skipper. 

"  I  admire  at  your  good  fortune,  cap'en.  You 
might  loan  me  a  cork-scrt'W  at  the  same  time,  and 
half-a-dozen  glasses,  if  you  likid.  Ih)vvever  bad 
the  elements  combine  against  my  country's  noble 
packet-ship  the  Screw,  sir,"  said  the  colonel,  turn- 
ing to  Martin,  and  drawing  a  flourish  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  deck  with  his  cane,  "her  passage 
either  way,  is  almost  certain  to  eventuate  a 
spanker !" 

The  captain,  who  had  the  Sewer  below  at  thai 
moment,  lunching  expensively  in  one  cabin,  while 
the  amiable  Slabber  was  drinking  himself  into  a 
state  of  blind  madness  in  anulher,  look  a  cordial 
leave  of  his  friend  and  captain  the  colonel,  and 
hurried  away  to  despatch  the  ebanipagnc:  well, 
knowing  (as  it  afterwards  appcai(d)  that  if  Im 
failed  to  conciliate  the  editor  of  the  Rowdy  Jour- 
nal,  tliat  potentate  would  denounce  him  and  his 
ship  in  large  ca|)itals  before  he  was  a  day  older 
and  would  |)robably  assault  the  memory  of  hia 
mother  also,  who  had  not   been  dead  more  thai; 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


10-3 


rwenty  years.  The  cnlopel  beings  ag-ain  left  alone 
^vlt!l  ALirlin,  checked  him  as  he  was  moving 
avvav,  and  offered,  in  consideration  of  his  being 
an  Englisiiinan,  to  show  him  the  town,  and  to 
introduce  him,  if  such  were  his  desire,  to  a  gen- 
ted  boarding-house.  But  before  they  entered  on 
these  proceedings  (he  said),  lie  would  beseech  the 
honour  of  his  company  at  the  ofRce  of  tiie  Rowdy 
Journal,  to  partake  of  a  bottle  of  champagne  jf 
his  own  importation. 

All  this  was  so  extremely  kind  and  hospitable, 
lliat  Martin,  though  it  was  quite  early  in  the 
morning,  readily  acquiesced.  So,  instructing 
I\I  irk,  who  was  deeply  engaged  with  his  friend 
and  her  three  children, — when  he  had  done  assist- 
ino-  them,  and  had  cleared  the  baggage,  to  wait 
for  further  orders  at  tlie  Rowdy  Journal  Otiice, — 
he  ;iceonipanied  his  new  friend  on  shore. 

They  made  their  way  as  they  best  could  through 
the  melancholy  crowd  of  emigrants  upon  the  wharf 
—  who,  grouped  about  their  beds  and  boxes  with 
tlie  bare  ground  below  them  and  the  bare  sky 
above,  might  have  fallen  from  another  planet,  for 
anything  they  knew  of  the  country — and  walked 
for  some  short  distance  along  a  busy  street, 
bounded  on  one  side  by  the  quays  and  shipping  ; 
and  on  the  otiier  by  a  long  row  of  staring  red- 
brick storehouses  and  offices,  ornamented  with 
more  black  boards  and  white  letters,  and  more 
white  boards  and  black  letters,  than  Martin  had 
ever  seen  before,  in  fifty  times  the  space.  Pre- 
sently they  turned  up  a  narrow  street,  and  pre- 
sently into  other  narrow  streets,  until  at  last  they 
stopped  before  a  house  whereon  was  painted  in 
great  characters,  "  Rowdy  Journal." 

The  colonel,  who  had  walked  the  whole  way 
vith  one  hand  in  his  breast,  his  head  occasionally 
wagging  from  side  to  side,  and  his  hat  thrown 
bdck  upon  his  ears  —  like  a  man  v>ho  was  op- 
pressed to  inconvenience  by  a  sense  of  his  own 
greatness — led  the  way  up  a  dark  and  dirty  flight 
(if  stairs  into  a  room  of  similar  character,  all  lit- 
tered and  bestrewn  with  odds  and  ends  of  news- 
papers  and  other  crumpled  fragments,  both  in 
proof  and  manuscript.  Behind  a  mangy  old 
writing  table  in  this  apartment,  sat  a  figure  with 
the  stump  of  a  pen  in  its  mouth  and  a  great  pair 
ot  scissors  in  its  right  hand,  clipping  and  slicing 
at  a  file  of  Rowdy  Journals;  and  it  was  such  a 
laughable  figure  that  M;irtin  had  some  difficulty 
in  preserving  his  gravity,  though  conscious  of  the 
close  observation  of  Colonel  Diver. 

The  individual  who  sat  clipping  and  slicing  as 
aforesiid  at  the  Rowdy  Journals,  was  a  small 
3  0ung  gentleman  of  very  juvenile  appearance,  and 
unwhole-oniely  pale  in  the  face;  partly,  perhaps, 
f  om  intense  thought,  but  partly,  there  is  no  doubt, 
fr.jni  the  excessive  use  of  tobacco,  which  he  was 
at  that  moment  chewing  vigorously.  He  wore 
his  shirt-collar  turned  down  over  a  black  ribbon, 
iind  his  lank  hair — a  fragile  crop — was  not  only 
smoothed  and  parted  hack  from  his  brow,  that 
ni>ue  of  the  Poetry  of  his  aspect  might  be  lost, 
but  had  here  and  there  been  grubbed  up  by  the 
roots;  which  accounted  for  his  loftiest  develop- 
ments being  somewhat  pimply.  He  had  that 
order  of  nose  on  which  the  envy  of  mankind  has 
bestowed  ttie  appellation  "snub,"  and  it  was  very 
much  turned  up  al  the  end,  as  with  a  lofty  scorn. 
L'oon  the  upper  lip  of  this  young  gentleman,  were 


tokens  of  a  sandy  down — so  very,  very  smooth 
and  scant,  that  though  encouraged  to  the  utmost, 
it  looked  more  like  a  recent  trace  of  gingerbread, 
than  the  fair  promise  of  a  moustache  ;  and  this 
conjecture,  his  apparently  tender  age  went  far  to 
strengthen.  He  was  intent  upon  his  work  ;  and 
every  time  he  snapped  the  great  pair  of  scissors, 
he  made  a  corresponding  motion  with  his  jaws, 
which  gave  iiim  a  very  terrihle  api)earance. 

Martin  was  not  long  in  determining  within 
himself  that  this  m\ist  be  Colonel  Diver's  son; 
the  hope  of  the  family,  and  tiiture  mainspring  of 
the  Rowdy  Journal.  Indeed  he  had  begun  to  say 
that  he  presumed  this  was  the  colonel's  liUle  boy, 
and  that  it  was  very  pleasant  to  see  him  playing 
at  Editor  in  all  the  guilelessness  of  childhood, 
when  the  colonel  proudly  interposed,  and  said  : 

"  My  War  Correspondent,  sir  —  Mr.  Jefferson 
Brick!" 

Martin  could  not  help  stnrting  at  this  unex- 
pected announcement,  and  the  consciousness  of 
the  irretrievable  mistake  he  iiad  nearly  made. 

Mr.  Brick  seemed  pleased  with  the  sensation 
he  produced  upon  the  stranger,  and  shook  hands 
with  him  with  an  air  of  patronage  designed  to 
reassure  him,  and  to  let  him  know  that  there  was 
no  occasion  to  be  frightened,  for  he  (Brick) 
wouldn't  hurt  him. 

"  You  have  heard  of  Jeff'erson  Brick  I  see,  sir," 
quoth  the  colonel,  with  a  smile.  "  England  has 
heard  of  Jefferson  Brick.  Europe  has  heard  of 
Jefferson  Brick.  Let  me  see.  When  did  yoi 
leave  England,  sir  ?" 

"  Five  weeks  ago,"  said  Martin. 

"  Five  weeks  ago,"  repeated  the  colonel,  thought- 
fully ;  as  he  took  his  seat  upon  the  table,  and 
swung  his  legs.  "  Now  let  me  ask  you,  sir,  which 
of  Mr.  Brick's  articles  had  become  at  that  time 
the  most  obnoxious  to  the  British  Parliament  and 
the  court  of  Saint  James's?" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Martin,  "  I — " 

"  I  have  reason  to  know,  sir,"  int-^rrupied  the 
colonel,  "that  the  aristocratic  circles  of  your 
country  quail  before  the  name  of  Jefferson  Briclt, 
I  should  like  to  be  informed,  sir,  from  your  lips, 
which  of  his  sentiments  has  struck  the  deadliest 
blow — " 

"  —  At  the  hundred  heads  of  the  Hydra  of  Cor- 
ruption now  grovelling  in  the  dust  beneath  the 
lance  of  Reason,  and  spouting  up  to  the  universal 
arch  above  us,  its  sanguinary  gore,"  said  Mr. 
Brick,  putting  on  a  blue  cloth  cap  with  a  glazed 
front,  and  quoting  his  last  article. 

"  The  libation  of  freedom,  Brick"  —  hinted  the 
colonel. 

"  —  Must  sometimes  be  quaffed  in  blood,  colo- 
nel,"  cried  Brick.  And  when  he  said  'blood,' 
he  gave  the  great  pair  of  scissors  a  sharp  snap,  as 
W  they  said  blood  too,  and  were  quite  of  his  opin- 
ion. 

This  done  they  both  looked  at  Martin,  pausing 
for  a  reply. 

"  Upon  my  life,"  said  Martin,  who  had  by  this, 
time  quite  recovered  his  usual  coolness,  "  I  can't 
give  you  any  satisfactory  information  about  it; 
for  the  truth  is  that  I — " 

"  Stop  I"  cried  the  colonel,  glancing  sternly  at 
his  war  correspondent,  and  giving  his  head  on>J 
shake  afler  every  sentence.  "That  you  never 
heard  of  Jefferson   Brick,  sir.     Th^t  you  never 


108 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


read  Jefferson  Brick,  sir.     That  you  never  saw  I 
the  Rowdy  Journal,  sir.     That  you  never  knew, 
sir,  of  its  mig;hty  influence  upon  the  cabinets  of 
Europe  —  Yes  ?" 

"That's  what  I  was  about  to  observe,  certain- 
ly," said  Martin. 

"  Keep  cool,  JeiTerson,"  said  the  colonel  gravely. 
"  Don't  bust !  oh  you  Europeans  !  Arter  that, 
let's  have  a  glass  of  wine  !"  So  saying,  he  got 
down  from  the  table,  and  produced  from  a  basket 
outside  the  door,  a  bottle  of  champagne,  and  three 
glasses. 

"  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick,  sir,"  said  the  colonel,  fill- 
ing Martin's  glass  and  his  own,  and  pushing  the 
bottle  to  that  gentleman,  "will  give  us  a  senti- 
ment." 

"  Well,  sir  I"  cried  the  war  correspondent,  "  since 
you  have  concluded  to  call  upon  me,  I  will  re- 
spond. I  will  give  you,  sir.  The  Rowdy  Journal 
and  its  bretheren  ;  the  well  of  Truth,  whose  wa- 
ters are  black  from  being  composed  of  printers' 
mk,  but  are  quite  clear  enough  for  my  country  to 
behold  the  shadow  of  her  Destiny  reflected  in." 

"Hear,  hear!"  cried  the  colonel,  with  great 
complacency.  "  There  are  flowery  components, 
sir,  in  the  language  of  my  friend  ?" 

"  Very  much  so,  indeed,"  said  Martin. 

"  There  is  to-day's  Rowdy,  sir,"  observed  the 
colonel,  handing  him  a  paper.  "  You  '11  find  Jef- 
ferson Brick  at  his  usual  post  in  the  van  of  hu- 
man civilisation  and  moral  purity." 

The  colonel  was  by  this  time  seated  on  the  table 
again.  Mr.  Brick  also  took  up  a  position  on  that 
same  piece  of  furniture  ;  and  they  fell  to  drinking 
pretty  hard.  They  often  looked  at  Martin  as  he 
read  the  paper,  and  then  at  each  other  ;  and  when 
he  laid  it  down,  which  was  not  until  they  had  fin- 
ished a  second  bottle,  the  colonel  asked  him  what 
be  thought  of  it. 

"  Why,  it's  horribly  personal,"  said  Martin. 

The  colonel  seemed  much  flattered  by  this  re- 
mark ;  and  said  he  hoped  it  was. 

"We  are  independent  here,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jef- 
ferson  Brick.     "  We  do  as  we  like." 

"  If  I  may  judge  from  this  specimen,"  returned 
Martin,  "  there  must  be  a  few  thousands  here  ra- 
ther the  reverse  of  independent,  who  do  as  they 
don't  like. 

"  Well !  They  yield  to  the  mighty  mind  of  the 
Popular  Instructor,  sir,"  said  the  colonel.  "  They 
rile  up,  sometimes  ;  but  in  general  we  have  a  hold 
upon  our  citizens,  both  in  public  and  in  private 
life,  which  is  as  much  one  of  the  eimobling  insti- 
tutions of  our  happy  country  as  — " 

"  As  nigger  slavery  itself,"  suggested  Mr.  Brick. 

"  En — tirely  so,"  remarked  the  colonel. 

"  Pray,"  said  Martin,  after  some  hesitation, 
"  may  I  venture  to  ask,  with  reference  to  a  case  1 
observe  in  this  paper  of  yours,  whether  the  Popu- 
lar Instructor  ollen  deals  in — I  am  at  a  loss  to  ex- 
press it  witliout  giving  you  offence — in  forgery  ? 
In  forged  letters,  for  instance,"  he  pursued,  for 
the  colonel  was  porfoctly  oalin  and  quite  at  his 
ease,  "  solenniiy  purpcirtiiig  to  have  been  written 
lit  recent  periods  by  living  men?" 

"Well,  sir!"  replied  the  colonel.  "It  docs, 
now  and  ilien." 

"And  the  popular  instructed  —  what  do  they 
i!<-)?"  iisked  Martin. 

■'  Buy  'em  :"  said  the  colonel. 


Mr.  Jefferson  Brick  expectorated  and  laughert 
the  former  copiously,  the  latter  approvingly. 

"  Buy  'em  by  hundreds  of  thousands,"  resumed 
the  colonel.  "  We  are  a  smart  people  here,  and 
can  appreciate  smartness." 

"  Is  smartness  American  for  forgery?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  Well !"  said  the  colonel,  "  I  expect  it 's  .Anie. 
rican  for  a  good  many  things  that  you  call  hv 
other  names.  But  you  can't  help  yourselves  in 
Europe.     We  can." 

"  And  do,  sometimes,"  thought  Martin.  "  You 
help  yourselves  with  very  little  ceremony,  too  1" 

"  At  all  events,  whatever  name  we  choose  to 
employ,"  said  the  colonel,  stooping  down  to  roil 
the  third  empty  bottle  into  a  corner  after  the  otl.tr 
two,  "  I  suppose  the  art  of  forgery  was  not  in- 
vented here,  sir  ?" 

"  I  suppose  not,"  replied  Martin. 

"  Nor  any  other  kind  of  smartness,  I  reckon  ?" 

"  Invented  !  No,  I  presume  not." 

"  Well  I"  said  the  colonel;  "then  we  got  it  all 
from  the  old  country,  and  the  old  country's  to 
blame  for  it,  and  not  the  new  'un.  There's  an 
end  of  that.  Now  if  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick  and  you 
will  be  so  good  as  clear,  I'll  come  out  last,  and 
lock  the  door." 

Rightly  interpreting  this  as  the  signal  for  their 
departure,  Martin  walked  down  stairs  after  the 
war  correspondent,  who  preceded  him  with  great 
majesty.  The  colonel  fbllov.'ing,  they  left  the 
Rowdy  Journal  Office  and  walked  forth  into  the 
streets  :  Martin  feeling  doubtful  whether  lie  ought 
to  kick  the  colonel  for  having  presumed  to  speak 
to  him,  or  whether  it  came  within  the  bounds  of 
possibility  that  he  and  his  establishment  could  be 
among  the  boasted  usages  of  that  regenerated  land. 

It  was  clear  that  t^olonel  Diver,  in  the  security 
of  his  strong  position,  and  in  his  perfect  under- 
standing of  the  public  sentiment,  cared  very  little 
what  Martin  or  anybody  else  thought  about  him. 
His  high-spiced  wares  were  made  to  sell,  and  they 
sold  ;  and  his  thousands  of  readers  could  as  ra- 
tionally charge  their  delight  in  filth  upon  him,  as 
a  glutton  can  shift  upon  his  cook  the  responsibi- 
lity of  his  beastly  excess.  Nothing  would  have 
delighted  the  colonel  more  than  to  be  told  that  no 
such  man  as  he  could  walk  in  high  success  the 
streets  of  any  other  country  in  the  world  :  lor  that 
would  only  have  been  a  logical  assurance  to  him 
of  the  correct  adaptation  of  his  labours  to  the 
prevailing  taste,  and  of  his  being  strictly  and  pe- 
culiarly a  national  ((.mature  of  America. 

They  walked  a  mile  or  more  along  a  handsome 
street  which  the  colonel  said  was  called  Broadway, 
and  which  Mr.  Jeft'erson  Brick  said  "  whipped  tlie 
universe."  Turning,  at  length,  into  one  of  tht 
numerous  streets  which  branched  from  this  main 
thoroughfare,  they  stopped  before  a  rather  mean- 
looking  house  with  jalousie  blinds  to  every  win 
dow  ;  a  flight  of  steps  before  the  green  street-door; 
a  shining  white  ornament  on  tlie  rails  on  either 
side  like  a  petrified  pine-a|)ple,  polished  ;  a  little 
oblong  [ilate  of  the  same  material  over  the  knocker, 
whercoii  the  name  ot'  "  Pawkins"  was  eiifiraved; 
and  linir  accidental  pigs  looking  down  the  area. 

The  colonel  knocked  at  this  house  with  the  air 
of  a  man  who  liveo  there;  and  an  Irish  girl  pop- 
ped her  head  out  of  one  of  the  lop  windows  t(>  see 
who  it   was.     Pending  her  journey  down  -uair^ 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


109 


the  j)i£rs  were  joined  by  two  or  three  friends  from 
Oie  next  street,  in  company  with  whom  they  lay 
down  sociably  in  the  gutter. 

"  Is  the  major  in-doors  ?"  inquired  the  colonel, 
as  lie  entered. 

"  Is  it  the  master,  sir  ?"  returned  the  girl,  with 
a  hesitation  which  seemed  to  imply  that  they 
were  rather  flush  of  majors  in  that  establish- 
ment. 

"  The  master  I"  said  colonel  Diver,  stopping 
short  and  looking  round  at  his  war  correspon- 
dent. 

"  Oh  !  The  depressing  institutions  of  that  Bri- 
tish empire,  colonel  I"  said  Jefl'erson  Brick. 
"  Master  !" 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  the  word  ?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  I  should  hope  it  was  never  heard  in  our  coun- 
try, sir :  that 's  all,"  said  JetFerson  Brick  :  "  ex- 
cept when  it  is  used  by  some  degraded  Help,  as 
new  to  the  blessings  of  our  form  of  government, 
as  this  Help  is.     There  are  no  masters  here." 

"  All  '  owners,'  are  they  ?"  said  Martin. 

Mr,  Jefferson  Brick  followed  in  the  Rowdy 
Journal's  footsteps  without  returning  any  answer. 
Martin  took  the  same  course,  thinking  as  he  went, 
that  perhaps  the  free  and  independent  citizens, 
who  in  their  moral  elevation,  owned  the  colonel 
for  their  master,  might  render  better  homage  to 
the  goddess.  Liberty,  in  nightly  dreams  upon  the 
oven  of  a  Russian  Serf. 

The  colonel  led  the  way  into  a  room  at  the  back 
of  the  house  upon  the  ground-floor,  light,  and  of 
fair  dimensions,  but  exquisitely  uncomfortable  : 
having  nothing  in  it  but  the  four  cold  white  walls 
and  ceiling,  a  mean  carpet,  a  dreary  waste  of 
dining-table  reaching  from  end  to  end,  and  a  be- 
wildering collection  of  cane-bottomed  chairs.  In 
flie  further  region  of  tliis  banqueting-hall  was  a 
stove,  garnished  on  either  side  with  a  great  brass 
spittoon,  and  shaped  in  itself  like  three  little  iron 
barrels  set  up  on  end  in  a  fender,  and  joined  to- 
gether on  the  principle  of  the  Siamese  Twins. 
Before  it,  swinging  himself  in  a  rocking-chair, 
lounged  a  large  gentleman  with  his  hat  on,  who 
amused  himself  by  spitting  alternately  into  the 
spittoon  on  the  right  hand  the  stove,  and  the  spit- 
t'jon  on  the  left,  and  then  working  his  way  back 
again  in  the  same  order.  A  negro  lad  in  a  soiled 
white  jacket  was  busily  engaged  in  placing  on 
the  table  two  long  rows  of  knives  and  forks,  re- 
lieved at  intervals  by  jugs  of  water ;  and  as  he 
travelled  down  one  side  of  this  festive  board,  he 
straightened  with  his  dirty  hands  the  dirtier  cloth, 
wliich  was  all  askew,  and  had  not  been  removed 
since  breakfast.  The  atmosphere  of  this  room 
was  rendered  intensely  hot  and  stifling  by  the 
stove ;  but  being  further  flavoured  by  a  sickly 
gush  of  soup  from  the  kitchen,  and  by  such  re- 
mote suggestions  of  tobacco  as  lingered  within 
tlie  brazen  receptacles  already  mentioned,  it  be- 
came, to  a  stranger's  senses,  almost  insupport- 
able. 

The  gentleman  in  the  rocking-chair  having  his 
back  towards  them,  and  being  much  engaged  in 
his  intellectual  pastime,  was  not  aware  of  tlieir 
approach  until  the  colonel  walking  up  to  the  stove, 
contributed  his  mite  towards  the  support  of  the 
left-hand  spittoon,  just  as  the  major  —  for  it  was 
the  major  —  bore  down  upon  it.    Major  Pawkins 


then  reserved  his  fire,  and  looking  upward,  said, 
with  a  peculiar  air  of  quiet  weariness,  like  a  man 
who  had  been  up  all  night — an  air  which  Martin 
had  already  observed  both  in  the  colonel  and  Mr 
Jefferson  Brick — 

"  Well,  colonel !" 

"  Here  is  a  gentleman  from  England,  major," 
the  colonel  replied,  "  who  has  concluded  to  locate 
himself  here  if  the  amount  of  compensation  suits 
him." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,"  observed  the  major, 
shaking  hands  with  IMarlin,  and  not  moving  a 
muscle  of  his  face.  "  You  are  pretty  bright,  I 
hope  ?" 

"  Never  better,"  said  Martin. 

"  You  are  never  likely  to  be,"  returned  the 
major.     "  You  will  see  the  sun  shine  here." 

"  I  think  I  remember  to  have  seen  it  shine  at 
home,  sometimes,'"  said  Martin,  smiling. 

"  I  think  not,"  replied  the  major.  He  said  so 
with  a  stoical  indifference  certainly,  but  still  in  a 
tone  of  firmness  which  admitted  of  no  further  dis- 
pute on  that  point.  When  he  had  thus  settled  the 
question,  he  put  his  hat  a  little  on  one  side  tor  the 
greater  convenience  of  scratching  his  head,  and 
saluted  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick  with  a  lazy  nod. 

Major  Pawkins  (a  gentleman  of  Pennsylvanian 
origin)  was  distinguished  by  a  very  large  skull, 
and  a  great  mass  of  yellow  foreiiead  ;  in  deference 
to  which  commodities,  it  was  currently  held  in 
bar-rooms  and  other  such  places  of  resort,  that  the 
major  was  a  man  of  huge  sagacity.  He  was  f  .r- 
ther  to  be  known  by  a  heavy  eye  and  a  dull  slow 
manner  ;  and  for  being  a  man  of  that  kind  who — 
mentally  speaking  —  requires  a  deal  of  room  to 
turn  himself  in.  But  in  trading  on  his  stock  of 
wisdom,  he  invariably  proceeded  on  the  principle 
of  putting  all  the  goods  he  had  (and  more)  inti 
his  window ;  and  that  went  a  great  tvay  with  hr 
constituency  of  admirers.  It  went  a  great  way 
perhaps,  with  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick,  who  took  06 
casion  to  whisper  in  Martin's  ear : 

"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  our  coun 
try,  sir !" 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  the  per 
petual  exhibition  in  the  market-place  of  all  hii 
stock  in  trade  for  sale  or  hire,  was  the  major's 
sole  claim  to  a  very  large  share  of  sympathy  and 
support.  He  was  a  great  politician  ;  and  the  one 
article  of  his  creed,  in  reference  to  all  public  obli- 
gations involving  the  good  fai'h  and  integrity  of 
his  country,  was,  "  run  a  moist  pen  slick  through 
everything,  and  start  fresh."  This  made  him  a 
patriot.  In  commercial  affairs  he  was  a  bold  spe- 
culator.  In  plainer  words  he  had  a  most  distin 
guished  genius  for  swindling,  and  could  start  a 
bank,  or  negociate  a  loan,  or  form  a  land-jobting 
company  (entailing  ruin,  pestilence,  and  death,  on 
hundreds  of  families),  with  any  gifted  creature  in 
the  Union.  This  made  him  an  admirable  man 
of  business.  He  could  hang  about  a  bar-room, 
discussing  the  affairs  of  the  nation,  for  twelve 
hours  together ;  and  in  th.it  time  could  hold  forth 
with  more  intolerable  dulness,  chew  more  tobacco, 
smoke  more  tobacco,  drink  more  rum-toddy,  mint- 
julep,  gin-sling,  and  cocktail,  than  any  private 
gentleman  of  his  acquaintance.  This  made  him 
an  orator  and  a  man  of  the  people.  In  a  word. 
the  major  was  a  rising  character  and  a  popular 
character,  and  was  in  a  fairway  to  be  sent  bv  tli« 


no 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


popular  party  to  tbe  Sfate  House  of  New  York,  ! 
it'  not  in  the  end  to  Washington  itself.  But  as  a 
man's  private  prosperity  does  not  always  keep 
pace  with  his  p::triotic  devotion  to  public  affairs; 
and  as  fraudultnl  transactions  have  their  downs 
as  well  as  ups;  the  major  was  occasionally  under 
a  cloud.  Hence,  just  now,  Mrs.  Pawkins  kept 
a  boarding-house,  and  Major  Pawkins  rather 
"loafed"  his  time  away,  than  otherwise. 

"  You  have  come  to  visit  our  country,  sir,  at  a 
Beason  of  great  commercial  depression,"  said  the 
major. 

"At  an  alarming  crisis,"  said  the  colonel. 

"  At  a  period  of  unprecedented  stagnation," 
said  Mr.  Jeil'erson  Brick. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that,"  returned  Martin. 
"It's  not  likely  to  last,  I  hope?" 

Martin  knew  nothing  about  America,  or  he 
would  iiave  known  perfectly  well  that  if  its  in- 
dividual citizens,  to  a  man,  are  to  be  believed,  it 
always  is  depressed,  and  always  is  stagnated,  and 
always  is  at  an  alarming  crisis,  and  never  was 
otherwise;  though  as  a  body  they  are  ready  to 
make  oath  upon  the  Evangelists  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night,  that  it  is  the  most  thriving  and 
prosperous  of  all  countries  on  the  habitable  globe. 

"  It  's  not  likely  to  last,  I  hope?"  said  Martin. 

"  Well !"  returned  tiie  major,  "  I  expect  we 
shall  get  along  somehow,  and  come  right  in  the 
end." 

"  We  are  an  elastic  country,"  said  the  Rowdy 
Journal. 

"  We  are  a  young  lion,"  said  Mr.  Jefferson 
Brick. 

"  We  have  revivifying  and  vigorous  principles 
within  oursclvt  s,"  observed  the  major.  "  Shall 
we  drink  a  bitter  afore  dinner,  colonel  ?" 

The  colonel  assenting  to  this  proposal  with 
great  alacrity,  Major  Pawkins  proposed  an  ad- 
journment to  a  neighbouring  bar-room,  which, 
as  he  observed,  was  "only  in  tiie  next  block." 
He  then  referred  Martin  to  Mrs.  Pawkins  for  all 
particulars  connected  with  the  rate  of  board  and 
lodging,  and  informed  him  that  he  would  have 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  that  lady  at  dinner,  which 
would  soon  be  ready,  as  tiie  dinner  hour  was  two 
o'clock,  and  it  only  wanted  a  quarter  now.  This 
reminded  him  that  if  the  bitter  were  to  be  taken 
at  all,  there  was  no  time  to  lose ;  so  he  walked 
off  without  more  ado,  and  left  them  to  follow  if 
they  thought  proper. 

When  the  major  rose  from  his  rocking-chair 
before  the  stove  and  so  disturbed  the  hot  air  and 
balmy  whiff  of  soup  which  fanned  their  brows, 
the  odour  of  stale  tobacco  became  so  decidedly 
prevalent  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  its  proceeding 
mainly  from  that  gentleman's  attire.  Indeed  as 
Martin  walked  beliitid  him  to  the  bar-room,  he 
could  not  help  thinking  that  the  great  square 
major,  in  his  listlessness  and  languor,  looked 
very  much  like  a  stale  weed  himself,  such  as 
might  be  hoed  out  of  the  public  garden  with 
great  advantage  to  thd  decent  growth  of  that 
preserve,  and  tossed  on  some  congenial  dunghill. 
They  encountered  morn  weeds  in  the  bar-room, 
fconie  of  Y^ht/fn  (being  thirsty  souls  as  well  as 
airty)  weie  pretty  stale  in  one  sense,  and  pretty 
fre^li  in  anotlier.  Among  Ihetn  was  a  gentle- 
man, who,  as  Martin  gallurtd  from  the  conversa- 
lioc  thwt  tojk  place  over  the  bitter,  started  that 


afternoon  for  the  Far  West  on  a  six  months' 
business  tour;  and  who,  as  his  outfit  and  equip 
ment  for  this  journey,  had  just  such  another  shinv 
hat  and  just  such  another  little  pale  valise,  as  had 
composed  the  luggage  of  the  gentleman  who 
caine  from  England  in  the  Screw. 

They  were  walking  back  very  leisurely;  Mar- 
tin arm-in-arm  with  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick,  and  the 
major  and  the  colonel  side-by-side  before  them; 
when,  as  they  came  within  a  house  or  two  of  the 
major's  residence,  they  heard  a  bell  ringing  vio 
lently.  The  instant  this  sound  struck  upon  their 
ears,  the  colonel  and  the  major  darted  off,  dashed 
up  the  steps  and  in  at  the  street-door  (which  stood 
ajar)  like  lunatics;  while  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick, 
detaching  his  arm  from  Martin's,  made  a  precipi- 
tate dive  in  the  same  direction,  and  vanished 
also. 

"Good  Heaven!"  thought  Martin,  "the  pre- 
mises are  on  fire  !  It  was  an  alarm-bell  I" 

But  there  was  no  smoke  to  be  seen,  nor  any 
flame,  nor  was  there  any  smell  of  fire.  As  Mar- 
tin faltered  on  the  pavement,  three  more  gentle- 
men, with  horror  and  agitation  depicted  in  their 
faces,  came  plunging  wildly  round  the  street 
corner ;  jostled  each  other  on  the  steps  ;  struggled 
for  an  instant;  and  rushed  into  the  house  in  a 
confused  lieap  of  arms  and  legs.  Unable  to  bear 
't  any  longer,  Martin  followed.  Even  in  hia 
rapid  progress,  he  was  run  down,  thrust  aside, 
and  passed,  by  two  more  gentlemen,  stark  mad, 
as  it  appeared,  with  fierce  excitement. 

"Where  is  it?"  cried  Martin,  breathlessly,  to 
a  negro  whom  he  encountered  in  the  passage, 

"  In  a  eatin.«)om  sa.  'Kernel  sa,  him  kept  a 
seat  'side  hitoself  sa." 

"A  seat!"  cried  Martin. 

"  For  a  dinnar  sa." 

Martin  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  burst 
into  a  hearty  laugh ;  to  which  the  negro,  out  of 
his  natural  good  humour  and  desire  to  please,  so 
heartily  responded,  that  his  teeth  shone  like  a 
gleam  of  light,  "  You  're  the  picasaiitcst  fellow 
I  have  seen  yet,"  said  Martin,  clappin'/  him  on 
the  back,  "  and  give  me  a  better  appetite  than 
bitters." 

With  this  sentiment  he  walked  into  the  dining 
room  and  slipped  into  a  chair  next  the  colonel, 
which  that  gentleman  (by  this  time  nearly 
through  his  dinner)  had  turned  down,  in  reserve 
for  him,  with  its  back  against  the  table. 

It  was  a  numerous  company — eiglitccn  or 
twenty,  perhaps.  Of  these,  some  five  or  six  were 
ladies,  who  sat  wedged  together  in  a  little  pha- 
lanx by  themselves.  All  tlie  knives  and  forks 
were  working  away  at  a  rate  that  was  quite 
alarming ;  very  few  words  w-ere  spoken ;  and 
everybody  seemed  to  eat  his  utmost  in  seli-detence, 
as  if  a  famine  were  expected  to  set  in  before 
breakfast  time  to-morrow  morning,  and  it  had 
become  high  time  to  assert  the  first  law  of  nature. 
The  poultry,  which  may  perhaps  be  considered 
to  have  formed  the  staple  of  the  entertainment — 
for  there  was  a  turkey  at  the  top,  a  pair  of  ducks 
at  the  bottom,  and  two  fowls  in  the  middle — dis- 
appeared as  rapidly  as  if  every  bird  had  had  lire 
use  of  its  wings,  and  had  flown  in  desperation 
down  n  human  throat.  The  oysters,  stewed  and 
pirklcd,  leaped  from  their  capacious  reservoir.* 
and  slid  by  scores  into  the  mouths  of  the  assem 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT. 


Ill 


bfy.  Tne  sharpest  pickles  vanished;  whole 
cucumbers  at  once,  like  siitrar-plmnbs  ;  and  no 
man  winked  his  eye.  Great  heaps  of  indigesti- 
ble matter  melted  away  as  ice  before  the  sun.  It 
was  a  solemn  and  an  awful  thingf  to  see.  Dys- 
peptic individuals  bolted  their  food  in  wedf^es  ; 
lt''!'fpediQor,  not  themselves,  but  broods  of  nightmares, 
who  were  continually  standing  at  livery  within 
them.  Spare  men,  with  lank  and  rigid  cheeks, 
came  out  unsatisfied  from  the  destruction  of  heavy 
disiies,  and  glared  with  watchful  eyes  upon  the 
pastry.  What  Mrs.  Pawkins  felt  each  day  at 
dinner-time  is  hidden  from  all  human  knowledge. 
But  she  liad  one  comfort.     It  was  very  soon  over. 

When  the  colonel  had  finished  his  dinner,  which 
event  to<3k  place  while  Martin,  who  had  sent  his 
plate  for  some  turkey,  was  waiting  to  begin,  he 
asked  him  vviiat  he  thought  of  the  boarders,  who 
were  from  all  parts  of  the  Union,  and  whether  he 
would  like  to  know  any  particulars  concerning 
them. 

"  Pray,"  said  Martin,  "  who  is  that  sickly  little 
girl  opposite,  with  the  tight  round  eyes?  I  don't 
see  any  body  here,  who  looks  like  her  mother,  or 
who  seems  to  have  charge  of  her." 

"  Do  you  mean  the  matron  in  blue,  sir  ?"  asked 
the  colonel,  with  emphasis.  "That  is  Mrs.  Jef- 
ferson Brick,  sir." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Martin,  "  I  mean  the  little  girl, 
like  a  doll — directly  opposite." 

"  Well,  sir !"  cried  the  colonel.  "That  is  Mrs. 
Jefferson  Brick." 

Martin  glanced  at  the  colonel's  face,  but  he  was 
quite  serious. 

"  Bless  my  soul !  I  suppose  there  will  be  a  young 
Brick  then,  one  of  these  days?"  said  Martin. 

"  There  are  two  young  Bricks  already,  sir," 
returned  the  colonel. 

The  matron  looked  so  uncommonly  like  a  child 
herself,  that  Martin  could  not  help  saying  as 
much.  "  Yes,  sir,"  returned  the  colonel,  "  but 
some  institutions  develop  human  natur :  others 
retard  it." 

"  Jefferson  Brick,"  he  observed,  after  a  short 
silence,  in  commendation  of  his  correspondent, 
"  is  one  of  tlie  most  remarkable  men  in  our 
country,  sir." 

This  had  passed  almost  in  a  whisper,  for  the 
distinguished  gentleman  alluded  to,  sat  on  Mar- 
tin's other  hand. 

"  Pray  Mr.  Brick,"  said  Martin,  turning  to  him, 
and  asking  a  question  more  for  conversation's 
sake  than  from  any  feeling  of  interest  in  its  sub- 
ject, "  who  is  that"  he  was  going  to  say  "  young" 
but  thought  it  prudent  to  eschew  the  word — "  that 
very  short  gentleman  yonder,  with  the  red  nose  ?" 

"  That  is  Pro — fessor  Mullet,  sir,"  replied  Jef- 
ferson, 

"  May  I  ask  what  he  is  Professor  of?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  Of  education,  sir,"  said  Jefferson  Brick. 

"  A  sort  of  schoolmaster,  possibly  ?"  Martin 
ventured  to  observe. 

"  He  is  a  man  of  fine  moral  elements,  sir,  and 
not  commonly  endowed,"  said  the  war  corres- 
pondent. "  lie  felt  it  necessary,  at  the  last  elec- 
tion for  President,  to  repudiate  and  denounce  his 
father,  who  voted  on  the  wrong  interest.  He  has 
Bince  written  some  powerful  pamphlets,  under  the 
iignature  of 'Suturb,'  or  Brutus  reversed.     He  is 


one  of  the  most  remarkable    men  in  our  country 
sir." 

"There  seem  to  be  plenty  of  'em,"  though 
Martin,  "  at  any  rate." 

Pursuing  his  inquiries,  Martin  found  that  thtre 
were  no  fewer  than  four  majors  present,  two 
colonels,  one  general  and  a  captain,  so  that  he 
could  not  help  thinking  how  strongly  officered 
the  American  militia  must  be;  and  wondering 
very  much  whether  the  officers  commanded  eacli 
other;  or  if  they  did  not,  where  on  earth  the  pri- 
vates came  from.  There  seemed  to  be  no  man 
there  without  a  title :  for  those  who  had  not 
attained  to  military  honours  were  eitlier  doctors, 
professors,  or  reverends.  Three  very  hard  and 
disagreeable  gentlemen  were  on  missions  from 
neighbouring  States ;  one  on  monetary  affairs, 
one  on  political,  one  on  sectarian.  Among  the 
ladies,  there  were  Mrs.  Pawkins,  who  was  very 
straight,  bony,  and  silent;  and  a  wiry-faced  old 
damsel,  who  held  strong  sentiments  touching  the 
rights  of  women,  and  had  diffused  the  same  in 
lectures ;  but  the  rest  were  strangely  devoid  of 
individual  traits  of  character,  insomuch  that  any 
one  of  them  might  have  changed  minds  with  tiie 
other,  and  nobody  would  have  found  it  out.  These, 
by  the  way,  were  the  only  members  of  the  party 
who  did  not  appear  to  be  among  the  most  remark- 
able people  in  the  country. 

Several  of  the  gentlemen  got  up,  one  by  one, 
and  walked  off  as  they  swallowed  their  last  mor- 
sel ;  pausing  generally  by  the  stove  for  a  minute 
or  so  to  refresh  themselves  at  the  brass  spittoons, 
A  few  sedentary  characters,  however,  remained 
at  the  table  full  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  did  not 
rise  until  the  ladies  rose,  when  all  stood  up. 

"  Where  are  they  going  ?"  asked  Martin,  in  the 
ear  of  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick. 

"  To  their  bed-rooms,  sir." 

"  Is  there  no  dessert,  or  other  interval  of  conver 
sation  ?"  asked  Martin,  who  was  disposed  to  en- 
joy himself  after  his  long  voyage. 

"  We  are  a  busy  people  here,  sir,  and  have  no 
time  for  that,"  was  the  reply. 

So  the  ladies  passed  out  in  single  file,  Mr. 
Jefferson  Brick  and  such  other  married  gentle- 
men as  were  left,  acknowledging  the  departure  ot 
their  other  halves  by  a  nod ;  and  there  was  an 
end  of  them,  Martin  thought  this  an  uncomtbrta 
ble  custom,  but  he  kept  his  opinion  to  himself  ibf 
the  present,  being  anxious  to  hear,  and  inform 
himself  by  the  conversation  of  the  busy  gentle, 
men,  who  now  lounged  about  the  stove  as  if  a 
great  weight  had  been  taken  off  their  minds  by 
the  withdrawal  of  the  other  sex;  and  who  mado 
a  plentiful  use  of  the  spittoons  and  their  tooth 
picks. 

It  was  rather  barren  of  interest,  to  say  the 
truth  ;  and  the  greater  part  of  it  may  be  summed 
up  in  one  word — dollars.  All  their  cares,  hopes, 
joys,  affections,  virtues,  and  associations,  seemed 
to  be  melted  down  into  dollars.  Wiiatever  the 
chance  contributions  that  fell  into  the  slow  caul 
dron  of  their  talk,  they  made  the  gruel  thick  ana 
slab  with  dollars.  Men  were  weighed  hy  theii 
dollars,  measures  gauged  by  their  dollars  ;  life 
was  auctioneered,  appraised,  put  up,  and  knock<(i 
down  for  its  dollars.  The  next  respectable  liiiii; 
to  dollars  was  any  venture  liaving  their  attain 
mcnt  for  its  end.     Tlie   jnore  of  that   worthlefsi 


112 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


ballast,  honour  and  fair-dealingf,  which  any  man 
cast  overboard  from  the  ship  of  his  Good  Name 
and  lioud  Intent,  the  more  ample  stowage-room 
iie  had  for  dollars.  Make  commerce  one  huge 
lie  and  mighty  theft.  Deface  the  banner  of  the 
niilion  for  an  idle  rag  ;  pollute  it  star  by  star  ;  and 
cut  out  stripe  by  stripe  as  from  the  arm  of  a  de- 
gmdcd  soldier.  Do  anything  for  dollars  !  What 
is  a  flag  to  them  ! 

One  who  rides  at  all  hazards  of  limb  and  life  in 
the  chase  of  a  fox,  will  prefer  to  ride  recklessly  at 
most  times.  So  it  was  with  these  gentlemen. 
He  was  the  greatest  patriot,  in  their  eyes,  who 
brawled  the  loudest,  and  who  cared  the  least  for 
decenc}'.  He  was  their  champion,  who  in  the 
brutal  fury  of  his  own  pursuit,  could  cast  no  stig- 
ma upon  them,  for  the  hot  knavery  of  theirs. 
Thus,  Martin  learned  in  the  five  minutes'  strag- 
gling talk  about  the  stove,  that  to  carry  pistols 
into  legislative  assemblies,  and  swords  in  sticks, 
and  other  such  peaceful  toys ;  to  seize  opponents 
by  the  throat,  as  dogs  or  rats  might  do  ;  to  bluster, 
bully,  and  overbear  by  personal  assailment ;  were 
glowing  deeds.  Not  thrusts  and  stabs  at  Free- 
dom, striking  far  deeper  into  her  House  of  Life 
than  any  sultan's  scimetar  could  reach;  but  rare 
incense  on  her  altars,  having  a  grateful  scent  in 
patriotic  nostrils,  and  curling  upward  to  the  se- 
venth heaven  of  Fame. 

Once  or  twice,  when  there  was  a  pause,  Martin 
asked  such  questions  as  naturally  occurred  to 
him,  being  a  stranger,  about  the  national  poets, 
the  theatre,  literature,  and  the  arts.  But  the 
information  which  these  gentlemen  were  in  a 
condition  to  give  him  on  such  topics,  did  not 
extend  beyond  the  effusions  of  such  master-spirits 
of  the  time,  as  Colonel  Diver,  Mr.  Jefferson  Brick, 
and  others ;  renowned,  as  it  appeared,  for  excel- 
lence in  the  achievement  of  a  peculiar  style  of 
broadside-essay  called  "  a  screamer." 

"  We  are  a  busy  people,  sir,"  said  one  of  the 
captains,  who  was  from  the  West,  "  and  have  no 
time  for  reading  mere  notions.  We  don't  mind 
'cm  if  they  come  to  us  in  newspapers  along  with 
almighty  strong  stuff  of  another  sort,  but  darn 
yi)ur  books." 

Here  tiie  general,  who  appeared  to  quite  grow 
faint  at  the  bare  thouglit  of  reading  anything 
which  was  .neither  mercantile  nor  political,  and 
was  not  in  a  newspaper,  inquired  "  if  any  gentle- 
man would  drink  sotne  ?"  Most  of  the  company, 
considering  this  a  very  choice  and  seasonable  idea, 
lounged  out  one  by  one  to  the  bar-room  in  the 
next  block.  Thence  they  probably  went  to  their 
stores  and  counting-houses ;  thence  to  the  bar- 
room again,  to  talk  once  more  of  dollars,  and 
enlarge  their  minds  with  the  perusal  and  discus- 
sion of  screamers  ;  and  thence  each  man  to  snore 
in  the  bosom  of  his  own  family. 

"  Which  would  seem,"  said  Martin,  pursuing 
the  current  of  his  own  thoughts,  "to  be  the  prin- 
cipal recreation  they  enjoy  in  common."  With 
lii.it,  lie  fell  a-musing  again  on  dollars,  dema- 
gogues, and  bar-rooms  ;  di^bating  within  himself 
vvhether  busy  people  of  this  class  were  really  as 
t)-jsy  as  they  claimed  to  be,  or  only  had  an  inap- 
titude for  social  and  domestic  pleasure. 

It  was  a  diflicult  question  to  solve;  and  the 
mere  fact  of  its  being  strongly  presented  to  his 
mind  bv  al!  that  he  had  seen  and  heard,  was  not 


encouraging.  He  sat  down  at  the  deserted  board 
and  becoming  more  and  more  despondent,  as  lie 
thought  of  all  the  uncertainties  and  difnculties  of 
his  precarious  situation,  sighed  heavily. 

Now,  there  had  been  at  the  dinner-table  a  mid- 
dle-aged man  with  a  dark  eye  and  a  sunburnt 
face,  who  had  attracted  Martin's  attention  by 
having  something  very  engaging  and  honest  in 
the  expression  of  his  features;  but  of  whom  he 
could  learn  nothing  from  either  of  his  neighbours, 
who  seemed  to  consider  him  quite  beneath  their 
notice.  He  had  taken  no  part  in  the  conversation 
round  the  stove,  nor  had  he  gone  forth  with  the 
rest;  and  now,  when  he  heard  Martin  sigh  for 
the  third  or  fourth  time,  he  interposed  with  some 
casual  remark,  as  if  he  desired,  without  obtrud- 
ing himself  upon  a  stranger's  notice,  to  engage 
him  in  cheerful  conversation  if  he  could.  His 
motive  was  so  obvious,  and  yet  so  delirateh'  ex- 
pressed, that  Martin  felt  really  grateful  to  him, 
and  showed  him  so,  in  the  manner  of  his  reply. 

"I  will  not  ask  you,"  said  this  gentleman 
with  a  smile,  as  he  rose  and  moved  towards  him, 
"how  you  like  my  country,  for  I  can  quite  antici- 
pate your  real  feeling  on  that  point.  But,  as  I 
am  an  American,  and  consequently  bound  to 
begin  with  a  question,  I  '11  ask  you  how  do  you 
like  the  colonel  ?" 

"You  are  so  very  frank,"  returned  Martin, 
"that  I  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  I  don't  like 
him  at  all.  Though  I  must  add  that  I  am  be- 
holden to  him  for  his  civility  in  bringing  n>e 
here  —  and  arranging  for  my  stay,  on  pretty 
reasonable  terms,  by  the  way,"  he  added  :  remem 
bering  that  the  colonel  had  whispered  him  to  thai 
effect,  before  going  out. 

"Not  much  beholden,"  said  the  stranger  drily. 
"The  colonel  occasionally  boards  packet-ships,  I 
have  heard,  to  glean  the  latest  information  for  his 
journal ;  and  he  occasionally  brings  strangers  to 
board  here,  I  believe,  with  a  view  to  the  little  per- 
centage which  attaches  to  those  good  offices  ;  and 
which  the  hostess  deducts  from  his  weekly  bilL 
I  don't  offend  you,  I  hope  ?"  he  added,  seeing 
that  Martin  reddened. 

"  My  dear  sir,"  returned  Martin,  as  they  shook 
hands,  "  how  is  that  possible  !  to  tell  you  tite 
truth,  I  —  am — " 

"Yes?"  said  the  gentleman,  sitting  down 
beside  him. 

"  I  am  rather  at  a  loss,  since  I  must  speiik 
plainly,"  said  Martin,  getting  the  better  of  his 
hesitation,  "  to  know  how  this  colonel  escapes 
being  beaten." 

"  Well !  He  has  been  beaten  once  or  twice," 
remarked  the  gentleman  quietly,  "  He  is  one  of 
a  class  of  men,  in  wIioit)  our  own  Franklin,  ^*o 
long  ago  as  ten  years  betbre  the  close  of  the  last 
century,  foresaw  our  danger  and  disgrace.  Per- 
haps you  don't  know  that  Franklin,  in  very  severe 
terms  published  his  opinion  that  those  who  were 
slandcr<'d  by  such  fV'liows  as  this  colonel,  having 
no  sufticient  renudy  in  the  administration  of  tiiis 
country's  laws,  or  in  tiio  decent  and  right-minded 
I'ccling  of  its  penple,  werr  justified  in  retorting  on 
such  public  nuisances  by  means  of  a  stout  cudgel'" 

"  I  was  not  aware  of  that,"  said  Martin,  "  but 
I  am  very  glad  to  know  if,  and  I  think  it  wortliy 
of  his  memory  ;  especially"  —  here  he  hesitatetf 
again. 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


IKI 


"•Go  on,"  said  the  other,  smiling  as  if  he  knew 
what  stuck  iti  Martin's  throat. 

"  Kspeniaily,"  pursued  Martin,  "as  I  can  al- 
ready understand  that  it  may  have  required  great 
courage,  even  in  his  time,  to  write  freely  on  any 
qupstion  which  was  not  a  party  one  in  this  very 
free  country." 

"  Some  courage,  no  doubt,"  returned  his  new 
friend.  "  Do  you  think  it  would  require  any  to 
do  so,  now  ?" 

"  Indeed,  I  think  it  would ;  and  not  a  little," 
said  Martin. 

"  You  are  right.  So  very  right,  that  I  believe 
no  satirist  could  breathe  this  air.  If  another 
Juvenal  or  Swift  could  rise  up  among  us  to- 
morrow, he  would  be  hunted  down.  If  you  liave 
any  knowledge  of  our  literature,  and  can  give  me 
the  name  of  any  man,  American  born  and  bred, 
who  has  anatomised  our  follies  as  a  people,  and 
no'  as  this  or  that  party  ;  and  has  escaped  the 
fuuiest  and  mos-t  brutal  slander,  the  most  invete- 
rate  hatred  and  intolerant  pursuit;  it  will  be  a 
strange  name  in  my  ears,  believe  me.  In  some 
cases  I  could  name  to  you,  where  a  native  writer 
has  ventured  on  the  most  harmless  and  good-hu- 
moured illustrations  of  our  vices  or  defects,  it  has 
been  found  necessary  to  announce,  that  in  a  se- 
cond edition  the  passage  has  been  expunged,  or 
altered,  or  explained  away,  or  patched  into  praise." 


"  And  how  has  this  been  brought  about?"  askw 
Martin,  in  dismay. 

"Think  of  what  you  have  seen  and  heard  to 
day,  beginning  with  the  colonel,"  said  his  frici.d, 
"and  ask  yourself  How  they  came  about  is 
another  question.  Heaven  forbid  that  thty  should 
be  sampius  of  the  intelligence  and  virtue  of 
America,  but  they  come  uppermost;  and  in  great 
numbers  too;  and  too  often  represent  iu  Will 
you  walk  ?" 

Tliere  was  a  cordial  candour  in  his  manner 
and  an  engaging  confidence  that  it  would  not  bo 
aliused  ;  a  manly  bearing  on  his  own  part,  and  a 
simple  reliance  on  the  manly  fiith  of  a  stranger 
which  Martin  had  never  seen  before.  He  linked 
his  arm  readily  in  that  of  the  American  gentleman, 
and  they  walked  out  together. 

It  was  perhaps  to  men  like  this,  his  new  com- 
panion, that  a  traveller  of  honoured  name,  wlio 
trod  those  shores  now  nearly  forty  years  ago,  and 
woke  npon  that  soil,  as  many  have  done  since,  to 
blots  and  stains  upon  its  high  pretensions,  which 
in  the  brightness  of  his  distant  dreams  were  lost 
to  view,  appealed  in  these  words — 

Oh  hut  for  such  Columbia's  days  were  done; 
Rank  without  ripeness,  quickened  without  sun. 
Crude  at  the  surface,  rotten  at  the  core. 
Her  fruits  would  fall  before  her  Spring  were  o'er. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

MARTIN  ENLARGES  HIS  CIRCLE  OF  ACQUAINTANCE ;  INCREASES  HIS  STOCK 
OF  WISDOM;  AND  HAS  AN  EXCELLENT  OPPORTUNITY  OF  COMPARING 
HIS  OWN  EXPERIENCES  WITH  THOSE  OF  LUMMY  NED  OF  THE  UGHT 
SALISBURY,  AS  RELATED  BY  HIS  FRIEND  MR.  WILLIAM  SIMMONS. 


It  was  characteristic  of  Martin,  that  all  this 
while  he  had  either  forgotten  Mark  Tapley  as  com- 
pletely as  if  there  had  been  no  such  person  in  ex- 
istence, or,  if  for  a  moment  the  figure  of  that 
gentleman  rose  before  his  mental  vision,  had  dis- 
missed it  as  something  by  no  means  of  a  pressing 
nature,  which  might  be  attended  to  by-and-by, 
and  could  wait  his  perfect  leisure.  But  being 
now  in  the  streets  again,  it  occurred  to  him,  as 
just  coming  within  the  bare  limits  of  possibility, 
that  Mr.  Tapley  might,  in  course  of  time,  grow 
tired  of  waiting  on  the  threshold  of  the  Rowdy 
Journal  Office;  so  he  intimated  to  his  new  friend, 
tliat  if  they  could  conveniently  walk  in  that  direc- 
tion, he  would  be  glad  to  get  this  piece  of  business 
off  his  mind. 

"  And  sneaking  of  business,"  said  Martin,  "mav 
I  ask,  in  order  that  I  may  not  be  behind-hand 
with  questions  either,  whether  your  occupation 
holds  you  to  this  city,  or,  like  myself,  you  are  a 
visitor  here  ?" 

"  A  visitor,"  replied  his  friend.  "  I  was  'raised' 
in  tlie  State  of  Massacfmsetts,  and  reside  there 
ftill  My  ho-.ne  is  in  a  quiet  country  town.  lam 
not  often  in  these  busy  places;  and  my  inclin:i- 
tion  to  visit  them  does  not  increase  with  our  bet- 
ter acquaintance,  I  assure  you."  | 

"  You  have  been  abroad  ?"  asked  Miirtin.  I 

**  Oil  yes." 

"And,  lilie  most   people   who  Iravi'l,   have  be- i 


come  more  than  ever  attached  to  your  home  and 
native  country,"  said  Martin,  eyeing  him  cu- 
iiously. 

"  To  my  home — yes,"  rejoined  his  friend,  "To 
my  native  country  as  my  home — yes,  also." 

"  You  imply  some  reservation,"  said  Martin. 

"  Well,"  returned  his  new  friend,  "  if  you  ash 
me  whether  I  came  back  here  with  a  greater 
relish  for  my  country's  faults ;  with  a  greater 
fondness  for  those  who  claim  (at  the  rale  of  so 
many  dollars  a  day)  to  be  her  friends;  with  a 
cooler  indifference  to  the  growth  of  principle.- 
among  us  in  respect  of  public  matters  and  of  pri- 
vate dealings  between  man  and  man,  the  advo- 
cacy of  which,  beyond  the  foul  atmosphere  of  a 
criminal  trial,  would  disgrace  your  own  Old 
Bailey  lawyers;  why,  then  I  answer  plainly, 
No." 

"  Oh  !"  said  Martin  ;  in  so  exactly  the  samti 
key  as  his  friend's  No,  that  it  sounded  like  an 
echo. 

"  If  you  ask  me,"  his  companion  pursued 
"  whether  I  came  back  here  better  satisfied  with 
a  state  of  things  wbich  broadly  divides  society 
into  two  classes — whereof  one,  the  great  mass, 
asserts  a  spurious  independence,  most  miserablw 
dependent  for  its  mean  existence  on  the  disre- 
gard of  humanizing  conventionalities  of  manner 
and  social  custom,  so  that  the  coarser  a  man  i». 
the  more  distinctly  i    shall  appeal  to  his  ta»t^ 


n4 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


while  the  other,  ^iiigusted  with  the  low  standard 
tlius  pet  up  and  made  adaptable  to  evcrytliiug-, 
takes  refuge  among  the  graces  and  refinements  it 
can  bring  to  bear  on  private  life,  and  leaves  the 
public  weal  to  such  fortune  as  may  betide  it  in 
the  press  and  uproar  of  a  general  scramble — then 
again  I  answer  No." 

And  again  Martin  said  "Oh  !"  in  the  same  odd 
way  as  before,  being  anxious  and  disconcerted; 
not  so  much,  to  say  the  truth,  on  public 
grounds,  as  with  reference  to  tlie  fading  prospects 
of  domestic  architecture. 

"  In  a  word,"  resumed  the  other,  "  I  do  not 
find  and  cannot  believe,  and  therelbre  will  not  al 
low  that  we  are  a  model  of  wisdom,  and  an  ex- 
ample to  the  world,  and  the  perfection  of  human 
reason ;  and  a  great  deal  more  to  the  same  pur- 
pose, which  you  may  hear  any  hour  in  the  day ; 
simply  because  we  began  our  political  life  with 
two  inestimable  advantages." 

"  What  were  they  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"One,  that  our  history  commenced  at  so  late  a 
period  as  to  escape  the  ages  of  bloodshed  and 
cruelty  through  which  otiier  nations  have  passed  ; 
and  so  had  all  the  light  of  their  probation,  and 
none  of  its  darkness.  The  other,  that  we  have  a 
vnst  territory,  and  not — as  yet — too  many  people 
on  it.  These  facts  considered,  we  have  done  little 
enough,  I  think." 

"  Education  ?"  suggested  Martin,  faintly. 

"Pretty  well  on  that  head,"  said  the  other, 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  still  no  mighty  matter 
to  boast  of;  for  old  countries,  and  despotic  coun- 
tries too,  have  done  as  much,  if  not  more,  and 
made  less  noise  about  it.  We  shine  nvit  brightly 
in  comparison  with  England,  certainly,  but  hers 
is  a  very  extreme  case.  You  complimented  me 
-Ml  my  frankness,  you  know,"  he  added,  laughing. 

"Oh  I  I  am  not  at  all  astonished  at  your  speak, 
ing  thus  openly  when  my  country  is  in  question," 
returned  Martin.  "  It  's  your  plain-speaking  in 
reference  to  your  own  that  surprises  me." 

"  You  will  not  find  it  a  scarce  quality  here,  I 
assure  you,  saving  among  the  Colonel  Divers,  and 
Jefferson  Bricks,  and  Major  Pawkinses — though 
the  best  of  us  are  something  like  the  man  in 
Goldsmith's  Comedy,  who  wouldn't  suffer  any- 
body but  himself  to  abuse  his  master.  Cornel" 
ne  added,  ".let  us  talk  of  something  else.  You 
have  come  here  on  some  design  of  improving 
your  fortune,  I  dare  say ;  and  I  should  grieve  to 
put  you  out  of  heart,  I  am  some  years  older  than 
you,  besides ;  and  may,  on  a  few  trivial  points, 
advise  you,  perhaps." 

There  was  not  the  least  curiosity  or  imperti- 
nence in  the  manner  of  this  offer,  which  was 
open-hearted,  unatfected,  and  good-natured.  As  it 
was  next  to  impossible  that  he  should  not  have  his 
confidence  awakened  by  a  deportment  so  [)rcpos- 
sessing  and  kind,  Martin  plainly  stated  what  had 
brought  liim  into  those  parts,  and  even  made  the 
very  diiFicult  avowal  that  he  was  poor.  He  did 
not  say  how  poor,  it  must  be  admitted,  rather 
tlirowing  off  the  declaration  with  an  air  which 
might  havo  implied  that  he  had  money  enough 
tirir  six  months,  instead  of  as  m:'my  weeks;  but 
|KX)r  he  said  he  was,  and  gratci'ul  he  said  he  would 
be,  for  any  counsel  that  his  friend  would  give  him. 
It  Would  hot  iiave  been  very  dillicult  for  any 
jtkc  to  see     but   it  was  particularly  easy  for  Mar- 


tin, whose  perceptions  were  sharpened  bv  his  c'u 
eumstances,  to  discern;  that  the  i^tranger  s  fact 
grew  infinitely  longer  as  the  domestic-architecture 
project  was  developed.  Nor,  although  he  made  a 
great  effort  to  be  as  encouraging  as  possible,  could 
he  prevent  his  head  from  shaking  once  invoKin 
tarily,  as  if  it  said  in  the  vulgar  tongue,  upon  iu 
own  account,  "  No  go !"  But  he  spoke  in  a 
cheerful  tone,  and  said,  that  although  there  wa.s 
no  such  opening  as  Martin  wished  in  that  city, 
he  would  make  it  matter  of  immediate  consideia- 
tion  and  enquiry  where  one  was  most  likely  tc) 
exist;  and  then  he  made  Martin  acquainted  wi<'' 
his  name,  which  was  Bevan  ;  and  with  his  pro- 
fession, which  was  pliysic,  though  he  seldom  or 
never  practised  ;  and  with  other  circumstances 
connected  with  himself  and  family,  which  fully 
occupied  the  time,  until  they  reached  the  Rowdy 
Journal  Office. 

Mr.  Tapley  appeared  to  be  taking  his  ease  on 
the  landing  of  the  first-floor ;  for  sounds  as  of 
some  gentleman  established  in  that  region,  whist- 
ling "  Rule  Britannia"  with  all  his  might  and 
main,  greated  their  ears  before  they  reached  the 
house.  On  ascending  to  the  spot  from  whence 
this  music  proceeded,  they  found  him  recumbent 
in  the  midst  of  a  fortification  of  luggage,  appa- 
rently performing  his  national  anthem  for  the 
gratification  of  a  grey-haired  black  man,  who  sat 
on  one  of  the  outworks  (a  portmanteau),  staring 
intently  at  Mark,  while  Mark,  with  his  head  re- 
dining  on  his  hand,  returned  the  compliment  in 
a  thoughtful  manner,  and  whistled  all  the  time. 
He  seemed  to  have  recently  dined,  for  his  knife, 
i  a  case-bottle,  and  certain  broken  meats  in  a  hand- 
kerchief, lay  near  at  hand.  He  had  employed  a 
portion  of  his  leisure  in  the  decoration  of  the 
Rowdy  Journal  door,  whereon  his  own  initial* 
now  appeared  in  letters  nearly  half  a  foot  long 
together  with  the  day  of  the  month  in  smaller 
type:  the  whole  surrounded  by  an  ornamental 
border,  and  looking  very  fresh  and  bold. 

"  I  was  a'most  afraid  you  was  lost,  sir  !"  cried 
Mark,  rising,  and  stopping  the  tune  at  that  point 
where  Britons  generally  are  supposed  to  declare 
(when  it  is  wliistled)  that  they  never,  never 
never, — 

"  Nothing  gone  wrong,  I  hope,  sir." 

"  No,  Mark.     Where 's  your  friend  ?" 

"The  mad  woman,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Tapley. 
"  Oh  !  she  's  all  right,  sir." 

"  Did  she  find  her  husband  ?" 

"Yes,  sir.  Least  ways  she's  found  his  re- 
mains," said  Mark  correcting  himself 

"The  man's  not  dead,  I  hope?" 

"Not  altogether  dead,  sir,"  returned  Mark, 
"  but  he's  had  more  fevers  and  agues  than  is  q.iite 
reconcileable  willi  being  alive.  When  she  didn't 
see  him  a  waiting  for  her,  I  thought  she'd  liave 
died  herself,  I  did  I" 

"  Wan  he  not  here,  then  I" 

"  He  wasn't  here.  There  was  a  feeble  old  sha- 
dow come  a  creeping  down  at  last,  as  much  like 
his  substance  when  she  know'd  him,  as  your 
shadow  when  it's  drawn  out  to  its  very  finest  and 
longest  by  the  sun,  is  like  you.  But  it  was  his 
remains,  there's  no  doubt  about  that.  She  took 
on  with  joy,  poor  thing,  as  much  as  if  it  had  been 
all  of  him  I" 

"  Had  he  bought  land  ?"  asked  Mr  Bcvdo. 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEVVIT. 


115 


"  Ah  !  He  'd  boujsfht  land,"  said  Mark,  shaking 
his  head,  "  and  paid  for  it  too.  Every  sort  of 
nateral  advantage  was  connected  with  it,  the 
ao-ents  said  ;  and  there  certainly  was  one,  quite 
unlimited.     No  end  to  the  water  !" 

"  It 's  a  thingf  he  could  n't  have  done  without, 
1  suppose,"  observed  Martin,  peevishly. 

"  Certainly  not,  sir.  There  it  was,  any  way ; 
iihv;iys  turned  on,  and  no  water-rate.  Indepen- 
dent of  three  or  four  slimy  old  rivers  close  by, 
it  varied  on  the  farm  from  four  to  six  foot  deep  in 
tine  dry  season.  He  could  n't  say  how  deep  it 
was  in  the  rainy  time,  for  he  never  had  any  thing 
long  enough  to  sound  it  with." 

"  Is  this  true?"  asked  Martin  of  his  companion. 

"  Extremely  probable,"  he  answered.  "  Some 
Mississippi  or  Missouri  lot,  I  dare  say." 

"  However,"  pursued  Mark,  "  he  came  from  I- 
don't-know-where-and-all,  down  to  New  York 
here  to  meet  his  wife  and  children;  and  they 
started  off  again  in  a  steamboat  tiiis  blessed  after- 
noon, as  happy  to  be  along  with  each  otlier,  as  if 
they  was  going  to  Heaven.  I  should  think  they 
was,  pretty  straight,  if  I  may  judge  from  the 
poor  man's  looks." 

"  And  may  I  ask,"  said  Martin,  glancing,  but 
not  with  any  displeasure,  from  Mark  to  tlie  ne- 
gro, "  who  this  gentleman  is  ?  Another  friend  of 
yours  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  returned  Mark,  taking  him  aside, 
and  speaking  confidentially  in  his  ear,  "  he  's  a 
man  of  colour,  sir." 

"  Do  you  take  me  for  a  blind  man,"  asked  Mar- 
tin, somewhat  impatiently,  "that  you  think  it 
necessary  to  tell  me  that,  when  his  face  is  the 
blackest  that  ever  was  seen  ?" 

"No,  no;  when  I  say  a  man  of  colour,"  re- 
iurncd  Mark,  "  I  mean  that  he 's  been  one  of  them 
as  there  's  picters  of  in  the  shops.  A  man  and  a 
brother,  you  know,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley,  favour- 
ing his  master  with  a  significant  indication  of 
the  figure  so  often  represented  in  tracts  and  cheap 
prints. 

"  A  slave  !"  cried  Martin,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mnrk,  in  the  same  tone.  "  Nothing 
el?e.  A  slave.  Why,  when  that  there  man  was 
young — don't  look  at  him,  while  I  'm  telling  it — 
he  was  shot  in  the  leg  ;  gashed  in  the  arm  ;  scored 
in  his  live  limbs,  like  pork;  beaten  out  of  shape; 
had  his  neck  galled  with  an  iron  collar,  and  wore 
iron  rings  upon  his  wrists  and  ancles.  The 
marks  are  on  him  to  this  day.  When  I  was 
having  my  dinner  just  now,  he  stripped  off  his 
coat,  and  took  away  my  appetite." 
'^  "  Is  this  true  ?"  asked  Martin  of  his  friend,  who 
stood  beside  them. 

"  I  have  no  reason  to  Joubt  it,"  he  ansveered, 
looking  down,  and  shaking  his  head.  "It  very 
often  is." 

"  Bless  you,"  said  Mark,  "  I  know  it  is,  from 
hearing  his  whole  story.  That  master  died  ;  so 
did  his  second  master  from  having  his  head  cut 
open  with  n  hatchet  by  another  slave,  who,  when 
he  'd  done  i',  went  and  drowned  himself:  then  he 
got  a  better  one:  in  years  and  years  he  saved  up 
a  little  money,  and  bought  his  freedom,  which  he 
got  pretty  cheap  at  last,  on  account  of  his  strength 
being  nearly  gone,  and  he  being  ill.  Then  he 
come  here.  And  now  he's  a  saving  up  to  treat 
himself  afore  he  dies  to  one  small  purchase — it 's 


nothing  to  speak  of;  only  his  own  daughter ; 
that's  all  I"  cried  Mr.  Tapley,  becoming  excited. 
"Liberty  for  ever  I     Hurrah!" 

"  Hushl"  cried  Martin,  clapping  his  hand  upon 
his  mouth:  "and  don't  be  an  idiot.  What  is  he 
doing  here  ?" 

"  Waiting  to  take  our  luggage  off  upon  a 
truck,"  said  Mark.  "  He'd  have  come  for  it  by- 
and-by,  but  I  engaged  him  for  a  very  reasonable 
charge — out  of  my  own  pocket — to  sit  along  with 
me  and  make  me  jolly;  and  I  am  jolly ;  and  if 
I  was  rich  enough  to  contract  with  him  to  wait 
apon  me  once  a  day,  to  be  looked  at,  I  'd  never 
be  any  thing  else." 

The  fact  may  cause  a  solemn  impeachment  of 
Mark's  veracity,  but  it  must  be  admitted  never, 
theless,  that  there  was  that  in  his  face  and  man- 
ner at  the  moment,  which  militated  strongly 
against  this  emphatic  declaration  of  the  state  of 
his  mind. 

"  Lord  love  you,  sir,"  he  added,  "  they  're  so 
fond  of  Liberty  in  this  part  of  the  globe,  that 
they  buy  her  and  sell  her  and  carry  her  to  market 
with  'em.  They  've  such  a  passion  for  Liberty, 
that  they  can't  help  taking  liberties  with  her. — 
That 's  what  it 's  owing  to." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Martin,  wishing  to  change 
the  theme.  "  Having  come  to  that  conclusion, 
Mark,  perhaps  you  '11  attend  to  me.  The  place 
to  which  the  luggage  is  to  go,  is  printed  on  this 
card.     Mrs.  Pawkins's  Boarding  House." 

"  Mrs.  Pawkins's  boarding-house,"  repeated 
Mark.     "  Now  Cicero." 

"  Is  that  his  name  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"  That 's  his  name  sir,"  rejoined  Mark.  And 
the  negro  grinning  assent  from  under  a  leathern 
portmanteau,  than  which  his  own  face  was  many 
shades  deeper,  hobbled  down  stairs  with  his  por- 
tion of  their  worldly  goods:  Mark  Tapley  having 
already  gone  before  with  his  share. 

Martin  and  his  friend  followed  them  to  the  door 
below,  and  were  about  to  pursue  their  walk,  when 
the  latter  stopped,  and  asked,  with  some  hesita- 
tion, whether  that  young  man  was  to  be  trusted. 

"Mark!  Oh  certainly  !  with  any  thing." 

"  You  don't  understand  me, — I  think  he  had 
better  go  with  us.  He  is  an  honest  fellow,  and 
speaks  his  mind  so  very  plainly." 

"Why,  the  fact  is,"  said  Martin,  smiling,  "that 
being  unaccustomed  to  a  free  republic,  he  is  used 
to  do  so." 

"  I  think  he  had  better  go  with  us,"  returned 
the  other.  "  He  may  get  into  some  trouble  other- 
wise. This  is  not  a  slave  State;  but  1  ai" 
ashamed  to  say  that  the  spirit  of  Tolerance  is  not 
so  common  any  where  in  these  latitudes  as  the 
form.  We  are  not  remarkable  for  behaving  very 
temperately  to  each  other  when  we  differ :  but  to 
strangers !  no,  I  really  think  he  had  better  go 
with  us." 

Martin  called  to  him  immediately  to  be  of  their 
party  ;  so  Cicero  and  the  truck  went  one  way  , 
and  they  three  went  another. 

They  walked  about  the  city  for  two  or  three 
hours;  seeing  it  from  the  best  points  of  view,  and 
pausing  in  the  principal  streets,  and  before  suclj 
public  buildings  as  Mr.  Bevan  pointed  out.  Night 
then  coming  on  apace,  Martin  proposed  that  they 
should  adjourn  to  Mrs.  Pawkins's  establishmenl 
for  coffee;  but  in  this  he  was  overruled  by  l»i« 


116 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OP 


new  acquaintance,  who  seemed  to  have  set  his 
heart  on  carrying  him,  though  it  were  only  for  an 
hour,  to  the  house  of  a  friend  of  his  who  hved 
hard  by.  Feehng  (however  disincHned  he  was, 
being  weary)  that  it  would  be  in  bad  taste,  and 
not  very  gracious,  to  object  that  he  was  unintro- 
duced,  when  this  open-hearted  gentleman  was  so 
'eiidy  to  be  his  sponsor,  Martin  —  for  once  in  his 
life,  at  all  events  —  sacrificed  his  own  will  and 
pleasure  to  the  wishes  of  another,  and  consented 
with  a  fair  grace.  So  travelling  had  done  him 
that  much  good,  already. 

Mr.  Bevan  knocked  at  the  door  of  a  very  neat 
house  of  moderate  size,  from  the  parlour  windows 
of  which,  lights  were  shining  brightly  into  the 
now  dark  street.  It  was  quickly  opened  by  a  man 
with  such  a  thoroughly  Irish  face,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  he  ought,  as  a  matter  of  right  and  principle, 
to  be  in  rags,  and  could  have  no  sort  of  business 
to  be  looking  cheerfully  at  anybody  out  of  a  whole 
suit  of  clothes. 

Commending  Mark  to  the  care  of  this  pheno- 
menon— for  such  he  may  be  said  to  have  been  in 
Martin's  eyes  —  Mr.  Bevan  led  the  way  into  the 
room  which  had  shed  its  cheerfulness  upon  the 
street,  to  whose  occupants  he  introduced  Mr. 
Qmzzlewit  as  a  gentleman  from  England,  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  recently  had  the  pleasure  to 
make.  They  gave  him  welcome  in  all  courtesy 
and  politeness;  and  in  less  than  five  minutes' 
time  he  found  himself  sitting  very  much  at  his 
Base,  by  the  fireside,  and  becoming  vastly  well 
acquainted  with  the  whole  family. 

There  were  two  young  ladies  —  one  eighteen  ; 
the  otiier  twenty  —  both  very  slender,  but  very 
pretty ;  their  mother,  who  looked,  as  Martin 
tliought,  much  older  and  more  faded  than  she 
ought  to  have  looked ;  and  their  grandmother,  a 
little  sharp-eyed,  quick  old  woman,  who  seemed 
to  have  got  past  that  stage,  and  to  have  come  all 
right  again.  Besides  these,  there  were  the  young 
ladies'  father,  and  the  young  ladies'  brother ;  the 
first  engaged  in  mercantile  afTairs ;  the  second,  a 
Ffudent  at  college — both,  in  a  certain  cordiality 
of  manner,  like  his  own  ^riend  ;  and  not  unlike 
him  in  face,  which  was  no  great  wonder,  for  it 
soon  appeared  that  he  was  their  near  relation. 
Martin  could  not  help  tracing  the  family  pedigree 
from  the  tvfj  young  ladies,  because  they  were 
foremost  in  his  thoughts  ;  not  only  from  being,  as 
aforesaid,  very  pretty,  but  by  reason  of  their  wear- 
ing miraculously  small  shoes,  and  the  thinnest 
possible  silk  stockings  :  the  which  their  rocking- 
chairf,  developed  to  a  distracting  extent. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  a  monstrous 
comfortable  circumstance  to  be  sitting  in  a  snug 
Well-furnished  room,  warmed  by  a  cheerful  fire, 
and  full  of  various  pleasant  decorations,  including 
four  small  shoes,  and  the   like   amount  of  silk 

Btockings,  and- yes,  why  not?  —  the  feet 

and  legs  therein  enshrined.  And  there  is  no 
doubt  that  M.irtin  was  monstrous  well-disposed  to 
regard  his  position  in  that  light,  after  his  recent 
experience  of  the  Screw,  and  of  Mrs.  Pawkins's 
ho;irding-liousc.  The  consequence  was,  that  he 
made  himself  very  agreeable  indeed  ;  and  by  the 
time  the  tea  and  coffee  arrived  (with  sweet  pre- 
■erves,  and  cimning  tea-cakes  in  its  train),  was  in 
n  highly  genial  state,  and  much  esteemed  by  the 
•  IhjIc  family. 


Another  delightful  circumstance  turned  up  tx?. 
fore  the  first  cup  of  tea  was  drunk.  The  whole 
family  had  been  in  England.  There  was  a  plea- 
sant thing  I  But  Martin  was  not  quite  so  glad  o: 
this,  when  he  found  that  they  knew  all  the  great 
dukes,  lords,  viscounts,  marquesses,  duchesses, 
knights,  and  baronets,  quite  affectionately,  and 
were  beyond  everything  interested  in  the  lea;.t 
particular  concerning  them.  However,  when 
they  asked  after  the  wearer  of  this  or  that  coronet, 
and  said  '  Was  he  quite  well  ?'  Martin  answerea 
'  Yes,  oh  yes.  Never  better;'  and  when  they  said 
his  Lordship's  mother,  'the  Duchess,  was  sl>e 
much  changed?'  Martin  said,  'Oh  dear  no,  they 
would  know  her  anywhere  if  they  saw  her  to- 
morrow ;'  and  so  got  on  pretty  well.  In  like  man 
ner  when  the  young  ladies  questioned  him  touch 
ing  the  Gold  Fish  in  that  Grecian  fountain  in  such 
and  such  a  nobleman's  conservatory,  and  whether 
there  were  as  many  as  there  used  to  be,  he  gravely 
reported,  after  mature  consideration,  tint  there 
must  be  at  least  twice  as  many:  and  as  to  the 
exotics,  '  Oh  !  well !  it  was  of  no  use  talking  about 
them;  they  must  be  seen  to  be  believed;'  whieii 
improved  state  of  circumstances  reminded  the 
family  of  the  splendour  of  that  brilliant  festival 
(comprehending  the  whole  British  Peerage  and 
Court  Calendar)  to  which  they  were  specially  in- 
v.ted,  and  which  indeed  had  been  partly  given  in 
their  honour :  and  recollections  of  what  Mr. 
Norris  the  father  had  said  to  the  Marquess,  and 
of  what  Mrs.  Norris  the  mother  had  said  to  the 
Marchioness,  and  of  what  the  Marquess  and 
Marchioness  had  both  said,  when  they  said  that 
upon  their  words  and  honours  they  wished  Mr. 
Norris  tlie  father  and  Mrs.  Norris  the  mother,  and 
the  Misses  Norris  the  daughters,  and  Mr.  Norris 
Junior,  the  son,  would  only  take  up  their  perma- 
nent residence  in  England,  and  give  them  tlw 
pleasure  of  their  everlasting  friendship,  occupied 
a  very  considerable  time. 

Martin  thought  it  rather  strange,  and  in  .some 
sort  inconsistent,  that  during  the  whole  of  these 
narrations,  and  in  the  very  meridian  of  their  en. 
joyment  thereof,  both  Mr.  Norris  the  father,  and 
Mr.  Norris  Junior,  the  son  (who  corresponded, 
every  post,  with  four  members  of  the  English 
Peerage),  enlarged  upon  the  inestimable  advan- 
tage  of  having  no  such  arbitrary  distinctions  in 
that  enlightened  land,  where  there  were  no  noble- 
men but  nature's  noblemen,  and  all  society  was 
based  on  one  broad  level  of  brotherly  love  and 
natural  equality.  Indeed  Mr.  Norris  the  father 
gradually  expanding  into  an  oration  on  this  swell- 
ing theme  was  becoming  tedious,  when  Mr.  Bevan 
diverted  his  thoughts,  by  happening  to  make  some 
casual  inquiry  relative  to  the  occupier  of  the  next 
house;  in  reply  to  which,  this  same  Mr.  Norris 
the  father  observed,  that  "  that  person  entertained 
religious  opinions  of  which  he  couldn't  approve; 
and  therefore  he  hadn't  the  honour  of  knowing 
the  gentleman."  Mrs.  Norris  the  mother  added 
another  reason  of  her  own,  the  same  in  effect,  but 
varying  in  words;  to  wit,  that  she  believed  tho 
people  were  well  enough  in  their  way,  but  they 
were  not  genteel. 

Another  little  trait  came  out,  which  impressed 
itself  on  Martin  forcibly.  Mr.  Bevan  told  them 
about  Mark  and  the  negro,  and  then  it  nppi'and 
that  all  the  Norrises  were  abolitionists.     It  was  u 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


117 


rfrcat  relief  to  hear  this,  and  Martin  was  so  much  I 
jiieouraged  on  iitiding  himself  in  such  company, 
thiit  he  expressed  his  sympathy  with  tlie  oppressed 
and  -vretched  blacks.  Now,  one  of  the  young 
ladies — tile  prettiest  and  most  delicate  one — was 
mig-htily  amused  at  the  earnestness  with  whicli  he 
ppoke  ;  and  on  his  craving-  leave  to  ask  her  why, 
was  quite  unahle  for  a  time  to  speak  for  laughing. 
As  soon,  however,  as  she  could,  she  told  him  that 
the  negroes  were  such  a  fuiuiy  people  ;  so  excess- 
ively ludicrous  in  their  manners  and  appearance  ; 
that  it  was  wholly  impossible  for  those  who  knew 
them  well,  to  associate  any  serious  ideas  with 
such  a  very  at)surd  part  of  the  creation.  Mr. 
Norris  the  father,  and  Mrs.  Norris  the  motlier, 
and  Miss  Norris  the  sister,  and  Mr.  Norris  .Junior 
the  brother,  and  even  Mrs.  Norris  Senior  the 
grandmother,  were  all  of  this  opinion,  and  laid  it 
down  as  an  absolute  matter-of-fact — as  if  there 
were  nothing  in  suffering  and  slavery  grim  enough 
to  cast  a  solemn  air  on  any  human  animal;  though 
it  were  as  ridiculous,  physically,  as  the  most  gro- 
tesque of  apes ;  or,  morally,  as  the  mildest  Nim- 
rod  among  tuft-hunting  republicans! 

"  In  short,"  said  Mr.  Norris  the  father,  settling 
the  question  comfortably,  "  there  is  a  natural 
antipathy  between  the  races." 

"  Extending,"'  said  Martin's  friend,  in  a  low 
voice,  "  to  the  cruellest  of  tortures,  and  the  bar- 
gain and  sale  of  unborn  generations," 

Mr.  Norris  the  son  said  nothing  ;  but  he  made 
a  wry  fice,  and  dusted  his  fingers  as  Hamlet 
might  after  getting  rid  of  Yoriek's  skull  :  just  as 
though  he  had  that  moment  touched  a  negro,  and 
some  of  the  black  had  come  off  upon  his  hands. 

In  order  that  their  talk  micrht  fall  again  into 
its  former  pleasant  channel,  Martin  dropped  the 
subject,  with  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  it  would  be 
a  dangerous  theme  to  revive  under  the  best  of 
circumstances;  and  again  addressed  himself  to 
the  young  ladies,  who  were  very  gorgeously 
attired  in  very  beautiful  colours,  and  had  every 
article  of  dress  on  the  same  extensive  scale  as  the 
little  shoes  and  the  thin  silk  stockings.  This  sug- 
gested to  hiin  that  they  were  great  proficients  in 
the  French  fashions,  which  soon  turned  out  to  be 
the  case,  for  though  their  information  appeared 
to  be  none  of  the  newest,  it  was  very  extensive : 
and  the  elder  sister  in  particular,  who  was  distin- 
(juished  by  a  talent  for  metaphysics,  the  laws  of 
hydraulic  pressure,  and  the  rights  of  human  kind, 
had  a  novel  way  of  combining  these  acquirements 
and  bringing  them  to  bear  on  any  subject  from 
Millinery  to  the  Millennium,  both  inclusive : 
which  was  at  once  improving  and  remarkable, — 
so  much  so,  in  short,  that  it  was  usually  observed 
to  reduce  foreigners  to  a  state  of  temporary 
insanity  in  five  minutes. 

Martin  felt  his  reason  going;  and  as  a  means 
of  saving  himself,  besought  the  other  sister  (seeing 
a  piano  in  the  room)  to  sing.  With  thiS  request 
she  willingly  complied;  and  a  bravura  concert, 
solely  sustained  by  the  Misses  Norris,  presently 
began.  They  sang  in  all  languages  except  their 
own.  German,  French,  Italian,  Spanish,  Portu- 
guese, Swiss  ;  but  nothing  native  ;  nothing  so  low 
as  native.  For  in  this  respect  languages  are  like 
many  other  travellers  —  ordinary  and  common- 
place enough  at  home,  but  'specially  genteel 
Abroad. 


There  is  little  doubt  that  in  course  of  time  the 
Misses  Norris  would  have  come  to  Hebrew,  if 
they  had  not   been  interrupted  by  an  announce 
ment  from  the  Irishman,  who  flinging  open  th« 
door,  cried  in  a  loud  voice — 

"Jiniral  Fladdock!" 

"  My  !"    cried    the  sisters,  desisting  suddenly 
"  The  General  come  back  I" 

As  they  made  the  exclamation,  the  Genera! 
attired  in  full  uniform  for  a  ball,  came  darting  i 
with  such  precipitancy  that,  hitching  his  boot  in 
the  carpet,  and  getting  his  sword  between  his 
legs,  he  came  headlong,  and  presented  a  curious 
little  bald  place  on  the  crown  of  his  head  to  tt>e 
eyes  of  the  astonished  company.  Nor  was  this 
the  worst  of  it ;  for  being  rather  corpulent  and 
very  tight,  the  General,  being  down,  could  not  get 
up  again,  but  lay  there,  writhing  and  doing  such 
things  with  his  boots,  as  there  is  no  other  instance 
of  in  military  history. 

Of  course  there  was  an  immediate  rush  to  his 
assistance;  and  the  General  was  promptly  raisea! 
But  his  uniform  was  so  fearfully  and  wonderfully 
made  that  he  came  up  stiff  and  without  a  bend 
in  him,  like  a  dead  Clown,  and  had  no  command 
whatever  of  himself  until  he  was  put  quite  fi.it 
upon  the  soles  of  his  feet,  when  he  became  ani- 
mated as  by  a  miracle,  and  moving  edgewise  that 
he  might  go  in  a  narrower  compass  and  be  in 
less  danger  of  fraying  the  gold  lace  on  his  epau- 
lettes by  brushing  them  against  anything,  ad- 
vanced  with  a  smiling  visage  to  salute  tlie  lady 
of  the  house. 

To  be  sure,  it  would  have  been  impossible  fur 
the  family  to  testify  purer  delight  and  joy  than  at 
this  unlooked-for  appearance  of  General  Fladdock  I 
The  General  was  as  warmly  received  as  if  New 
York  had  been  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  no  other 
General  was  to  be  got,  for  love  or  money.  He 
shook  hands  with  the  Norrises  three  times  a.U 
round,  and  then  reviewed  them  from  a  little  dis- 
tance, as  a  brave  commander  might,  with  his 
ample  cloak  drawn  forward  over  the  right  shoul- 
der and  thrown  back  upon  the  left  side  to  reveal 
his  manly  breast. 

"And  do  I  then,"  cried  the  General,  "once 
again  behold  the  choicest  spirits  of  my  country  !" 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Norris  the  father.  "  Here  we 
are,  General." 

Then  all  the  Norrises  pressed  round  the 
General,  inquiring  how  and  where  he  had  been 
since  the  date  of  his  last  letter,  and  how  he  had 
enjoyed  himself  in  foreign  parts,  and,  particularly 
and  above  all,  to  what  extent  he  had  become 
acquainted  with  the  great  dukes,  lords,  viscounts, 
marquesses,  duchesses,  knights,  and  baronets,  in 
whom  the  people  of  those  benighted  countries  had 
delight. 

"  Well  then,  don't  ask  me,"  said  the  Genera!, 
holding  up  his  hand.  "I  was  among  'em  all  the 
time,  and  have  got  public  journals  in  my  trunk 
with  my  name  printed" — he  lowered  his  voice 
and  was  very  impressive  here — "  among  the  fash 
ionable  news  I  But,  oh,  the  conventionalities  t.f 
that  a-mazing  Europe  I" 

"  Ah  !"  cried  Mr.  Norris  the  father,  giving  his 
head  a  melancholy  shake,  and  looking  towards 
Martin  as  though  he  would  say,  "  I  can't  denv 
it,  sir.     I  would  if  I  could." 

"  The  limited  di  Fusion  of  a  moral  sense  in  that 


118 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


conntry  !"  exclaimed  the  General.  "  The  absence 
ot  ;i  moral  dignity  in  m;,n!" 

"  Ah  I"  sighed  all  the  Norrises,  quite  over- 
wlii  ln)ed  with  despondency. 

"  I  couldn't  have  realised  it,"  pursued  the  Gen- 
eral, "  without  being  located  on  the  spot.  Norris, 
your  imagination  is  the  imagination  of  a  strong 
iviu,  but  you  couldn't  have  realised  it,  without 
eing  located  on  the  spot  ?" 

"  Never,"  said  Mr.  Norris. 

"  The  ex-clusiv€ness,  the  pride,  the  form,  the 
ceremony,"  exclaimed  the  General,  emphasizing 
the  article  more  vigorously  at  every  repetition. 
"  The  artificial  barriers  set  up  between  man  and 
njan  ;  the  division  of  the  human  race  into  court 
cards  and  plain  cards,  of  every  denomination, 
into  clubs,  diamonds,  spades  —  anything  but 
hearts  I" 

"  Ah  !"  cried  the  whole  family.  "  Too  true. 
General  I" 

"  But  stay !"  cried  Mr.  Norris,  the  father, 
taking  him  by  the  arm.  "  Surely  you  crossed  in 
the  Screw,  General  ?" 

"Well !  so  I  did,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Possible  !"  cried  the  young  ladies.  "  Or.Iy 
think !"  / 

The  General  nr-er^'ed  at  a  loss  to  understand 
why  his  .Savir.i^  cctne  home  in  the  Screw  should 
occasion  such  a  seufvation,  nor  did  he  seem  at  all 
clearer  on  the  subject,  when  Mr.  Norris,  intro- 
ducing him  to  Martin,  said — 

"  A  fellow-passenger  of  yours,  I  think  ?" 

"Of  mine  i''  excla:med  the  General;  "No!" 

He  had  never  seen  Martin,  but  Martin  had 
seen  him,  and  recognised  him,  now  that  they 
stood  face  to  face,  as  the  gent'enian  who  had 
stuck  his  hands  in  his  pockets  towards  the  end 
of  the  voyage,  and  walked  the  deck  with  his  nos- 
trils  dilated. 

Everybody  looked  at  Martin.  There  was  no 
help  for  it.     The  truth  must  out. 

"  I  came  over  in  the  same  ship  as  the  Gen- 
eral," said  Martin,  "  but  not  in  the  same  cabin. 
It  being  necessary  for  me  to  observe  strict  econo- 
my, I  took  my  passage  in  the  steerage." 

If  the  General  had  been  carried  up  bodily  to  a 
loaded  cannon,  and  required  to  let  it  off  that  mo- 
ment, he  could  not  have  been  in  a  state  of  greater 
consternation  than  when  he  heard  these  words. 
He,  Fladdock, — Fladdock  in  full  militia  uniform, 
Fladdock  the  General,  Fladdock  t'  e  caressed  of 
foreign  noblemen, — expected  to  know  a  fellow 
who  had  conie  over  in  the  steerage  of  a  line-of- 
packet  ship,  at  a  cost  of  four  pound  ten  !  and 
meeting  that  fellow  in  the  very  sanctuary  of  New 
York  fashion,  and  nestling  in  the  bosom  of  the 
New  York  aristocracy !  He  almost  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  sword. 

A  death-like  stillness  fell  upon  the  Norrises. 
If  this  story  should  get  wind,  their  country  rela- 
tion  had,  by  his  imprudence,  for  ever  disgraced 
them.  They  were  the  bright  pnrticular  stars  of 
an  exalted  New  York  sphere.  There  were  other 
fashionable  spheres  above  them,  and  ottier  fash- 
ionable spheres  below,  and  none  of  the  stars  in 
any  one  of  these  spheres  had  anything  to  say  to 
the  stars  in  any  other  of  these'  spheres.  But, 
.nrouirh  all  the  splieres  it  would  go  forth,  that 
the  Norrises,  decei-ed  by  gciitlemanlv  manners 
mid    appearances,  had,   falling   trom   "their  high 


estate,  "  received"  a  dollarless  and  unknowTi  mau. 
O  guardian  eagle  of  the  pure  Republic,  had  thej 
lived  for  this  ! 

"  You  will  allow  me,'  said  Martin,  after  a 
terrible  silence,  "  to  take  my  leave.  I  feel  that  I 
am  the  cause  of  at  least  as  much  embarrassment 
here,  as  I  have  brought  upon  myself.  But  I  am 
bound,  before  I  go,  to  exonerate  this  gentleman, 
who,  in  introducing  me  to  such  society,  was 
quite  ignorant  of  my  unworthiness,  I  assure 
you." 

With  that  he  made  his  bow  to  the  Norrises, 
and  walked  out  like  a  man  of  snow,  very  cool 
externally,  but  pretty  hot  witliin. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Norris,  the  father, 
looking  with  a  pale  face  on  the  asseniblcd  circle 
as  Martin  closed  the  door,  "  the  young  man  has 
this  night  beheld  a  refinement  of  social  manner, 
and  an  easy  magnificence  of  social  decoration,  to 
which  he  is  a  stranger  in  his  own  country.  Let 
us  hope  it  may  awake  a  moral  sense  within 
him." 

If  that  peculiarly  ttansatlantic  article,  a  moral 
ser.se,  —  for  if  native  statesmen,  orators,  and 
-pamphleteers,  are  to  be  believed,  America  quite 
monopolizes  the  commodity,  —  if  that  peculiarly 
transatlantic  article  be  supposed  to  include  a 
benevolent  love  of  all  mankind,  certainly  Mar- 
tin's would  have  borne  just  then  a  deal  of  waking: 
for  as  he  strode  along  the  street,  with  Mark  at 
his  heels,  his  immoral  sense  was  in  active  opera- 
tion ;  prompting  him  to  the  utterance  of  some 
rather  sanguinary  remarks,  which  it  was  well  for 
his  own  credit  that  nobody  overheard.  He  had 
so  far  cooled  down,  however,  that  he  had  begun 
to  laugh  at  the  recollection  of  these  incidents, 
when  he  heard  another  step  behind  him,  and 
turning  round,  encountered  his  friend  Bevan, 
quite  out  of  breath. 

He  drew  his  arm  through  Martin's,  and  entreat- 
ing him  to  walk  slowly,  was  silent  for  soma 
minutes.     At  length  he  said  : 

"  I  hojje  you  exonerate  me  in  another  sense  ?" 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"  I  hope  you  acquit  me  of  intending  or  fore 
seeing  the  termination  of  our  visit.  But  I  scarce 
ly  need  ask  you  that." 

"  Scarcely  indeed,"  said  Martin.  "  I  am  the 
more  beholden  to  you  for  your  kindness,  when  1 
find  what  kind  of  stuff  the  good  citizens  here  are 
made  of." 

"  I  reckon,"  his  friend  returned,  "  that  they  are 
made  of  pretty  mu'-h  the  same  stuff  as  other 
folks,  if  they  would  but  own  it,  and  not  set  up 
on  false  pretences." 

"  In  good  faith,  that's  true,"  said  Martin 

"  I  dare  say,"  resumed  his  friend,  "you  might 
have  such  a  scene  as  that  in  an  English  comedy, 
and  not  detect  any  gross  improbability  or  ano- 
maly in  the  matter  of  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  indeed !" 

"  Doubtless  it  is  more  ridiculous  here  than 
anywhere  else,"  said  his  companion  ;  "  but  our 
professions  are  to  blame  for  that.  So  fir  as  1 
myself  am  concerned,  I  may  add  that  I  was  per- 
fectly aware  from  the  first  that  you  came  over  in 
the  steerage,  for  I  hud  seen  the  list  of  passengers, 
and  knew  it  did  not  comprise  your  name." 

"  1  feel  more  obliged  to  you  than  before,"  said 
Martin. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


113 


"Norris  is  a  very  good  fellow  in  liis  way,"  ob- 
Kjrved  IVIr.  Bcvan. 

"  Is  he  ?"  said  Martin  drily. 

"Oh  yes!  there  are  a  hundred  g-ood  points 
abo'jt  him.  If  you  or  any  body  else  addressed 
him  as  another  order  of  being,  and  sued  to  him 
in  forma  pauperis,  he  would  be  all  kindness  and 
consideration." 

"  I  needn't  have  travelled  three  thousand  miles 
from  home  to  find  such  a  character  as  that"  said 
Martin.  Neither  he  nor  his  friend  said  anything 
more  on  the  way  back ;  each  appearing  to  find 
sufficient  occupation  in  his  own  thoughts. 

The  tea,  or  the  supper,  or  whatever  else  they 
Called  the  evening  meal,  was  over  when  they 
reached  the  Major's;  but  the  cloth,  ornamented 
with  a  few  additional  smears  and  stains,  was  still 
upon  the  table.  At  one  end  of  the  board  Mrs. 
Jefferson  Brick  and  two  other  ladies  were  drink- 
ing tea — out  of  the  ordinary  course,  evidently,  for 
they  were  bonneted  and  shawled,  and  seemed  to 
have  just  come  home.  By  the  liglit  of  three 
flaring  candles  of  different  lengths,  in  as  many 
candlesticks  of  different  patterns,  the  room  showed 
to  almost  as  little  advantage  as  in  broad  day. 

These  ladies  were  all  tiiree  talking  together  in 
a  very  loud  tone  when  Martin  and  liis  friend 
entered ;  but,  seeing  those  gentlemen,  they  stopped 
directly,  and  became  exceedingly  genteel,  not  to 
say  frosty.  As  the}'  went  on  to  exchange  some 
few  remarks  in  whisjjers,  the  very  water  in  the 
tea-pot  might  have  fallen  twenty  degrees  in  tem- 
perature beneath  their  chilling  coldness. 

"Have  you  been  to  meeting,  Mrs.  Brick?" 
\sked  Martin's  friend,  with  something  of  a 
roguish  twinkle  in  his  eye. 

"  To  lecture,  sir." 

"  I  bog  your  pardon,  I  forgot.  You  don't  go 
to  meeting,  I  think?" 

Here  the  lady  on  the  right  of  Mrs.  Brick  gave 
a  pious  cough,  as  much  as  to  say  "/  do!" — as, 
indeed,  she  did,  nearly  every  night  in  the  week, 

"  A  good  discourse,  ma'am  ?"  asked  Mr.  Bevan, 
addressing  this  lady. 

The  lady  raised  her  eyes  in  a  pious  manner, 
and  answered  "  Yes."  She  had  been  much  com- 
forted by  some  good,  strong,  peppery  doctrine, 
which  satisfactorily  disposed  of  all  her  friends  and 
acquaintance,  and  quite  settled  their  business. 
Her  botinet,  too,  had  far  outshone  every  bonnet 
in  the  congregation  :  so  she  was  tranquil  on  all 
accounts. 

"  What  course  of  lectures  are  you  attending 
now,  ma'am  ?"  said  Martin's  friend,  turning  again 
to  Mrs.  Brick. 

"The  Philosophy  of  the  Soul — on  Wednes- 
days." 

"  On  Mondays  ?" 

" 'I'he  Philosophy  of  Crime." 

"  On  Fridays  ?" 

"The  Philosophy  of  Vegetables." 

"  Yo{i  have  tbrgotten  Thursdays — The  Philo- 
sophy of  Government,  my  dear,"  observed  the 
third  lady. 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Brick.     "That's  Tuesdays." 

"So  it  is  !"  cried  the  lady.  "The  Philosophy 
of  Matter  on  Thursdays,  of  course." 

"You  see,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  our  ladies  are  fully 
employed,"  said  Bevan. 

"  Indeed  you  have  reason  to  say  so,"  answered 


Martin.     "Between  these    very    grave    pursuits 
abroad,  and  family  duties  at  home,  their  time  mu.sl       \i 
be  pretty  well  engrossed." 

Martin  stopped  here,  for  he  saw  that  the  ladief 
regarded  him  with  no  very  great  favour,  tiiougl; 
v\  hat  he  had  done  to  deserve  the  disdaintul  e.^pres 
sion  which  appeared  in  their  faces  he  was  at  a 
loss  to  divine.  But  on  their  going  up  stairs  tu 
their  bed-rooms — whicli  they  very  soon  did — Mr 
Bevan  informed  him  that  domestic  drudgery  was 
far  beneath  the  exalted  range  of  these  Philo.so- 
phers,  and  that  the  chances  were  a  hundred  to 
one  that  neither  of  the  three  could  perform  th.e 
easiest  woman's  work  for  lierself,  or  make  the 
simplest  article  of  dress  for  any  of  her  children. 

"  Though  whether  they  might  not  be  better 
employed  with  even  such  blunt  instruments  as 
knitting-needles,  than  with  these  edge-tools,"  he 
said,  "  is  another  question  ;  but  I  can  answer  for 
one  thing — they  don't  often  cut  themselves.  De- 
votions and  lectures  are  our  balls  and  concerts. 
They  go  to  these  places  of  resort,  as  an  escape 
from  monotony  ;  look  at  each  other's  tlothes ;  and 
come  home  again. 

"  When  you  say  '  home,'  do  you  mean  a  house 
like  tiiis  ?" 

"  Very  oflen.  But  I  see  you  are  tired  to  death, 
and  will  wisli  you  good  night.  We  will  discuss 
your  projects  in  the  morning.  You  cannot  but 
feel  already  that  it  is  useless  staying  here,  with 
any  hope  of  advancing  them.  You  will  have  to 
go  farther." 

"  And  to  fare  worse  ?"  said  Martin,  pursuing 
the  old  adage. 

"  Well,  I  hope  not.  But  sufficient  for  the  day, 
ymi  know — Good  night  I" 

Tiiey  shook  hands  heartily,  and  separated.  As 
soon  as  Martin  was  left  alone,  the  excitement  of 
novelty  and  change  which  had  sustained  him 
through  all  the  fatigues  of  the  day,  departed  ;  and 
he  felt  so  thoroughly  dejected  and  worn  out,  that 
he  even  lacked  the  energy  to  crawl  up  stairs  to 
fc-ed. 

In  twelve  or  fifteen  hours,  how  great  a  change 
had  fallen  on  his  hopes  and  sanguine  plans  I  New 
and  strange  as  he  was  to  the  ground  on  which  he 
stood,  and  to  the  air  he  breathed,  he  could  not — 
recalling  all  that  he  had  crowded  into  that  one 
day — but  entertain  a  strong  misgiving  that  his 
enterprise  was  doomed.  Rash  and  ill-considered 
as  it  had  often  looked  on  ship-board,  but  had  never 
seemed  on  shore,  it  wore  a  dismal  aspect  now  that 
frightened  him.  Whatever  thoughts  he  called  up 
to  his  aid,  they  came  upon  him  in  depressing  and 
discouraging  shapes,  and  gave  him  no  relied 
Even  the  diamonds  on  his  finger  s[)arkled  with 
the  brightness  of  tears,  and  had  no  ray  of  hope  in 
all  their  brilliant  lustre. 

He  continued  to  sit  in  gloomy  rumination  by 
the  stove — unmindful  of  the  boarders  who  dropped 
in  one  by  one  from  their  stores  and  counting, 
houses,  or  the  neighbouring  bar-rooms,  mid  afler 
faking  long  pulls  from  a  great  white  water-jug 
upon  the  sideboard,  and  lingering  with  a  kind  of 
hideous  fascination  near  the  brass  spittoons, 
lounged  heavily  to  bed — until  at  length  Mark 
Tapley  came  and  shook  him  by  the  arm,  suppos- 
ing him  asleep. 

"  .Mark  i"  he  cried,  starting. 

"All    right,   sir."   said    Miat   cheerful    tellow 


120 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


sruiffing  with  his  fingers  the  candle  he  bore.  "  It 
ain't  a  very  large  bed,  your'n,  sir;  and  a  man 
as  wasn't  thirsty  might  drink,  afore  breakfast, 
iril  the  water  you  've  got  to  wash  in,  and  ailer- 
wards  eat  the  towel.  But  you  '11  sleep  without 
rocking  to-niglst,  sir." 

"  I  feel  as  if  tlie  house  were  on  the  sea,"  said 
.Martin,  staggering  when  he  rose;  "and  am  ut- 
K'rly  wretched." 

"I'm  as  jnllv  as  a  sandboy*  myself,  sir,"  said 
Mark.  "  But,  Lord,  I  have  reason  to  be  !  I  ought 
to  have  been  born  here  ;  that's  my  opinion.  Take 
Ciire  iiow  you  go" — for  they  were  now  ascending 
the  stairs.  "  You  recollect  the  gentleman  aboard 
the  Screw  as  had  the  very  small  trunk,  sir?" 

"  The  valise  ?     Yes." 

"Well,  sir,  there's  been  a  delivery  of  clean 
clothes  from  the  wash  to-night,  and  they  're  put 
otilside  the  bed-room  doors  here.  If  you  take 
notice  as  we  go  up,  what  a  very  few  shirts  there 
dre,  and  what  a  many  fronts,  you'll  penetrate  the 
mystery  of  his  packing." 

But  Martin  was  too  weary  and  despondent  to 
take  heed  of  anything,  so  had  no  interest  in  this 
discovery.  Mr.  Tiipley,  nothing  dashed  by  his 
indifference,  cotiducttd  him  to  the  top  ofthe  iiouse, 
wid  into  the  b(  d-chaiiiber  prepared  for  his  recep- 
tion: which  was  a  very  little  narrow  room,  with 
biilf  a  window  in  it ;  a  bedstead  like  a  chest  vvith- 
c«ut  a  lid  ;  two  chiirs  ;  a  piece  of  carpet,  such  as 
*;ioes  are  coriiinonly  tried  upon  at  a  ready-made 
'stablishment  in  England;  a  little  looking-glass 
nailed  against  the  wall;  and  a  washing-table, 
with  a  jug  and  ewer,  that  might  have  been  niis- 
tuken  for  a  milk-pot  and  slop-basin. 

"  I  suppose  they  polish  themselves  with  a  dry 
doth  in  this  country,"  said  Mark.  "They've 
ceJtainly  got  a  touch  ofthe  'phoby,  sir." 

"I  wish  you  would  pull  oft"  my  boots  for  me," 
said  Martin,  dropping  into  one  ofthe  ch;iirs.  "I 
a<n  quite  knocked  up  —  dead  beat,  Mark." 

"You  won't  say  that  to-morrow  morning,  sir," 
returned  Mr.  Tapley  ;  "nor  even  to-night,  sir, 
when  yon've  made  a  trial  of  this."  With  which 
he  produced  a  very  large  tumbler,  piled  up  to  the 
brim  with  little  blocks  of  clear  tiansparent  ice, 
tlirough  which  one  or  two  min  slices  of  lemon, 
end  a  golden  liquid,  of  delicious  appearance,  a[). 
peared  from  the  still  dejjths  below,  to  the  loving 
eye  ofthe  spectator. 

"What  do  you  call  this?"  said  Martin. 

But  I\Ir.  Tapley  made  no  answer:  merely 
plunging  a  reed  into  the  mixture — which  caused  a 
pleasant  commotion  among  tlic  pieces  of  ice — and 
signifying  by  an  express. ve  gesture  that  it  was  to 
1)1-  pumped  u|)  through  that  agency  by  the  enrap- 
tured drinker. 

Martin  took  the  glass  with  an  astonished  look  ; 
applied  his  lips  to  the  rei  d  ;  and  cast  up  his  eyes 
unce  in  erstacy.  He  paused  no  more  until  llie 
i<»blct  was  drained  to  the  last  drop. 


"There,  sir!"  said  Mark,  taking  it  from  bin, 
with  a  triumphant  face  ;  "  If  ever  you  should  hap 
pen  to  be  dead  beat  again,  when  I  ain't  in  the 
way,  all  you  've  got  to  do  is,  to  ask  the  nearest 
man  to  go  and  (etch  a  cobbler." 

"  To  go  and  fetch  a  cobbler  I"  repeated  Martin. 

"This  wonderful  invention,  sir,"  said  Mark, 
tenderly  patting  the  empty  glass,  "  is  called  a 
cobbler.  Sherry  cobbler  when  you  name  it  lon^  ; 
cobbler,  when  you  name  it  short.  Now  you  're 
equal  to  having  your  boots  took  off,  and  are,  in 
every  particular  worth  mentioning,  another  man." 

Having  delivered  himselt'  of  this  solemn  pre- 
face, he  brought  the  boot-jack. 

"Mind  I  I  am  not  going  to  relapse,  Mark," 
said  Martin  ;  "  but  good  Heaven,  if  we  should  be 
left  in  some  W'ild  part  of  this  country  without 
goods  or  money  I" 

"  Well,  sir  1"  replied  the  imperturbable  Tapley  ; 
"  from  what  we  've  seen  already,  I  don't  know 
whether,  under  those  circumstances,  we  shouldn't 
do  better  in  the  wild  parts  than  in  the  tame  ones." 

"  Oh  Tom  Pinch,  Tom  Pinch !"  said  Martin, 
in  a  thoughtful  tone ;  "  what  would  I  give  to  be 
again  beside  you,  and  able  to  hear  your  voice, 
though  it  were  even  in  the  old  bed-room  at  Peck- 
sniff's !" 

"  CMi,  Dragon,  Dragon !"  echoed  Mark  cheer- 
ful-ly,  "  if  there  warn't  any  water  between  3'ou 
ard  me,  and  nothing  faint-hearted  like  in  going 
back,  I  don't  know  that  1  mightn't  say  the  same. 
But  here  am  I,  Dragon,  in  New  York,  America; 
and  there  are  you  in  Wiltshire,  Europe;  and 
there's  a  fortune  to  make.  Dragon,  and  a  beauti- 
ful young  lady  to  make  it  for  ;  and  whenever  you 
go  to  see  the  Monument,  Dragon,  you  mustn't 
give  in  on  the  door-steps,  or  you  '11  never  get  up 
to  the  top  1" 

"  Wisely  said,  Mark,"  cried  Martin.  "  W'e  must 
look  forward." 

"  In  all  the  story-books  a?,  ever  I  read,  sir,  the 
people  as  looked  backward  was  turned  into  stones," 
replied  Mark;  "and  my  opinion  always  was,  that 
they  brought  it  on  tlieniselves,  and  it  served  'era 
right,  I  wish  you  good  night,  sir,  and  pleasant 
dreams  !" 

"  They  must  be  of  home,  then,"  said  Martin, 
as  he  lay  down  in  bed. 

"  So  I  say,  too,"  whispered  Mark  Tapley,  when 
he  was  out  of  hearing  and  in  his  own  room  ;  "  for 
if  there  don't  come  a  time  afore  we  're  well  out 
of  this,  when  there'll  be  a  little  more  credit  in 
keeping  up  one's  jollity,  I  'm  a  United  States- 
man I"  ^ 

Leaving  them  to  blend  and  mingle  in  their 
sleep  the  shadows  of  objects  afar  off,  as  they  take 
fantastic  shapes  upon  the  wall  in  the  dim  lisjlit 
of  thought  without  control,  be  it  the  jiart  of  this 
slight  chroiiiele — a  dream  within  a  dream — as 
rapidly  to  change  the  scene,  and  cross  ths  ocean 
to  the  English  shore. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


121 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


DOES  BUSINESS  WITH   THE   HOUSE   OF  ANTHONY  CHUZZLEWIT  AND  SON. 
FROM  WHICH  ONE  OF  THE  PARTNERS  RETIRES  UNEXPECTEDLY. 


Change  begets  chang-e.  Nothing  propagates  so 
fast.  If  a  man  habituated  to  a  narrow  circle  of 
cares  and  pleasures,  out  of  which  he  seldom  tra- 
vels, step  beyond  it,  though  for  never  so  brief  a 
space,  his  departure  from  the  monotonous  scene 
on  which  he  has  been  an  actor  of  importance, 
would  seem  to  be  the  signal  for  instant  confusion. 
As  if,  in  the  gap  he  had  left,  the  wedge  of  change 
were  driven  to  the  head,  rending  what  was  a  solid 
mass  to  fragments  ;  things  cemented  and  held  to- 
gether by  the  usages  of  years,  burst  asunder  in  as 
many  weeks.  The  mine  which  Time  has  slowly 
dug  beneath  familiar  objects,  is  sprung  in  an  in- 
stant ;  and  what  was  rock  before,  becomes  but 
sand  and  dust. 

Most  men  at  one  time  or  other  have  proved  this 
in  some  degree.  The  extent  to  which  the  natural 
laws  of  change  asserted  their  supremacy  in  that 
limited  sphere  of  action  which  Martin  had  de- 
serted, shall  be  faithfully  set  down  in  these  pages. 

"What  a  cold  spring  it  is !"  whimpered  old  An- 
Ihony,  drawing  near  the  evening  fire.  "  It  was  a 
warmer  season,  sure,  when  I  was  young  I" 

"You  needn't  go  scorching  your  clothes  into 
lioles,  whether  it  was  or  not,"  observed  the  amia- 
ble Jonas,  raising'  his  eyc*^  from  yesterday's  news- 
paper. "  Broadcloth  ain't  so  cheap  as  that  comes 
to." 

"  A  good  lad !"  cried  the  father,  breathing'  on 
liis  Cold  hands,  and  feebly  chafing  them  against 
each  other.  "  A  prudent  lad  !  He  never  delivered 
himself  up  to  tlie  vanities  of  dress.     No,  no  I" 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  would  though,  mind  you, 
if  I  could  do  it  for  nothing,"  said  his  son,  as  he 
resumed  the  paper. 

"  Ah  I"  chuckled  the  old  man.  "  If,  indeed  ! — 
But  it 's  very  cold." 

"  Let  the  fire  be  !"  cried  Mr.  Jonas,  stopping  his 
honoured  parent's  hand  in  the  use  of  the  poker. 
"  Do  you  mean  to  come  to  want  in  your  old  age, 
that  you  take  to  wasting  now?" 

"  There 's  not  time  for  that,  Jonas,"  said  the 
old  man. 

"Not  time  for  what?"  bawled  his  heir. 

"  For  me  to  come  to  want.    I  wish  there  was  !" 

"You  always  were  as  selfish  an  old  blade  as 
need  be,"  said  Jonas,  in  a  voice  too  low  for  him 
to  hear,  and  looking  at  him  with  an  angry  frown. 
"  You  act  up  to  your  character.  You  wouldn't 
mind  coming  to  want,  wouldn't  you  ?  I  dare  say 
you  wouldn't.  And  your  own  flesh  and  blood 
might  come  to  want  too,  might  they,  f^jr  anything 
you  cared  ?     Oh  you  precious  old  flint  I" 

After  this  dutiful  address,  he  took  his  tea-cup 
in  his  hand — for  that  meal  was  in  progress,  and 
the  father  and  son  and  ChufFey  were  partakers  of 
it.  Then,  looking  steadfastly  at  his  father,  and 
stopping  now  and  then  to  carry  a  spoonful  of  tea 
to  his  lips,  he  proceeded  in  the  same  tone,  thus : 

"  Want,  indeed  !      You  're  a  nice  old  inun  to  be 
talking  of  want  at  this  time  of  day.      Beginning  I 
to  talk  of  want  are  you  ?    Well,  I  declare  !    There  > 
isn't  time  ?     No,  I  shou'd  hope  not.     But  you  'd 
16 


live  to  be  a  couple  of  hundred  if  you  cnuld  ;  and 
after  all  be  discontented.     /  know  you  I" 

The  old  man  sighed,  and  still  sat  cowering  1<€- 
fore  the  fire.  Mr.  Jonas  shook  his  Briltania-in.etal 
teaspoon  at  him,  and  taking  a  lotti(;r  position  went 
on  to  argue  the  point  on  high  moral  grounds. 

"  If  you  're  in  such  a  state  of  mind  as  that,"  he 
grumbled,  but  in  the  same  subdued  key,  "why 
don't  you  make  over  your  property?  Buy  an 
annuity  cheap,  and  make  your  life  interesting  to 
yourself  and  everybody  else  that  watches  tiie 
speculation.  But  no,  that  wouldn't  suit  ymi. 
That  would  be  natural  conduct  to  your  own  son, 
and  you  like  to  be  unnatural,  and  to  keep  him  out 
of  his  rights.  Why,  I  should  be  ashamed  of  my- 
self if  I  was  you,  and  glad  to  hide  my  head  in  tlie 
what  you  may  call  it." 

Possibly  this  general  phrase  supplied  the  place 
of  grave,  or  tomb,  or  sepulchre,  or  cemetery,  or 
mausoleum,  or  other  such  word  which  the  filial 
tenderness  of  Mr.  Jonas  made  him  delicate  of 
pronouncing.  He  pursued  the  theme  no  further ; 
for  Chutfey,  somehow  discovering,  from  his  old 
corner  by  the  fireside,  that  Anthony  was  in  the 
attitude  of  a  listener,  and  that  Jonas  appeared  to 
be  speaking,  suddenly  cried  out,  like  one  inspired  : 

"  He  is  your  own  son,  Mr.  Chuzzlevvit.  Your 
own  son,  sir  1" 

Old  ChufFey  little  suspected  what  depth  of  af*. 
plication  these  words  had,  or  that,  in  the  bin  r 
satire  which  they  bore,  they  might  have  sunk  inU; 
the  old  man's  very  soul,  could  he  have  known 
what  words  were  hanging  on  his  own  son's  lips, 
or  what  was  passing  in  his  thoughts.  But  tne 
voice  diverted  the  current  of  Anthony's  reflections, 
and  roused  him. 

"  Yes,  yes,  ChufFey,  Jonas  is  a  chip  of  the  old 
block.  It's  a  very  old  block  now,  Ciiuftey,"  said 
the  old  man,  with  a  strange  look  of  discomposure. 

"  Precious  old,"  assented  Jonas. 

"No,  no,  no,"  said  ChufFey.  "No,  Mr.  Chuz- 
zlevvit.    Not  old  at  all,  sir." 

"  Oh  !  He  's  worse  than  ever,  you  know  I"  cried 
Jonas,  quite  disgusted.  "Upon  my  soul,  father, 
he 's  getting  too  bad.  Hold  your  tongue,  will 
you  ?" 

"  He  says  you  're  wrong !"  cried  Antiiony  to 
the  old  clerk. 

"Tut,  tut!"  was  ChufFey's  answer.  "  I  know 
better.  I  say  Ae 's  wrong.  I  say  Ae'«  wrong 
He's  a  boy.  That's  what  he  is.  So  are  you,  Mr. 
Ch  azzlewit — a  kind  of  boy.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  I  You're 
quite  a  boy  to  many  I  have  known;  you're  a  boy 
to  me ;  you  're  a  boy  to  hundreds  of  us.  Don't 
mind  him  I" 

With  which  extraordinary  speech — for  in  the 
case  of  ChufFey  this  was  a  burst  of  eloijueuce 
without  a  parallel  —  the  poor  old  shadow  dre.v 
til  rough  h  s  palsied  arm  his  master's  hand,  anu 
held  it  there,  with  his  own  folded  upon  it,  as  if  he 
would  defend  him. 

"  I  grow  dealer  every  day,  ChufF,"  said  An 
thony,  with  as  much  softness  of  manner,  or,  lu 


>22 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


uescribe  it  more  correctly,  with  as  little  hardness 
IS  he  was  capable  of  expressing. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Chuftey.  "  No  you  don't. 
What  if  you  did?  I've  been  deaf  this  twenty 
year." 

"  I  grow  blinder,  too,"  said  the  old  man,  shak- 
ing his  head. 

"  That 's  a  good  sign  I"  cried  ChufFey.  "  Ha  ! 
ha  I  The  best  sign  in  the  world  1  You  saw  too 
well  before." 

He  patted  Anthony  upon  the  hand  as  one  might 
comfort  a  ciiild,  and  drawing  the  old  man's  arm 
still  further  through  his  own,  shook  his  trembling 
fingers  towards  the  spot  where  Jonas  sat,  as 
tliough  he  would  wave  him  off.  But  Anthony 
remaming  quite  still  and  silent,  he  relaxed  his 
hold  by  slow  degrees  and  lapsed  into  his  usual 
niche  in  the  corner :  merely  putting  forth  his 
hand  at  intervals  and  touching  his  old  employer 
gently  on  the  coat,  as  with  the  design  of  assuring 
Jiimself  that  he  was  yet  beside  him. 

Mr.  Jonas  was  so  very  much  amazed  by  these 
proceedings  that  he  could  do  nothing  but  stare  at 
the  two  old  men,  until  Chuffey  had  fallen  into  his 
usual  state,  and  Anthony  had  sunk  into  a  doze ; 
when  he  gave  some  vent  to  his  emotions  by  going 
close  up  to  the  former  personage,  and  making  as 
tliough  he  would,  in  vulgar  parlance,  "  punch  his 
head." 

"  They  've  been  carrying  on  this  game,"  thought 
Jonas  in  a  brovpn  study,  "  for  the  last  two  or  three 
weeks.  I  never  saw  my  father  take  so  much  no- 
tice of  him  as  he  has  in  tiiat  time.  What  I  You're 
legacy-hunting  are  you,  Mister  Chuff?    Eh  ?" 

But  Chuffey  was  as  little  conscious  of  the 
thought  as  of  the  bodily  advance  of  Mr.  Jonas's 
clenched  fist,  which  hovered  fondly  about  his  ear. 
\V  hen  he  had  scowled  at  him  to  his  heart's  con- 
tent, Jonas  took  the  candle  from  the  table,  and 
walking  into  the  glass  office,  produced  a  bunch 
of  keys  from  his  pocket.  With  one  of  these  he 
opened  a  secret  drawer  in  the  desk:  peeping 
stealthily  out,  as  he  did  so,  to  be  certain  that  the 
two  old  men  were  still  befure  the  fire. 

"  All  as  right  as  ever,"  said  Jonas,  propping  the 
lid  of  the  desk  open  with  his  forehead,  and  un- 
folding a  paper.  "  Here  's  the  will.  Mister  Chuff. 
Thirty  pound  a  year  for  your  maintenance,  old 
boy,  and  all  the  rest  to  his  only  son,  Jonas.  You 
needn't  trouble  yourself  to  be  too  affectionate. 
You  won't  get  anything  by  it.     What's  that?" 

It  zcas  startling,  certainly.  A  face  on  the  other 
side  of  the  glass  partition  looking  curiously  in  : 
and  not  at  him  hut  at  the  paper  in  his  hand.  For 
the  eyes  were  attentively  cast  down  upon  the 
writing,  and  were  swiftly  raised  when  he  cried 
out.  Then  they  met  his  own,  and  were  as  the 
uyes  of  Mr.  PecksnifT. 

Suffering  the  lid  of  the  desk  to  fall  with  a  loud 
noise,  but  not  forgetting  even  then  to  lock  it,  Jo- 
nas, pale  and  breathless,  gazed  upon  this  phantom. 
It  moved,  opened  the  door,  and  walked  in. 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?"  cried  Jonas,  falling 
back.  "  Who  is  it?  Where  do  you  come  from? 
What  do  you  want?" 

"  Mutter!"  cried  the  voice  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  as 
Pucksniff  in  the  flesh  smiled  amiably  upon  him. 
"The  matter  Mr.  Jonas  1" 

"  What  are  yon  prying  and  peering  about  here 
*or  ?"  said  Jonas,  angrily.     "  What  do  you  mean 


by  coming  up  to  town  in  this  way,  and  takmg 
one  unawares  ?  It's  precious  odd  a  man  can't 
read  the  — the  newspaper  in  his  own  office  witl>- 
out  being  startled  out  of  his  wits  by  people  coin 
ing  in  without  notice.  Why  didn't  you  knock  at 
the  door  ?" 

"  So  I  did,  Mr.  Jonas,"  answered  Peeksnill, 
"but  no  one  heard  me.  I  was  curious,"  he  added 
in  his  gentle  way  as  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the 
young  man's  shoulder,  "to  find  out  what  part  ot 
the  newspaper  interested  you  so  much  ;  but  the 
glass  was  too  dim  and  dirty." 

Jonas  glanced  in  haste  at  the  partition.  WelL 
It  wasn't  very  clean.    So  far  he  spoke  the  truth. 

"  Was  it  poetry  now  ?"  said  jMr.  Pecksniff 
shaking  the  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  with  an 
air  of  cheerful  banter.  "  Or  was  it  politics  ?  or 
was  it  the  price  of  stocks  ?  The  main  chance  Mr. 
Jonas,  the  main  chance  I  suspect." 

"  You  ain't  far  from  the  truth,"  answered  Jo- 
nas, recovering  himself  and  snuffing  the  candle: 
"  but  how  the  deuce  do  you  come  to  be  in  London 
again  ?  Ecod  !  it 's  enough  to  make  a  man  stare 
to  see  a  fellow  looking  at  him  all  of  a  sudden, 
who  he  thought  was  sixty  or  seventy  miles 
away." 

"So  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  No  doubt  of 
it  my  dear  Mr.  Jonas.  For  while  the  human  mind 
is  constituted  as  it  is — " 

"  Oh  bother  the  human  mind,"  interrupted  Jo- 
nas with  impatience,  "  what  have  you  come  up 
for  ?" 

"  A  little  matter  of  business,"  said  Mr.  Peck 
sniff,  "  which  has  arisen  quite  unexpectedly." 

"Oh!"cried  Jonas,  "is  that  all?  Weill  Here's 
father  in  the  next  room.  Hallo  father,  here  's 
PeeksniffI  He  gets  more  addle-pated  every  day 
he  lives,  I  do  believe,"  muttered  Jonas,  shaking 
his  honoured  parent  roundly.  "  Don't  I  tell  you 
Pecksniff's  here,  stupid-head  ?" 

The  combined  effects  of  the  shaking  and  this 
loving  remonstrance  soon  awoke  the  old  man, 
who  gave  Mr.  Pecksniff  a  chuckling  welcome, 
which  was  attributable  in  part  to  his  being  glad 
to  see  that  gentleman,  and  in  part  to  his  unfading 
delight  in  the  recollection  of  havinp-  oal'^H  him  a 
hypocrite.  As  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  not  yet  taken 
tea  (indeed  he  had  but  an  hour  before  arrived  in 
London)  the  remains  of  the  late  collation,  with  a 
rasher  of  bacon,  were  served  up  for  his  entertain- 
ment; and  as  Mr.  Jonas  liad  a  business  appoint- 
ment in  the  next  street,  he  stepped  out  to  keep  it: 
promising  to  return  before  Mr.  Pecksniff  could 
finish  his  repast. 

"And  now  my  good  sir,"  said  Mr.  PoeksniiTto 
Anthony  :  "now  that  we  are  alone,  pr:iy  tell  me 
what  I  can  do  for  you.  1  say  alone,  because  1 
believe  that  our  dear  friend  Mr.  Chuffey  is,  meta- 
physically  speaking,  a — shall  I  say  a  dumuiy  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Pecksniff  with  his  sweetest  smile,  and 
his  head  very  much  on  one  side. 

"  He  neither  hears  us,"  replied  Anthony,  "  nor 
sees  us." 

"Why  then,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "I  will  be 
bold  to  say,  with  the  utmost  sympathy  for  his 
altiietions,  and  the  greatest  admiration  of  tho?e 
cxcell(;nt  qu;ilities  which  do  equiil  honour  to  his 
head  and  to  his  heart,  that  he  is  what  is  playfully 
termed  a  dummy.  You  were  going  to  obserw, 
I  ray  dear  sir — " 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT. 


123 


"  I  was  not  going'  to  make  any  observation  that 
I  know  of,"  replied  the  old  man. 

"  /  was,"  said  Mr.  Pecksnift',  mildly. 

"  Oil  1  you  were  ?     What  was  it  ?" 

"'I'liat  I  never,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  previously 
rising  to  see  that  the  door  was  shut,  and  arrang- 
ing his  chair  when  he  came  back,  so  that  it  could 
not  he  opened  in  the  least  without  his  immediately 
becoming  aware  of  the  circumstance;  "that  I 
never  in  my  life  was  so  astonished  as  by  the  re- 
ceipt of  your  letter  yesterday.  That  you  should 
do  me  the  honour  to  wish  to  take  counsel  with  me 
on  any  matter,  amazed  me;  but  that  you  should 
desire  to  do  so  to  the  exclusion  even  of  Mr.  Jonas, 
showed  an  amount  of  confidence  in  one  to  whom 
you  had  done  a  verbal  injury  —  merely  a  verbal 
injury,  you  were  anxious  to  repair — which  grati- 
fied, which  moved,  wliich  overcatne  me." 

He  was  always  a  glib  speaker,  but  he  delivered 
this  short  address  very  glibly,  having  been  at 
some  pains  to  compose  it  outside  the  coach. 

Although  he  paused  for  a  reply,  and  truly  said 
that  he  was  there  at  Anthony's  request,  the  old 
man  sat  gazing  at  him  in  profound  silence,  and 
with  a  peifectly  blank  face.  Nor  did  he  seem  to 
have  the  least  desire  or  impulse  to  pursue  the  con- 
versation,  though  Mr.  Pecksniff  looked  towards 
tiie  door,  and  pulled  out  his  watch,  and  gave  him 
many  other  hints  that  their  time  was  short,  and 
Jonas,  if  he  kept  his  word,  would  soon  return.  But 
the  strangest  incident  in  all  this  strange  behaviour 
was,  that  of  a  sudden — in  a  moment — so  swiftly 
that  it  was  impossible  to  trace  how,  or  to  observe 
any  process  of  change — his  features  fell  into  their 
old  expression,  and  he  cried,  striking  his  hand 
passionately  upon  the  table,  as  if  no  interval  at  all 
had  taken  place : 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue,  sir,  and  let  me 
speak  ?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  deferred  to  him  with  a  submis- 
sive bow,  and  said  within  himself,  "  1  knew  his 
hand  was  changed,  and  that  his  writing  staggered. 
I  said  so  yesterday.     Ahem !  Dear  me  I" 

"Jonas  is  sweet  upon  your  daughter,  Peck- 
sniff," said  the  old  man,  in  his  usual  tone. 

"We  spoke  of  that,  if  you  remember,  sir,  at 
Mrs.  'I'odgers's,"  replied  the  courteous  architect. 

"  You  need  n't  speak  so  loud,"  retorted  Anthony. 
"  I'm  not  so  deaf  as  that." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had  certainly  raised  his  voice 
pretty  high ;  not  so  much  because  he  thought 
Anthony  was  deaf,  as  because  he  felt  convinced 
that  his  perceptive  faculties  were  waxing  dim ; 
but  this  quick  resentment  of  his  considerate  beha- 
viour greatly  disconcerted  him,  and,  not  knowing 
what  tack  to  shape  his  course  upon,  he  made  an- 
:»ther  inclination  of  the  head,  yet  more  submissive 
than  the  last. 

"I  have  said,"  repeated  the  old  man,  "that 
Jonas  is  sweet  upon  your  daughter." 

"  A  charming  girl,  sir,"  murmured  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, seeding  that  he  waited  for  an  answer.  "  A 
dear  girl,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  though  I  say  it,  who 
should  noi." 

"  You  know  better,"  cried  the  old  man,  advan- 
cing his  weazen  face  at  least  a  yard,  and  starling 
forward  in  his  chair  to  do  it.  "  You  lie  !  What, 
you  will  be  a  hypocrite,  will  you  ?" 

"  My  good  sir,"  Mr.  Pecksniff  began. 

•'  Don't  call  me  a  good  sir,"  retorted  Anthony, 


"and  don't  claim  to  be  ore  yourself  If  your 
daughter  was  what  you  would  have  mc  believe, 
she  wouldn't  do  tor  Jonas.  Being  what  she  in,  I 
think  she  will.  He  might  be  deceived  in  a  wife. 
Siie  might  run  riot,  contract  debts,  and  waste  his 
substance.     Now,  when  I  am  dead — " 

His  taee  altered  so  horribly  as  he  said  the  word, 
that  Mr.  Pecksniff  really  was  fain  to  look  another 
way. 

"  It  will  be  worse  for  me  to  know  of  such 
doings  than  if  I  was  alive;  for  to  be  toimented 
for  getting  that  together,  which,  even  while  1 
suffer  for  its  acquisition,  is  flung  into  the  very 
kennels  of  the  streets,  would  be  insupportable 
torture.  No,"  said  the  old  man  hoarsely  ;  "  let 
that  be  saved,  at  least — let  there  be  something 
gained,  and  kept  fast  hold  of,  when  so  much  la 
lost." 

"My  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  said  PecksniflSi 
"these  are  unwholesome  fancies;  quite  unneces- 
sary, sir,  quite  uncalled  for,  I  am  sure.  The  truth 
is,  my  dear  sir,  that  you  are  not  well  I" 

"Not  dying,  though!"  cried  Anthony,  with 
something  like  the  snarl  of  a  wild  animal.  "Not 
yet !  There  are  years  of  life  in  me.  Why,  look 
at  him,"  pointing  to  his  feeble  clerk.  "  Death  has 
no  right  to  leave  him  standing,  and  to  mow  me 
down." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  was  so  much  afraid  of  the  old 
man,  and  so  completely  taken  aback  by  the  state 
in  which  he  found  him,  that  he  had  not  even  pre- 
sence of  mind  enough  to  call  up  a  scrap  of  mo- 
rality from  the  great  starehouse  within  his  own 
breast.  Therefore  he  stammered  out  that  no 
doubt  it  was,  in  fairness  and  decency,  Mr.  Chufc 
fey's  turn  to  expire ;  and  that  from  all  he  had 
heard  of  Mr.  Chuffey,  and  the  little  he  had  the 
jjleasure  of  knowing  of  that  gentleman  perscmally, 
he  felt  convinced,  in  his  own  mind,  that  he  would 
see  the  propriety  of  expiring  with  as  little  delay 
as  possible. 

"  Come  here  !"  said  the  old  man,  beckoning  him 
to  draw  nearer.  "Jonas  will  be  my  heir,  Jonas 
will  be  rich,  and  a  great  catch  for  you.  You  know 
that.     Jonas  is  sweet  upon  your  daughter." 

"  I  know  that  too,"  thought  ftlr.  Pecksniff,  "  for 
you  have  said  it  often  enough." 

"He  might  get  more  money  than  with  her," 
said  the  old  man,  "but  she  will  help  him  to  take 
care  of  what  they  have.  She  is  not  too  young  or 
heedless,  and  comes  of  a  good  hard  griping  stock. 
But  don't  you  play  too  fine  a  game.  She  only 
holds  him  by  a  thread  ;  and  if  you  draw  it  too 
tight,  (I  know  his  temper,)  it'll  snap.  Bind  him 
when  he 's  in  the  mood,  Pecksniff;  bind  him. 
You  're  too  deep.  In  your  way  of  leading  him 
on,  you '11  leave  him  miles  behind.  Bah,  you  man 
of  oil,  have  I  no  eyes  to  see  how  you  have  ang.ed 
with  him  from  the  first?" 

"  Now  I  wonder,"  thought  Mr.  Pecksniff,  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  wistful  face,  "  whether  this  is 
all  he  has  to  say  !" 

Old  Anthony  rubbed  his  hands,  and  muttered  to 
himself;  complained  again  that  he  was  cold  ;  drew 
his  chair  before  the  fire;  and,  sitting  with  hia 
back  to  Mr.  Pecksniff,  and  his  chin  sunk  down 
upon  his  breast,  was,  in  another  minute,  quit« 
regardless  or  forgetful  of  his  presence. 

Uncouth  and  unsatisfactory  as  this  short  inter 
view  had    been,  it   had   fi.rnished   Mr.  Peck«ui!} 


124 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


with  a  hint  which,  supposing  nothing  further 
were  imparted  to  liiin,  repaid  the  journey  up,  and 
home  again.  For  the  good  gentleman  had  never 
(for  want  of  an  opportunity)  dived  into  the  depth 
of  Mr.  Jonas's  nature ;  and  any  recipe  for  Cdtcli- 
ing  such  a  son-in-law  (much  more,  one  written 
on  a  leaf  out  of  his  own  fatlier's  book)  was  worth 
the  having.  In  order  that  he  might  lose  no 
ciiance  of  improving  so  fuir  an  opportunity  by 
allowing  Anthony  to  fall  asleep  betbre  he  had 
finished  all  he  had  to  say,  Mr.  PecksnilF,  in  the 
disjjosal  of  the  refreshments  on  the  table — a  work 
to  which  he  now  applied  himself  in  earnest — re- 
sorted to  many  ingenious  contrivances  for  attract- 
ing his  attention,  such  as  coughing,  sneezing, 
clattering  the  teacups,  sharpening  the  knives, 
dropping  the  loaf,  and  so  forth.  But  all  in  vain, 
for  Mr.  Jonas  returned,  and  Anthony  had  said 
no  more. 

"  What !  my  father  asleep  again  ?"  he  cried,  as 
he  hung  up  his  hat,  and  cast  a  look  at  him.  "Ah! 
and  snoring.     Only  hear!" 

"  He  snores  very  deep,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"Snores  deep?"  repeated  Jonas.  "Yes;  let 
him  alone  for  that.  He  '11  snore  for  si.x,  at  any 
time." 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Jonas,"  said  Pecksniff, 
"that  I  think  your  father  is — don't  let  me  alarm 
you — breaking  ?" 

"  Oh,  is  he  though,"  replied  Jonas,  with  a  shake 
of  the  head  which  expressed  the  closeness  of  his 
dutiful  observation.  "  Ecod,  you  don't  know  how 
tough  he  is.     He  ain't  upon  the  move  yet." 

•It  struck  me  that  he  was  changed,  both  in 
his  appearance  and  manner,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  That 's  all  you  know  about  it,"  returned 
Jonas,  seating  himself  with  a  melancholy  air. 
"He  never  was  better  than  he  is  now.  How  are 
they  all  at  home  ?     How  's  Charity  ?" 

"Blooming,  Mr.  Jonas,  blooming." 

"And  the  other  one — how  's  she  ?" 

"  Volatile  trifler  I"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  fondly 
musing.  "  She  is  well — she  is  well.  Roving 
from  parlour  to  bed-room,  Mr.  Jonas,  like  the 
bee ;  skimming  from  post  to  pHar,  like  the  but- 
terfly ;  dipping  her  young  beak  into  our  currant 
wine,  like  the  humming-bird  !  Ah  !  were  she  a 
little  less  giddy  than  she  is  ;  and  had  she  but  the 
sterling  qualities  of  Cherry,  my  young  friend  1" 

"  Is  she  so  very  giddy,  then?"  asked  Jonas. 

"Well,  well  I"  said  Mr.  PecKsniff,  with  great 
feeling;  "let  me  not  be  hard  upon  my  cliild. 
Beside  her  sister  Cherry  she  appears  so.  A 
strange  noise  that,  Mr.  Jonas  I" 

"  Something  wrong  in  the  clock,  I  suppose," 
said  Jonas,  glancing  towards  it.  "  So  the  other 
one  ain't  your  favourite,  ain't  she  ?" 

The  fond  father  was  about  to  reply,  and  had 
already  sumnioricd  into  his  face  a  look  of  the  in- 
lensest  sensibility,  when  the  sound  he  had  already 
Doriced  was  repeated. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mr.  Jonas,  that  is  a  very  ex- 
Iraorduiary  clock,"  said  Pecksniff 

[t  would  have  been,  if  it  had  made  the  noise 
which  startled  them;  but  another  kind  of  time. 
yiece  was  fust  running  down,  and  from  that  the 
sound  proceeded.  A  scream  from  Chuffoy,  ren- 
dered a  hundred  firncs  more  loud  and  formidiible 
by  his  silent  habits,  made  the  house  ring  from 
nuf  to  cellar;  and,  looking  round,  they  saw  An- 


thony Chuzzlewit  extended  on  the  floor,  with  the 
old  clerk  upon  his  knees  beside  him. 

He  had  fallen  from  his  chair  in  a  fit,  and  Ijijr 
there,  battling  for  each  gasp  of  breath,  with  every 
shrivelled  vein  and  sinew  starting  in  its  placn,  as 
it  were  bent  on  bearing  witness  to  his  age,  and 
sternly  pleading  with  Nature  against  his  ucn- 
very.  It  was  frightful  to  see  how  the  prinei|ile 
of  life,  shut  up  within  his  withered  i'rame,  foutfi't 
like  a  strong  devii,  mad  to  be  released,  and  rent 
its  ancient  prison-house.  A  young  man  ni  tbe 
fulness  of  his  vigour,  struggling  with  so  much 
strength  of  desperation,  would  l)ave  been  a  dismal 
sight;  but  an  old,  old,  shrunken  body,  endowed 
with  preternatural  might,  and  giving  the  lie  in 
every  motion  of  its  every  limb  and  joint  to  its 
enfeebled  aspect,  was  a  hideous  spectacle  iiideed. 

They  raised  him  up,  and  fetched  a  surgeon 
with  all  haste,  who  bled  the  patient,  and  applied 
some  remedies ;  but  the  fits  held  him  so  long, 
that  it  was  past  midnight  when  they  got  him — 
quiet  now,  but  quite  unconscious  and  exhausted — 
into  bed. 

"  Don't  go,"  said  Jonas,  putting  his  ashy  lips 
to  Mr.  Pecksniff's  ear,  and  whispering  across  the 
bed.  "  It  was  a  mercy  you  were  present  when 
he  was  taken  ill.  Some  one  might  have  said  it 
was  my  doing." 

"i'oMr  doing  I"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  I  don't  know  but  they  might,"  he  replied, 
wiping  the  moisture  from  his  white  face.  "  Peo- 
ple say  such  things.     How  does  he  look  now  ?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  sliook  his  head. 

"  I  used  to  joke,  you  know,"  said  Jonas  :  "  but 
I — I  never  wished  him  dead.  Do  you  think  he  'a 
very  bad  ?" 

"  The  doctor  said  he  was.  You  heard,"  was 
Mr.  Pecksniff's  answer. 

"  Ah  !  hut  he  might  say  that  to  charge  us 
more,  in  case  of  his  getting  well,"  said  Jonas. 
"You  mustn't  go  away,  Pecksniff.  Now  it's 
come  to  this,  I  wouldn't  be  without  a  witness  for 
a  thousand  pound." 

Chuffey  said  not  a  word,  and  heard  not  a  word. 
He  had  sat  himself  dovrn  in  a  chair  at  the  bed- 
side, and  there  he  remained,  motionless ;  except 
that  he  sometimes  bent  his  head  over  the  pillow, 
and  seemed  to  listen.  He  never  changed  in  this. 
Though  once  in  the  dreary  night  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
having  dozed,  awoke  with  a  confused  impression 
that  he  had  heard  him  praying,  and  strangely 
mingling  figures — not  of  speech,  but  arithmetic — 
with  his  broken  prayers. 

Jonas  sat  there,  too,  all  night:  not  where  his 
father  could  have  seen  him,  had  his  consciousness 
returned,  but  hiding,  as  it  were,  behind  him,  ami 
only  reading  how  he  looked  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
eyes.  He,  the  coarse  upstart,  who  had  ruled  the 
house  so  long — the  craven  cur,  who  was  afraid 
to  move,  and  shook  so  that  his  very  shadow  tint, 
tered  on  the  wall  ! 

It  was  broad,  bright,  stirring  day  when,  leav- 
ing the  old  clerk  to  watch  him,  they  went  down 
to  breakfast.  People  hurried  up  and  down  the 
street;  windows  and  doors  were  opened;  thieves 
and  beggars  took  their  usual  posts;  workmen 
bestirred  themselves ;  tradesmen  set  forth  their 
shiips;  baihlfs  and  constables  were  on  the  watcli; 
all  kinds  of  human  creatures  strove,  in  their 
I  several  ways,  as  hard  to  live,  as  the  one  sick  olU 


''IIDWIFFI 


Mr.  Pecksuiflf  on  his  Mission. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


125 


man  who  combated  for  every  grain  of  sand  in 
his  fust-emptying  glass,  as  eagerly  as  if  it  were 
an  empire. 

"  If  anything  happens,  Pecksniff,"  said  Jonas, 
"  you  must  promise  me  to  stop  here  till  it 's  all 
wer.     You  shall  see  that  I  do  what's  right." 

''I  know  that  you  will  do  what's  right,  Mr. 
Jonas,"  said  Pecksniff. 

"  Yes,  yes,  but  I  won't  be  doubted.  No  one 
shall  have  it  in  his  power  to  say  a  syllable  against 
me,"  he  returned.  "  I  know  how  people  will 
tilk. — Just  as  if  he  wasn't  old,  or  I  had  the  secret 
of  keeping  him  nlive  I" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  promised  that  he  would  remain, 
if  circumstances  should  render  it  in  his  esteenied 
friend's  opinion  desirable;  and  they  were  finish- 
ing their  meal  in  silence,  when  suddenly  an  ap- 
parition  stood  before  them,  so  ghastly  to  tlie  view, 
that  Jonas  shrieked  aloud,  and  both  recoiled  in 
horror. 

Old  Anthony,  dressed  in  his  usual  clothes,  was 
in  the  room — beside  the  table.  He  leaned  upon 
the  shoulder  of  his  solitary  friend ;  and  on  his 


livid  face,  and  on  his  horny  hands,  and  in  hi? 
glassy  eyes,  and  traced  by  an  eternal  finger  in 
the  very  drops  of  sweat  upon  his  brow,  was  one 
word — Death. 

He  spoke  to  them — in  something  of  his  own 
voice  too,  but  sharpened  and-  made  hollow,  like  u 
dead  man's  face.  What  he  would  have  said,  (Jod 
knows.  He  seemed  to  utter  words,  but  they  were 
such  as  man  had  never  heard.  And  this  was  the 
most  fearful  circumstance  of  all,  to  sec  him  stand- 
ing there,  gabbling  in  an  unearthly  tongue. 

"He's  better  now,"  said  Ciiuffey.  "Better 
now.  Let  him  sit  in  his  old  chair,  and  he'll  be 
well  again.  I  told  him  not  to  mind.  I  said  so, 
yesterday." 

They  put  him  in  his  easy-chair,  and  wheeled 
it  near  the  window;  then  setting  open  the  dooe, 
exposed  him  to  the  free  current  of  morning  air. 
But  not  all  the  air  that  is,  nor  all  the  winds  that 
ever  blew  'twixt  Heaven  and  Earth,  could  have 
brought  new  life  to  him.  Plimge  him  to  the 
throat  in  golden  pieces  now,  and  his  heavy  fingers 
should  not  close  on  one. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THE  READER  IS  BROUGHT  INTO  COMMUNICATION  WITH  SOME  PROFES 
SIONAL  PERSONS,  AND  SHEDS  A  TEAR  OVER  THE  FILIAL  PIETY  OF  GOOD 
MR.  JONAS. 


Mr.  Pecksniff  was  in  a  hackney  cabriolet,  for 
Jonas  Chuzzlewit  had  said  "Spare  no  expense." 
Mankind  is  evil  in  its  thoughts  and  in  its  base 
constructions,  and  Jonas  was  resolved  it  should 
not  have  an  inch  to  stretch  into  an  ell  against 
him.  It  never  should  be  charged  upon  his  fa- 
ther's son  that  he  had  grudged  the  money  for  his 
father's  funeral.  Hence,  until  the  obsequies  should 
be  concluded,  Jonas  had  taken  for  his  motto 
"Spend,  and  spiire  not!" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had  been  to  the  undertaker,  and 
was  now  upon  his  way  to  another  officer  in  the 
train  of  mourning — a  female  functionary,  a  nurse, 
and  watcher,  and  performer  of  nameless  offices 
about  the  persons  of  the  dead — whom  he  had  re- 
commended. Her  name,  as  Mr.  Pecksniff  had 
githered  from  a  scrap  of  writing  in  his  hand,  was 
(i.unp;  her  residence  in  Kingsgate  Street,  High 
Holborn.  So  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  a  hackney  cab, 
was  rattling  over  Holborn  stones,  in  quest  of 
Mrs.  Gamp. 

This  lady  lodged  at  a  bird-fancier's ;  next  door 
but  one  to  the  celebrated  mutton-pie  shop,  and 
directly  opposite  to  the  original  cat's  meat  ware- 
house ;  the  renown  of  which  establishments  was 
duly  heralded  on  their  respective  fronts.  It  was 
a  little  house,  and  this  was  the  more  convenient; 
for  Mrs.  Gamp  being,  in  her  highest  walk  of  art, 
a  monthly  nurse,  or,  as  her  sign-board  boldly  had 
it,  "  Midwife,"  and  lodging  in  the  first-floor-front, 
was  easil};  assailable  i/t  night  by  pebbles,  walking- 
sticks,  and  fragments  of  tobacco-pipe:  all  much 
more  efficacious  than  the  street-door  knocker, 
which  was  so  constructed  as  to  wake  the  street 
with  ease,  and  even  spread  ai.irms  of  fire  in  Hol- 
born, without  making  the  smallest  impression  on 
the  prtini'ses  to  which  it  was  addressed 


It  chanced  on  this  particular  occasion  that 
Mrs.  Gamp  had  been  up  all  the  previous  night,  in 
attendance  upon  a  ceremony  to  which  the  usage 
of  gossips  has  given  that  name  which  expresses, 
in  two  syllables,  the  curse  pronounced  on  Adam. 
It  chanced  that  Mrs.  Gamp  had  not  been  regu 
larly  engaged,  but  had  been  called  in  at  a  crisis, 
in  consequence  of  her  great  repute,  to  assist  an. 
other  professional  lady  with  her  advice;  and  thus 
it  happened  that,  all  pwints  of  interest  in  the  case 
being  over,  Mrs.  Gamp  had  come  home  again  to 
the  bird-fancier's,  and  gone  to  bed.  So  when  Mr 
Pecksniff  drove  up  in  the  hacksey  cab,  Mrs 
Gamp's  curtains  were  drawn  close,  and  Mrs 
Gamp  was  fast  asleep  behind  them.  ^ 

If  the  bird-fancier  had  been  at  home,  as  he 
ought  to  have  been,  there  would  have  been  no 
great  harm  in  this ;  but  he  was  out,  and  his  shop 
was  closed.  The  shutters  were  down  certainly; 
and  in  every  pane  of  glass  there  was  at  least  one 
tiny  bird  in  a  tiny  bird-cage,  twittering  and  hop- 
ping his  little  ballet  of  despair,  and  knocking  his 
head  against  the  roof;  while  one  unhappy  go.d- 
finch  who  lived  outside  a  red  villa  with  his  name 
on  the  door,  drew  the  water  for  his  own  drinking, 
and  mutely  appealed  to  some  good  mm  to  drop  a 
farthing's  worth  of  poison  in  it.  Still,  the  door 
was  shut.  Mr.  Pecksniff  tried  the  latrh,  and 
shook  it,  causing  a  cracked  bell  inside  to  ring 
most  mournfully ;  but  no  one  came.  The  bird- 
fancier  was  an  easy  shaver  also,  and  a  fasiiiona 
ble  hair-dresser  also;  and  perhaps  he  had  been 
sent  for,  express,  from  the  court  end  of  the  town, 
to  trim  a  lord,  or  cut  and  curl  a  lady  ;  but  however 
tliat  miglit  be,  there,  upon  his  own  ground,  ho 
was  not;  nor  was  there  any  more  distinct  tract- 
of  h'm  'o  assist  the  iinagiiiatioii  of  an  inijuire'' 


126 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


than  a  professional  print  or  emblem  of  his  calling 
(much  favoured  in  the  trade),  representing  a  hair- 
dresser of  easy  manners  curling  a  lady  of  distin- 
guished fashion,  in  the  presence  of  a  patent  up- 
right grand  piano. 

Noting  these  circumstances,  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in 
the  innocence  of  his  heart,  applied  himself  to  the 
knocker ;  but  at  tlie  very  first  double  knock,  every 
window  in  the  street  became  alive  with  female  j 
heads :  and  before  he  could  repeat  the  perform- 
ance, whole  troops  of  married  ladies  (some  about 
to  trouble  Mrs.  Gamp  themselves,  very  shortly) 
came  flocking  round  the  steps  :  all  crying  out 
with  one  accord,  and  with  uncommon  interest, 
**  Knock  at  the  winder,  sir,  knock  at  the  winder. 
Lord  bless  you,  don't  lose  no  more  time  than  you 
can  help — knock  at  the  winder  1" 

Acting  upon  this  suggestion,  and  borrowing 
the  driver's  whip  for  the  purpose,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
soon  made  a  commotion  among  the  first-floor 
flower-pots,  and  roused  Mrs.  Gamp,  whose  voice 
— to  the  great  satisfaction  of  the  matrons  —  was 
heard  to  sa}',  "I'm  coming." 

"He's  as  pale  as  a  muffin,"  said  one  lady,  in 
allusion  to  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  So  he  ought  to  be,  if  he 's  the  feelings  of  a 
man,"  observed  another. 

A  third  lady  (with  her  arms  folded)  said  she 
wished  he  had  chosen  any  ether  time  for  fetching 
Mrs.  Gamp,  but  it  always  happened  so  with  her. 
It  gave  Mr.  Pecksniff  much  uneasiness  to  find 
from  these  remarks  that  he  was  supposed  to  have 
come  to  Mrs.  Gump  upon  an  errand  touching  — 
not  the  close  of  life,  but  the  other  end.  Mrs. 
Gamp  herself  was  under  the  same  impression,  for 
throwing  open  the  window,  she  cried  behind  the 
cartains,  as  she  hastily  attired  herself — 
"  Is  it  Mrs.  Perkins  ?" 

"  No  1"  returned  Mr.  Pecksniff,  sharply,  "  no- 
thing of  the  sort." 

"  What,  Mr.  Whilks !"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp.  "Don't 
Bay  it's  you,  Mr.  Whilks,  and  that  poor  creetur 
Mrs.  Whilks  with  not  even  a  pincushion  ready. 
Don't  say  it's  you,  Mr.  Whilks  I" 

"It  isn't  Mr.  Whilks,"  said  Pecksniff.  "I  don't 
know  the  man.     Nothing  of  the  kind.    A  gentle- 
man is  dead ;  and  some  person  being  wanted   in 
ithe  house,  you  have  been  recommended  by  Mr. 
Mould,  the  undertaker." 

As  she  was  by  this  time  in  a  condition  to  ap- 
pear, Mrs.  Gamp,  who  had  a  face  for  all  occasions, 
looked  out  of  the  window  with  her  mourning 
countenance,  and  said  she  would  be  down  directly. 
But  the  matrons  took  it  very  ill,  that  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff's mission  was  of  so  unimportant  a  kind ; 
and  the  lady  with  her  arms  folded  rated  him  in 
good  round  terms,  signifying  tliat  she  would  be 
glad  to  know  what  he  meant  by  terrifying  deli- 
cate females  "  with  his  corpses  ;"  and  giving  it  as 
her  opinion  that  he  was  quite  ugly  enough  to 
know  better.  The  other  hidies  wore  not  at  all 
behind-hand  in  expressing  similar  sentiments; 
and  the  children,  of  whom  some  scores  had  now 
collected,  hooted  and  defied  Mr.  Pecksniff  quite 
savagely.  So  when  Mrs.  Gamp  appeared,  the 
unoffending  gentleman  was  glad  to  hustle  her 
with  very  little  ceremony  into  the  cabriolet,  and 
irive  off  overwhelmed  with  popuhir  execration. 

Mrs.  G;imp  had  a  large  bundle  willi  her,  a  pair 
t)!* pattens,  and  a  species  of  j/ig  umbrella  ;  the  lat- 


ter article  in  colour  like  a  faded  leaf,  except 
where  a  circular  patch  of  a  lively  blue  had  been 
de.xterously  let  in  at  the  top.  She  was  much 
flurried  by  the  haste  she  had  made,  and  laboured 
under  the  most  erroneous  views  of  cabriolets, 
which  she  appeared  to  confound  with  mail-coaches 
or  stage-wagons,  inasmuch  as  she  was  constantly 
endeavouring  for  the  first  half  mile  to  force  her 
luggage  through  the  little  front  window,  and  cla- 
mouring to  the  driver  to  "  put  it  in  the  boot." 
When  she  was  disabused  of  this  idea,  her  whole 
being  resolved  itself  mto  an  absorbing  anxiety 
about  her  pattens,  with  which  she  played  innu- 
merable games  at  quoits,  on  Mr.  Pecksniff's  legs. 
It  was  not  until  they  were  close  upon  the  house 
of  mourning  that  she  had  enough  composure  to 
observe — 

"  And  so  the  gentleman 's  dead,  sir !  Ah  !  The 
more 's  the  pity"  —  she  didn't  even  know  liis 
name.  "  But  it 's  what  we  must  all  come  to. 
It's  as  certain  as  being  born,  except  that  we  can't 
make  our  calculations  as  exact.  Ah !  Poor 
dear !" 

She  was  a  fat  old  woman,  this  Mrs.  Gamp, 
with  a  husky  voice  and  a  moist  eye,  which  she 
had  a  remarkable  power  of  turning  up,  and  only 
showing  the  white  of.  Having  very  little  neck, 
it  cost  her  some  trouble  to  look  over  herself,  if 
one  may  say  so,  at  those  to  whom  she  talked. 
She  wore  a  very  rusty  black  gown,  rather  the 
worse  for  snuff,  and  a  shawl  and  bonnet  to  corre- 
spond. In  these  dilapidated  articles  of  dress  she 
had,  on  principle,  arrayed  herself,  time  out  of 
mind,  on  such  occasions  as  the  present;  lor  thij 
at  once  expressed  a  decent  amount  of  veneration 
for  the  deceased,  and  invited  the  next  of  kin  lo 
present  her  with  a  fresher  suit  of  weeds  :  an  ap- 
peal so  frequently  successful,  that  the  very  i'vi:\: 
and  ghost  of  Mrs.  Gamp,  bonnet  and  all,  migiil 
be  seen  hanging  up,  any  hour  in  the  day,  in  at 
least  a  dozen  of  tiie  second-hand  clothes  shops 
about  Holborn.  The  face  of  Mrs.  Gamp — the  nnst 
in  particular — was  somewhat  red  and  swoln,  and 
it  was  difficult  to  enjoy  her  society  without  be- 
coming conscious  of  a  smell  of  spirits.  Like 
most  persons  who  have  attained  to  great  eminence 
in  their  profession,  she  took  to  hers  very  kindly  ; 
insomuch,  that  setting  aside  her  natural  predilec- 
tions as  a  woman,  she  went  to  a  lying-in  or  a 
laying-out  with  equal  zest  and  relish. 

"  Ah  I"  repeated  Mrs.  Gump ;  for  it  was  always 
a  sate  sentiment  in  cases  of  mourning.  "  Ah 
dear !  When  Gamp  was  summoned  to  his  long 
home,  and  I  see  him  a-lying  in  Guy's  Hospital 
with  a  penny-piece  on  each  eye,  and  his  wooden 
leg  under  his  left  arm,  I  thought  I  should  have 
fainted  away.     But  I  bore  up." 

If  certain  whispers  current  in  the  Kingsgute 
Street  circles  had  any  truth  in  them,  she  ht-d  in- 
deed borne  up  surprisingly;  and  had  exerted  such 
uncommon  fortitude,  as  to  dispose  of  Mr.  Gamp's 
remains  for  the  benefit  of  science.  But  it  sht)uld 
bo  added,  in  fairness,  that  this  had  hapixMicii 
twenty  years  ago;  and  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  (j,i!ii() 
had  long  been  separated,  on  the  ground  of  incoia- 
patibility  of  temper  in  their  drink. 

"  You  have  become  indifferent  since  then.  I 
suppose  ?"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  Use  is  second 
nature,  Mrs.  Gamp." 

"  You  may    well  say  second   rater,  sir."  '"o 


MARTIN   CnUZZLEVVIT. 


1^7 


turned  that  lady.  "One's  first  ways  is  to  find 
sich  things  a  trial  to  the  feelings ;  and  so  is  one's 
lasting  custom.  If  it  wasn't  for  the  nerve  a  little 
sip  of  liquor  give  nie  (I  never  was  able  tc  do  more 
than  taste  it)  I  never  could  go  through  with  what 
I  sometimes  have  to  do.  '  Mrs.  Harris,'  I  says, 
at  the  very  last  case  as  ever  I  acted  in,  which  it 
was  but  a  young  person;  'Mrs.  Harris,'  I  says, 
leave  the  bottle  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  don't 
ask  me  to  take  none,  but  let  me  put  my  lips  to  it 
when  I  am  so  dispoged,  and  then  I  will  do  what 
I'm  engaged  to  do,  according  to  the  best  of  my 
ability.'  '  Mrs.  Gamp,'  she  says,  in  answer,  '  if 
ever  there  was  a  sober  creetur  to  be  got  at  eigh- 
teen pence  a  day  for  working  people,  and  three 
and  six  for  gentlefolks — night  watching, "  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  with  emphasis,  "'being  a  extra 
charge  —  you  are  that  inwalable  person.'  '  Mrs. 
Harris,'  I  says  to  her,  'don't  name  the  charge,  for 
if  I  could  atford  to  lay  all  my  feller  creeturs  out 
for  nothink,  I  would  gladly  do  it;  sich  is  the  love 
I  bear  'em.  But  vviiat  I  always  says  to  them  as 
has  the  management  of  matters,  Mrs.  Harris'  " — 
here  she  kept  lier  eye  on  Mr.  Pecksniff —  "  '  be 
they  gents  or  be  they  ladies  —  is,  don't  ask  me 
whether  I  won't  take  ijone,  or  whether  I  will,  but 
leave  the  bottle  on  the  chimley-piece,  and  let  me 
put  my  lips  to  it  when  I  am  so  dispoged.' " 

The  conclusion  of  this  affecting  narrative 
brought  them  to  the  house.  In  the  passage  they 
encountered  Mr.  Mould  the  undertaker :  a  little 
elderly  gentleman,  bald,  and  in  a  suit  of  black  ; 
with  a  note-book  in  his  hand,  a  massive  gold 
watch-chain  dangling  from  his  fob,  and  a  face  in 
which  a  queer  attempt  at  melancholy  was  at  odds 
with  a  smirk  of  satisfaction ;  so  that  he  looked  as 
a  man  might  who,  in  the  very  act  of  smacking 
his  lips  over  choice  old  wine,  tried  to  make  believe 
it  was  physic. 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gamp,  and  how  are  you,  Mrs. 
Gamp  ?"  said  this  gentleman,  in  a  voice  as  soft  as 
his  step. 

•'  Pretty  well,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  dropping  a 
curtsey. 

"  You  '11  be  very  particular  here,  Mrs.  Gamp. 
This  is  not  a  common  case,  Mrs.  Gamp.  Let 
everything  be  very  nice  and  comfortable,  Mrs. 
Gamp,  if  you  please,"  said  the  undertaker,  shaking 
his  head  with  a  solemn  air. 

"  It  shall  be,  sir,"  she  replied,  curtseying  again. 
'*  You  knows  me  of  old,  sir,  I  hope." 

"I  hope  so,  too,  Mrs.  Gamp,"  said  the  under- 
taker; "and  I  think  so  also."  Mrs.  Gamp  curt- 
seyed again.  "  This  is  one  of  the  most  impres- 
sive cases,  sir,"  he  continued,  addressing  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  "  that  I  have  seen  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  professional  experience." 

"  Indeed,  Mr.  Mould  I"  cried  that  gentleman. 

"  Such  affectionate  regret,  sir,  I  never  saw. 
There  is  no  limitation — there  is  positively  no  lim- 
itation,"—  opening  his  eyes  wide,  and  standing  on 
tiptoe,  "  in  point  of  expense.  I  have  orders,  sir, 
to  put  on  my  whole  establishment  of  mutes ;  and 
mutes  como  very  dear,  Mr.  Pecksniff;  not  to  men- 
tion their  drink.  To  provide  silver-p  aied  handles 
of  the  very  best  description,  ornamented  with 
angels'  heads  from  the  most  expensive  dit-s.  To 
be  perfectly  profuse  in  feathers.  In  short,  sir,  to 
turn  out  something  absolutely  gorgeous." 


"  My  friend  Mr.  Jonas  is  an  excellent  man," 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  I  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  what  is  filial  in  niy 
time,  sir,"  retorted  Mould,  "  and  of  what  is  uii- 
filial  too.  It  is  our  lot  We  come  into  the 
knowledge  of  those  secrets.  But  anything  sc 
filial  as  this;  anything  so  honourable  to  human 
nature ;  so  calculated  to  reconcile  all  of  us  to  the 
world  we  live  in ;  never  yet  came  under  my  ob- 
servation. It  (nly  proves,  sir,  what  was  so  forci 
bly  observed  by  the  lamented  theatrical  poet 
buried — at  Stratford — that  there  is  good  in  every 
thing." 

"  It  is  very  pleasant  to  hear  you  say  so,  Mr 
Mould,"  observed  Mr  Pecksniff. 

"  You  are  very  kind,  sir.  And  what  a  man 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit  was,  sir  !  Ah  !  what  a  man  he 
was.  You  may  talk  of  your  lord  mayors,"  said 
Mould,  waving  his  hand  at  the  public  in  general, 
"your  sheriffs,  your  common  councilmen,  your 
trumpery  ;  but  show  me  a  man  in  this  city  who 
is  wortiiy  to  walk  in  the  shoes  of  tiie  departed 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  No,  no,"  cried  Mould,  with  bit 
ter  sarcasm.  "  Hang  'em  up,  hang  'em  up  ;  sole 
'em  and  heel  'em,  and  have  'em  ready  for  his  son 
against  he's  old  enough  to  wear  'em;  but  don't 
try  'em  on  yourselves,  for  they  won't  fit  you.  We 
knew  him,"  said  Mould,  in  the  same  biting  vein, 
as  he  pocketed  his  note-book;  "  we  knew  him,  and 
are  not  to  be  caught  with  chaff.  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
sir,  good  morning." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  returned  the  compliment;  and 
Mould,  sensible  of  having  disting».\siied  himseif 
was  going  away  with  a  brisk  smile,  wlien  he  for- 
tunately remembered  the  occasion.  Quickly  be- 
coming depressed  again,  he  sighed  ;  looked  into 
the  crown  of  his  hat,  as  if  for  comfort;  put  it  on 
without  finding  any  ;  and  slowly  departed. 

Mrs.  Gamp  and  Mr.  Pecksniff  then  ascended 
the  staircase;  and  t'le  former,  having  been  shown 
to  the  chamber  in  which  all  that  remained  of 
Anthony  Chuzzlewit  lay  covered  up,  with  but  oii« 
loving  heart,  and  that  a  halting  one,  to  mourn  it, 
left  the  latter  free  to  enter  the  darkened  room  be- 
low, and  rejoin  Mr.  Jonas,  from  whom  he  had 
now  been  absent  nearly  two  hours. 

He  found  that  example  to  bereaved  sons  anU 
pattern  in  the  eyes  of  all  performers  of  funerals, 
musing  over  a  fragment  of  writing-paper  on  the 
desk,  and  scratching  figures  on  it  with  a  pen.  The 
old  man's  chair,  and  hat,  and  walking-itick,  wtre 
remored  from  their  accustomed  places,  and  (lut  out 
of  sight;  the  window-blinds,  as  yellow  as  Noveoi- 
her  fogs,  were  drawn  down  close ;  Jonas  himself 
was  so  subdued,  that  he  could  scarcely  be  heard 
to  speak,  and  only  seen  to  walk  across  the  room. 

"  Pecksniff,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "  you  sliall 
have  the  regulation  of  it  all,  mind.     You  shall  be 
able  to  tell  anybody  who  talks  about  it  that  every 
thing  was  correctly  and  freely  done.     There  isu'i 
any  one  you  'd  like  tb  ask  to  the  funeral,  is  there  /" 

"  No,  Mr.  Jonas,  I  think  not." 

"Because  if  there  is,  you  know,"  said  Jonas, 
"  ask  him.  We  don't  want  to  make  a  secret  of 
it." 

"  No,"  repeated  Mr.  Pecksniff,  after  a  little  re 
flection.  "  I  am  not  the  less  obliged  to  you  oi' 
that  account,  Mr.  Jonas,  for  your  libt.ru'  hospila" 
ty  ;  but  there  really  is  no  one  " 


128 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  Very  well,"  said  Jonas  ;  "  then  you,  and  I, 
•ind  Cliuffey,  and  tlie  doctor,  will  be  just  a  coach- 
ful.  We'll  have  the  doctor,  Pecksniff,  because 
he  knows  what  was  the  matter  with  him,  and 
lh:,t  it  couldn't  be  helped." 

"  Where  is  our  dear  friend,  Mr.  Chuffey  ?' 
opked  Pecksniff,  looking  round  the  chamber,  and 
winking  both  his  eyes  at  once — for  he  was  over- 
come by  his  feelings. 

Hut  here  he  was  interrupted  by  Mrs.  Gamp, 
who,  divested  of  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  came  si- 
dling and  bridling  into  the  room ;  and,  with  some 
sharpness,  demanded  a  conference  outside  the 
door  with  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  You  may  say  whatever  you  wish  to  say  here, 
Mrs.  Gamp,"  said  that  gentleman,  shakmg  his 
head  with  a  melancholy  expression. 

"  It  is  not  much  as  I  have  to  say,  when  people 
is  a  mourning  for  the  dead  and  gone,"  said  Mrs. 
Gamp ;  "  but  what  I  have  to  say  is  to  the  pint 
and  purpose,  and  no  offence  intended,  must  be  so 
C(>nsidcred.  I  have  been  at  a  many  places  in  my 
time,  gentlemen,  and  I  hope  I  knows  what  my 
duties  is,  and  how  the  same  should  be  performed: 
in  course,  if  I  did  not,  it  would  be  very  strange, 
and  very  wrong  in  sich  a  gentleman  as  Mr. 
Mould,  which  has  undertook  the  highest  families 
in  this  land,  and  given  every  satisfaction,  so  to 
recommend  me  as  he  does.  I  have  seen  a  deal 
of  trouble  my  own  self,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  laying 
greater  and  greater  stress  upon  her  words,  "  and 
I  can  feel  for  them  as  has  their  feelings  tried : 
but  I  am  not  a  Rooshan  or  a  Prooshan,  and  con- 
's quently  cannot  suffer  Spies  to  be  set  over  me." 

Before  it  was  possible  that  an  answer  could  be 
returned,  Mrs.  Gamp,  now  growing  redder  in  the 
face,  went  on  to  say  : 

"  It  is  not  a  easy  matter,  gentlemen,  to  live 
when  you  are  lefl  a  widder  woman ;  particular 
when  your  feelings  works  upon  you  to  that  ex- 
tent that  you  often  find  yourself  a  going  out  on 
terms  which  is  a  certain  loss,  and  never  can  repay. 
Hut,  in  whatever  way  you  earns  your  bread,  you 
may  have  rules  and  regulations  of  your  own, 
which  cannot  be  broke  through.  Some  people," 
B;iid  Mrs.  Gamp,  again  enirenching  herself  be- 
hind her  strong  point,  as  if  it  were  not  assailable 
by  human  ingenuity,  "may  be  Rooshans,  and 
some  may  be  Prooshans ;  they  are  born  so,  and 
will  please  themselves.  Them  which  is  of  other 
naturs  thinks  different." 

"  If  I  understand  this  good  lady,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  turning  to  Joijus,  "  Mr.  Cnuffey  is 
troublesome  to  her.     Shall  I  fetch  him  down  ?" 

"  Do,"  siiid  Jonas.  "  I  was  going  to  tell  you 
he  was  up  there,  when  she  came  in.  I  'd  go 
myself  and  bring  him  down,  only — only  I  'd  ra- 
ther you  went,  if  you  don't  mind  it." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  promptly  departed,  followed  by 
Mrs  Gump,  who,  seeing  that  he  took  a  bottle  and 
gidss  from  the  cu|)board,  and  carried  it  in  his 
hijiid,  Wiis  much  softened. 

"  I  am  sure,"  slie  said,  "  that  if  it  wasn't  for 
lus  own  happiness,  I  should  no  more  mind  his 
being  there,  poor  dear,  tlian  if  he  was  a  fly.  But 
them  as  isn't  used  to  these  thmgs,  thinks  so  much 
of  'em  afterwards,  that  it's  a  kindness  to  'cm  not 
to  let  'tin  liave  their  wish.  And  even,"  suid  Mrs. 
(iuinp,  probably  in  reference  to  some  flowers  ol" 
H»eech  she  hud  already  strewn  on   Mr.  Chuti'ey, 


"even  if  one  calls  'em  names,  it's  only  done  to 
rouse  'em." 

Whatever  epithets  she  had  bestowed  upKjn  the 
old  clerk,  thev  had  not  roused  Itim.  He  sat  beside 
the  bed,  in  the  chair  he  had  occupied  all  the  pre- 
vious night,  with  his  hands  folded  before  him,  and 
his  head  bowed  down;  and  neither  looked  up,  on 
their  entrance,  nor  gave  any  sign  of  conscious- 
ness,  until  Mr.  Pecksniff  took  him  by  the  arm, 
when  he  meekly  rose. 

"Three  score  and  ten,"  said  Chuffey,  "ought 
and  carry  seven.  Some  men  are  so  strong  that 
they  live  to  fourscore — lour  times  ought 's  an 
ought,  four  times  two  's  eight — eighty.  Oh  !  why 
— why — why — didn't  he  live  to  four  times  ought's 
an  ought,  and  four  times  two's  eight — eighty?" 

"Ah  I  what  a  wale  of  grief  I"  cried  Mrs. 
Gamp,  possessing  herself  of  the  bottle  and  glass. 

"  Why  did  he  die  before  his  poor  old  crazy  ser- 
vant !"  said  Chuffey,  clasping  his  hands  and  look- 
ing up  in  anguish.  "  Take  him  from  me,  and 
wliat  remains  ? 

"  Mr.  Jonas,"  returned  Pecksniff,  "  Mr.  Jonas, 
my  good  friend." 

"  I  loved  him,"  cried  the  old  man,  weeping. 
"  He  was  good  to  me.  We  learnt  Tare  and  Tret 
together,  at  school.  I  took  liiin  down  once,  six 
boys,  in  the  arithmetic  cLss.  God  forgive  mc  ! 
Had  I  the  heart  to  take  him  down  !" 

"Come,  Mr.  Chuffey,"  said  Pecksniff,  "come 
with  me.  Summon  up  your  fortitude,  Mr. 
Chuffey." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  returned  the  old  clerk.  "  Yes. 
I  'II  sum  up  my  forty — How  many  time's  forty — 
Oh,  Chuzzlewit  and  Son — Your  own  son,  Mr 
Chuzzlewit;  your  own  son.  Sir  !" 

He  yielded  to  the  hand  that  guided  him,  as  he 
lapsed  into  this  familiar  expression,  and  submitted 
to  be  led  away.  Mrs.  Gamp,  with  the  bottle  on 
one  knee,  and  the  glass  in  the  other,  sat  upon  a 
stool,  shaking  her  head  for  a  long  time,  until,  in 
a  moment  of  abstraction,  she  poured  out  a  dram 
of  spirits,  and  raised  it  to  her  lips.  It  was  suc- 
ceeded by  a  second,  and  by  a  third,  and  then  hiT 
eyes — either  in  the  sadness  of  her  reflections  upon 
fife  and  death,  or  in  her  admiration  of  the  liquor 
— were  so  turned  up  as  to  be  quite  invisible.  But 
she  shook  her  head  still. 

Poor  Chuffey  was  conducted  to  his  accustomed 
corner,  and  there  he  remained,  silent  and  quiet, 
save  at  long  intervals,  when  he  would  rise,  and 
walk  about  the  room,  and  wring  his  hands,  or 
raise  some  strange  and  sudden  cry.  For  a  whole 
week  they  all  three  sat  about  the  hearth  and  never 
stirred  abroad.  Mr.  Pecksnitf  would  have  walk- 
ed out  in  the  evening  time,  but  Jonas  was  so 
averse  to  his  being  absent  for  a  minute,  that  he 
abandoned  the  idea,  and  so,  from  morning  until 
night,  they  brooded  together  in  the  dark  •ot)m, 
witliout  relief  or  occupation. 

The  wcigltt  of  that  which  was  stretched  out 
stiff  and  stark,  in  the  awful  chamber  above  stairs, 
so  crushed  and  bore  down  Jonas,  that  he  bent  be- 
neath the  load.  During  the  whole  long  seven 
days  and  nights,  he  was  always  oppressed  and 
haunted  by  a  dreadful  sense  of  Its  presence  in  the 
house.  Did  the  door  move,  he  looked  towards  it 
with  a  livid  face  and  starting  eye,  as  if  he  fully 
believed  that  ghostly  fingers  clutched  the  handle 
Did  the  fire  flicker  in  a  draught  of  air,  he  glanced 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


129 


OTv  •  is  shouldrr,  as  almost  dreading'  to  behold 
BoiiK.  shroud(d  figure  fanning-  and  flapping  at 
It  wii.i  its  tearful  dress.  The  lightest  noise  dis- 
I'.irbeu  him  ;  and  oncf;,  in  the  night,  at  the  sound 
of  a  fLolstep  ovcr-luad,  he  cried  out  that  the  dead 
man  was  walking — tramp,  tramp,  tramp — about 
his  cntRfi. 

He  l.iy  at  night  upon  a  mattress  on  the  floor  of 
Uie  silting-room,  his  own  chamber  having  been 
assigned  to  Mrs.  Gamp;  and  Mr.  PecksnitF  was 
similarly  accommodated.  The  howling  of  a  dog 
before  the  house,  filled  him  with  a  terror  he  could 
not  disguise.  He  a-oided  the  reflection  in  the 
opposite  windows  of  the  light  that  burned  above, 
as  though  it  had  been  an  angry  eye.  He  often, 
in  every  night,  rose  up  from  his  fitful  sleep,  and 
looked  and  longed  for  dawn;  all  directions  and 
arrangements,  even  to  the  ordering  of  their  daily 
mertls,  he  abandoned  to  Mr.  Pecksnift'.  That 
excellent  genlh-in.in,  deeming  that  the  mourner 
wanted  comtiirt,  and  that  high  feeding  was  likely 
to  do  him  infinite  service,  availed  himself  of  these 
opportunities  to  such  good  purpose,  that  they  kept 
quite  a  dainty  table  during  this  melanciioly  sea- 
son ;  with  sweethreads,  stewed  kidneys,  oysters, 
and  other  such  light  viands,  for  supper  every 
night;  over  wliich,  and  sundry  jorums  of  hot 
punch,  Mr.  Pecksniff  delivered  sucli  moral  reflec- 
tions and  spiritual  consolation  as  might  have  con- 
verted a  hcathea  —  especially  if  he  had  had  but 
an  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the  English 
tongue. 

Nor  did  Mr.  Pecksniff  alone  indulge  in  the 
creature  comforts  during  this  sid  time.  Mrs. 
(iamp  proved  to  be  very  choice  in  her  eating,  and 
repudiated  hashed  mutton  with  scorn.  In  her 
drinking,  too,  she  was  very  punctual  and  particu- 
lar, requiring  a  pint  of  mild  porter  at  lunch,  a  pint 
at  dinner,  half  a  pint  as  a  species  of  stay  or  hold- 
fast hetween  dinner  and  tea,  and  a  pint  of  the 
celebrated  staggering  ale,  or  Real  Old  Brighton 
Tipper,  at  supper ;  besides  theJiottle  on  the  chim- 
ney-piece, and  such  casual  invitations  to  refresh 
herself  with  wine  as  the  good-breeding  of  her 
employers  miijht  prompt  them  to  offer.  In  like 
mannor,  Mr.  Mould's  men  found  it  necessary  to 
drown  their  grief,  like  a  young  kitten  in  the  morn- 
ing of  its  existence;  for  which  reason  they  gene- 
rally fuddled  themselves  before  they  began  to  do 
anything,  lest  it  should  make  head,  and  get  the 
better  of  them.  In  short,  the  whole  of  that  strange 
week  was  a  round  of  dismal  joviality  and  grim 
enjoyment;  and  every  one,  except  poor  ChufFey, 
who  came  within  the  shadow  of  Anlliony  Chuzzle- 
wit's  grave,  le.isted  like  a  ghoule. 

At  length  the  day  of  the  funeral,  pious  and 
truthful  ceremony  that  it  was,  arrived,  Mr. 
Mould,  with  a  glass  of  generous  port  bet.ween  his 
eye  and  the  light,  leaned  against  the  desk  in  the 
little  glass  office,  with  his  gold  watch  in  his  un- 
occupied hand,  and  conversed  with  Mrs.  Gamp; 
two  mutes  were  at  the  house-door,  looking  as 
mournful  as  could  be  reasonably  expected  of  men 
with  such  a  thriving  job  in  hand;  the  whole  of 
Mr.  Mould's  establishment  were  on  duty  within 
the  house,  or  without;  feathers  waved,  horses 
Rnorted,  silks  and  velvets  fluttered  ;  in  a  word,  as 
Mr.  Mould  emphatically  said,  "everything  that 
money  could  do,  was  done." 

"And  what  can  do  more,  Mrs.  Gamp?"  ex- 
17 


claimed  the  undertaker,  as  he  emptied  his  glass 
and  smacked  his  lips. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,  sir." 

"  Nothing  in  the  world,"  repeated  Mr.  Mould. 
"You  are  right,  Mrs.  (iamp.  Why  do  people 
spend  more  money" — here  he  filled  his  glass  ag.iin 
— "  upon  a  death,  Mrs.  Gamp,  than  upon  a  hirlli  ! 
Come,  that 's  in  your  way  ;  you  ought  to  know. 
How  do  you  account  for  that,  now  ?" 

"  Perhaps  it  is  because  an  undertaker's  chargt-s 
comes  dearer  than  a  nurse's  charges,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  tittering,  and  smoothing  down  iier 
new  black  dress  with  her  hands. 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  Mr.  Mould.  "You  have 
been  breakfasting  at  somebody's  expense  this 
morning,  Mrs.  Gamp."  But  seeing,  by  the  aid 
of  a  little  shaving-glass  which  hung  opposiie,  liiat 
he  looked  merry,  he  composed  his  features,  ami 
became  sorrowful. 

"  Many  's  the  time  that  I  've  not  breakfasted  at 
my  own  expense,  along  of  your  kind  recommend- 
ing, sir;  and  many  's  the  time  I  hope  to  do  the 
same  in  time  to  come,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  with  an 
apologetic  curtsey. 

"So  be  it,"  replied  Mr.  Mould,  "please  Provi- 
dence.  No,  Mrs  Gamp;  I'll  tell  you  why  it  is. 
It 's  because  the  laying  out  of  money  with  a  weli- 
conducted  establishment,  where  the  tiling  is  per- 
formed upon  the  very  best  scale,  binds  llie  broken 
heart,  and  sheds  balm  upon  the  wounded  spirit. 
Hearts  want  binding,  and  spirits  want  h.ilmiu!;, 
when  people  die  ;  not  when  people  are  born.  Look 
at  this  gentleman  to-day  ;  look  at  him." 

"  An  open-handed  gentleman  1"  cried  Mrs. 
Gamp,  with  enthusiasm. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  undertaker;  "not  an  open- 
handed  gentleman  in  general,  by  any  means 
There  you  mistake  him  :  but  an  afflicted  gentle- 
man, an  affectionate  gentleman,  who  knows  whit 
it  is  in  the  power  of  money  to  do,  in  giving  him 
relief,  and  in  testifying  his  love  and  veneration  t'or 
the  departed.  It  can  give  him,"  said  Mr.  .Mould, 
waving  his  watch-chain  slowly  round  and  round, 
so  that  he  described  one  circle  after  every  item; 
"it  can  give  him  four  horses  to  each  vuiiicle;  il 
can  give  him  velvet  trappings;  it  can  give  hiia 
drivers  in  cloth  cloaks  and  top-boots;  it  cim  give 
him  the  plumage  of  the  ostrich,  dyed  black;  it 
can  give  him  any  number  of  walking  attendants, 
drest  in  the  first  style  of  funeral  fashion,  and  ear- 
rying  batons  tipped  with  brass;  it  can  give  him 
a  handsome  tomb;  it  can  give  him  a  j>lace  in 
Westminster  Abbey  itself,  if  he  choose  to  iiivesi 
it  in  such  a  purchase  Oh  I  do  not  let  us  say  liiat 
gold  is  dross,  when  it  can  buy  such  things  as 
these,  Mrs.  Gamj)." 

"  But  what  a  blessing,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp 
"  that  there  are  such  as  you,  to  sell  or  let  'em  oal 
on  hire!" 

"  Ay,  Mrs.  Gamp,  you  are  right,"  rejoined  tlit 
undertaker.  "  We  should  be  an  honoured  callmif. 
We  do  g<jod  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  have  it  men- 
tioned in  our  little  bills.  How  much  consolation 
may  I — even  I" — cried  Mr.  Mould — "have  dit' 
fused  among  my  fellow-creatures  by  means  of  my 
tour  long-tailed  prancers,  never  harnessed  undei 
ten  pund  ten  !" 

Mrs.  Gamp  had  begun  to  make  a  suitable  reply, 
when  slie  was  interrupted  by  the  appearance  nf 
one  of  Mr.  Mould's  assistants — his  chief  mouriia-, 


130 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


in  fact — an  obese  person,  with  his  waistcoat  in 
(loser  connection  with  his  legs  than  is  quite  re- 
concilable with  the  established  ideas  of  grace  ; 
with  that  cast  of  feature  which  is  figuratively 
called  a  bottle-nose ;  and  with  a  face  covered  all 
over  witli  pimples.  He  had  been  a  tender  plant 
cnce  upon  a  time;  but,  from  constant  blowing  in 
the  f'^t  atmosphere  of  funerals,  had  run  to  seed. 

"  Well,  'I'acker,"  said  Mr.  Mould,  "  is  all  ready 
below  ?" 

"  A  beautiful  show,  sir,"  rejoined  Tacker. 
"The  horse*  are  prouder  and  fresher  than  ever  I 
Bee  'em  ;  and  toss  tlicir  heads,  they  do,  as  if  they 
knowed  how  mucii  their  plumes  cost.  One,  two, 
tliree,  tour,"  said  Mr.  Tacker,  heaping  that  num- 
ber of  black  cloaks  upon  hie  lett  aim. 

•'Is  Toai  there,  witli llie  cake  aed  wioe ?■"  asked 
Mr.  Mould. 

"  Ready  to  come  in  at  a  momeat'e  notice,  sir," 
Baid  Tacker. 

"  Then,"  rejoined  Mr.  Mould,  putting  up  his 
watch,  and  glancing  at  himself  in  the  little  shav- 
ing-glass, thai  he  might  be  sure  his  face  had  the 
right  expression  on  it:  -"then  I  think  we  may 
proceed  to  business.  Give  me  the, paper  of  gloves, 
^'acker.  Ah  what  a  Bian  he  wae  I  Ah  Tacker, 
Tacker,  what  a  man  he  was  !" 

Mr.  Tacker,  who  from  his  great  experience  in 
the  performance  of  funerals,  wouW  have  made  an 
excellent  paiitoraJn7e  actor,  vi'inked  at  Mrs.  Gamp 
without  at  all  disturbing  the  gra-xnty  of  his  coun- 
tf  nance,  and  followed  his  master  into  the  next 
room. 

It  was  a  great  jitoint  with  Mr.  Mould,  and  a 
part  of  hi.s  professional  tact,  not  to  seem  to  know 
the  doctor  —  though  in  reality  they  were  near 
neighbours,  and  very  often,  as  in  the  present  in- 
Btmce,  worked  togethcT.  So  he  advanced  to  fit 
on  his  black  kid  gloves  as  if  he  had  never  seen 
nim  in  all  his  life ;  while  the  doctor,  on  has  part, 
coked  as  distant  and  unconscious  as  if  he  had 
h»ard  and  read  of  undc.-takers,  and  had  passed 
their  shops,  but  had  never  before  been  brought 
into  communication  with  one. 

'Gloves,  eh?"  said  the  doctor.  "  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, after  you." 

"  I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  returned  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  the  doctor,  taking  a 
pair,  "  Well,  sir,  as  I  was  saying — I  was  called 
up  to  attend  that  case  at  about  half-past  one 
o'clock.  Cake  and  wine,  eh?  which  is  port? 
Thank  you." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  took  some  also. 

"  At  about  half-past  one  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
sir,"  resumed  the  doctor,  "  I  was  called  up  to  at- 
tend that  case.  At  the  first  pull  of  the  night-bell 
I  turned  out,  threw  up  the  window,  and  put  out 
my  head.  Cloak,  eh?  Don't  tie  it  too  tight. 
Tliut'lldo." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  having  been  likewise  inducted 
into  a  similar  garment,  the  doctor  resumed. 

"  And  put  out  my  head, — hat,  eh  ?  My  good 
friend,  that  is  not  mine.  Mr.  Pecksniff,  I  bog 
jour  pardon,  but  I  think  we  have  unintentionally 
made  an  exchange.  Thank  you. ,  Well,  sir,  1 
was  going  to  tell  you" — 

**We  are  quite  ready,"  interrupted  Mould  in  a 
Itiw  voice. 

'•R'jadvi  eh?"  euid   the   doctor.     "Very  good. 


Mr.  Pecksniff,  I  '11  take  an  opportunity  ortcliiling 
the  rest  in  the  coach.  It's  rather curiuus.  Ready 
eh  ?     No  rain,  I  hope?" 

"  Quite  fair,  sir,"  returned  Mould. 

"  I  was  afraid  the  ground  would  h.ive  bet-r 
wet,"  said  the  doctor,  "for  my  glass  tell  ye.-le.'. 
day.  We  may  congratulate  oiirst  Ivls  ii|i(in  our 
good  fortune."  But  seeing  by  this  time  that  Mr 
Jonas  and  Chuffey  were  going  out  at  the  door,  lie 
put  a  white  pocket-handkerciiief  to  his  tacc  as  if 
a  violent  burst  of  grief  liad  suddtiily  come  upon 
him,  and  walked  down  side  by  side  with  Mr. 
Pecksniff. 

Mr.  Mould  and  his  men  had  not  exaggerated  the 
grandeur  of  the  arrangements.  They  were  s|jien. 
did.  The  four  hearse-hor.ses  especially,  reared  and 
pranced,  and  showed  their  higliesl  .tcium,  as  it 
they  knew  a  man  was  dead,  and  triunijilied  in  i* 
"  The}'  break  us,  drive  us,  ride  us  ;  ill  iroat,  abu>'e, 
and  maim  us  for  their  pleasure — But  tiiey  die  ; 
Hurrah,  they  die  I" 

So  through  the  narrow  streets  and  winding  city 
ways,  went  Anthony  Chuzzlewit's  funeral  :  Mr. 
Jonas  glancing  stealthily  out  of  the  coach-wiiidu'.v 
now  and  tlhen,  to  ob.s<;rve  its  effect  upon  the 
crowd  ;  Mr.  Mouki,  as  he  walked  along,  listenin-^ 
with  a  sober  pride  to  tl>o  esclumafions  ot"  tiiu  by- 
standers; the  doctor  whispering  his  story  to  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  without  appe-iring  to  come  any  nearer 
t'.e  end  of  it;  and  poor  old  Chuffey  tiobbing  un- 
regarded in  a  comer.  But  he  had  grc.iUy  c^can 
dalised  Mr.  Mould  at  an  early  stage  of  the  cere- 
mony by  carrying  his  Irandkerchiei'  in  his  hat  in 
a  perfectly  informal  raiinner,  and  wiping  his  cy<-» 
with  his  knuckles.  And  as  Mr.  Mould  himself 
had  said  already,  his  behaviour  was  indecent,  and 
quite  unworthy  of  such  an  occasion;  and  lie  ne- 
ver ought  to  have  been  there. 

There  he  was,  however  ;  and  in  the  churchyard 
there  he  wis,  also,  conducting  himself  in  a  no 
less  unbecoming  manner,  and  leaning  for  support 
on  Tacker,  who  plainly  told  hiin  that  he  was  fit 
for  nothing  heller  than  a  walking  funeral.  But 
Chuffey,  Heaven  help  him  !  heard  no  sound  but 
the  echoes,  lingering  in  his  own  heart,  of  a  voice 
for  ever  silent. 

"  I  loved  him,"  cried  the  old  man,  sinking  down 
upon  the  grave  when  all  was  done.  "  He  was 
very  good  to  me.  Oh,  my  dear  old  friend  and 
master !" 

"Come,  come,  Mr.  Chuffey,"  said  the  doctor, 
"this  won't  do;  it's  a  clayey  soil,  .Mr.  Chuffey. 
Yoi)  mustn't   really." 

"If  it  had  been  the  commonest  thing  we  do, 
and  Mr.  Cimtfey  had  bien  a  Bearer,  geiillemcn," 
said  Mould,  easting  an  imploring  ghnce  uiKin 
them,  as  he  helped  to  raise  him,  "  he  couKJii't  have 
gone  on  worse  than  this." 

"  He  a  man,  Mr.  Chuffey,"  said  PeeksnitT: 

"  Be  a  gentleman,  Mr.  Chuffiy,"  said  Vl.iiilH. 

"  I'poii  my  word,  my  good  friend,"  iiuirinured 
the  doctor,  in  a  tone  of  si  itfly  re|)rool",  us  he  sli;,,- 
ped  up  to  the  old  man's  side,  "  this  is  worse  than 
weakness.  This  is  bad,  selfi-^h,  very  wrong,  Mr. 
C^huffey.  You  slH)uld  take  example  from  others, 
my  good  sir.  You  forget  that  you  were  not  C(  n- 
nected  by  ties  ot'  blood  with  our  decreased  friend 
and  that  he  hid  a  very  near  and  very  dear  rcla- 
lion,  Mr.  Chuffey." 

"  Ay,  his  own  son  J"  cried  the  old  man,  clasping 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


131 


.11:;  hnnds  with  remarkable  passion.  "  His  own, 
jwii,  only  eon  I" 

"  Ho  's  not  right  in  his  head,  you  know,"  said 
Ji'nus,  lurnin<r  pule.  "You're  not  to  mind  any- 
thing lie  sjys.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  was  to 
talk  some  precious  nonsense.  But  don't  you  mind 
hiiii,  any  of  you.  I  don't.  My  father  left  him  to 
my  cliirge;  and  whatever  he  says  or  does,  that's 
eiiDUyli.     I'll  take  care  of  him." 

.\  luun  of  admiration  rose  from  the  mourners 
(inchiding  Mr.  Mould  and  his  merry  men)  at  this 
new  instance  of  mafrnanimity  and  kind-feeling  on 
tlie  pirt  of  Jonas.  But  Chutfey  put  it  to  the  test 
nil  farther.  He  said  not  a  word  more,  and  being 
Ii  it  to  himself  for  a  little  while,  crept  back  again 
to  the  coach. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Jonas  turned  pale 
wlieii  tiie  behaviour  of  the  old  clerk  attracted 
jjpnera!  attention;  his  discomposure,  however,  was 
but  momentary,  and  he  soon  recovered.  But 
these  were  not  the  only  changes  he  had  exhibited 
that  day.  The  curious  eyes  of  Mr.  PecksnitF  had 
observed  that  as  soon  as  they  left  the  house  upon 
their  mournful  errand,  he  began  to  mend ;  that  as 
the  ceremonies  proceeded  he  gradually,  by  little 
and  little,  recovered  his  old  condition,  his  old 
looks,  his  old  bearing,  his  old  agreeable  character- 
istics of  speech  and  manner,  and  became,  in  all 
respects,  his  old  pleasant  self.  And  now  that  they 
were  seated  in  the  coach  on  their  return  home  ; 
and  more  when  they  got  there,  and  found  the 
windows  open,  the  light  and  air  admitted,  and  all 
traces  of  the  late  event  removed ;  he  felt  so  well 


convinced  that  Jonas  was  again  the  Jonas  he  had 
known  a  week  ago,  and  not  the  Jonas  of  the  in. 
tervening  time,  that  he  voluntarily  gave  up  his 
recently-acquired  power  without  one  faint  attempt 
to  exercise  it,  and  at  once  fell  back  into  his  former 
position  of  mild  and  dcfererrtial  guest. 

Mrs.  Gamp  went  home  to  the  bird-f  mcier's,  and 
was  knocked  up  again  that  very  night  tor  a  birth 
of  twins ;  Mr.  Mould  dined  gaily  in  tlie  bosom 
of  his  family,  and  passed  the  evening  facetiously 
at  his  club  ;  the  hearse,  after  standing  for  a  long 
time  at  the  door  of  a  roystering  public-house,  re- 
paired to  its  stables  witii  the  feathers  inside  and 
twelve  red-nosed  undertakers  on  the  roof,  each 
holding  on  by  a  dingy  peg,  to  which,  in  times  of 
state,  a  waving  plume  was  fitted ;  the  various 
trappings  of  sorrow  were  carefully  laid  by  in 
presses  for  the  next  hirer ;  the  fiery  steeds  were 
quenched  and  quiet  in  their  stalls ;  the  doctor  got 
merry  with  wine  at  a  wedding-dinner,  and  forgot 
the  middle  of  the  story  which  had  no  end  to  it; 
the  pageant  of  a  few  short  hoars  ago  was  written 
nowhere  half  so  legibly  as  in  the  undertaker's 
books. 

Not  in  the  churchyard  ?  Not  even  there.  The 
gates  were  closed ;  the  night  was  dark  and  wet ; 
and  the  rain  fell  silently,  among  the  stagnant 
weeds  and  nettles.  One  new  mound  was  there 
which  had  not  been  last  night,  Time,  burrowing 
like  a  mole  below  the  ground,  had  marked  his 
track  by  throwing  up  another  heap  of  earth.  And 
that  was  all. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


IS  A  CHAPTER  OF  LOVE. 


"Pkcksniff,"  said  Jonas,  taking  off  his  hat,  to 
see  that  the  black  crape  band  was  all  right;  and 
finding  that  it  was,  putting  it  on  again,  compla- 
cently ;  "  what  do  you  mean  to  give  your  daugh- 
ters when  they  marry  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Jonas,"  cried  the  affectionate 
parent,  with  an  ingenuous  smile,  "  what  a  very 
singular  inquiry !" 

"  Now,  don't  you  mind  whether  it's  a  singular 
inquiry  or  a  jilural  one,"  retorted  Jonas,  eyeing 
Mr.  f'ecksniff  with  no  great  favour,  "  but  answer 
it,  or  let  it  alone.     One  or  the  other." 

"Hum  I  The  question,  my  dear  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  laying  his  hand  tenderly  upon  his 
kinsman's  knee,  "  is  involved  with  many  con- 
siderations.    What  would  I  give  them  ?     Eh  ?" 

"  Ah !  what  would  you  give  'em  ?"  repeated 
Jonas. 

"Why,  that,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "would 
naturally  depend  in  a  great  measure  upon  the 
kind  of  husbands  they  might  choose,  my  dear 
young  friend." 

Mr.  Jon?s  was  evidently  disconcerted,  and  at  a 
lops  how  to  proceed.  It  was  a  good  answer.  It 
seemed  a  deep  one,  but  such  is  the  wisdom  of 
simplicity  ! 

"  My  standard  for  the  merits  I  would  require 
in  a  son-in-law,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  after  a  short 
silence.    '  is  a  high  one.     Forgive  me,  my  dear 


Mr.  Jonas,"  he  added,  greatly  moved,  "  if  I  say 
that  you  have  spoiled  me,  and  made  it  a  fanciful 
one;  an  imaginative  one;  a  piismatically  tinged 
one,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  call  it  so." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?"  growled  Jonas, 
looking  at  him  with  increased  disfavour. 

"  Indeed,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
"you  may  well  inquire.  The  heart  is  not  always 
a  royal  mint,  with  patent  machinery,  to  work 
its  metal  into  current  coin.  Sometimes  it  throws 
it  out  in  strange  forms,  not  easily  recognised  as 
coin  at  all.  But  it  is  sterling  gold.  It  iias  at 
least  that  merit.     It  is  sterling  gold." 

"  Is  it  ?"  grumbled  Jonas,  with  a  doubtful  shake 
of  the  head. 

"Ay!"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  warming  with  his 
subject,  "  it  is.  To  be  plain  with  you,  Mr.  Jonas, 
if  I  could  find  two  such  sons-in-law  as  you  will 
one  day  make  to  some  deserving  man,  capable  of 
appreciating  a  nature  such  as  yours,  I  would  — 
forgetful  of  myselt' — bestow  upon  my  daughters, 
portions  reaching  to  tlie  very  utmost  limit  of  my 
means." 

This  was  strong  language,  and  it  was  earnestly 
delivered.  But  who  can  wonder  that  such  a  man 
as  Mr.  Pecksniff, after  all  he  had  seen  and  heard  of 
Mr.  Jonas,  should  be  strong  and  earnest  upon  such 
a  theme  ;  a  theme  that  touched  even  the  worldly 
lips  of  undertakers  with  the  honey  of  eloquence' 


132 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Mr.  Jonas  was  silent,  and  looked  thoughtfully 
at  the  landscape.  For  they  were  seated  on  the 
tnitside  of  the  coach,  at  tlie  back,  and  were  tra- 
Telling'  down  into  the  country.  He  accompanied 
Mr.  Fecksniff  iioiDe  for  a  few  days'  change  of  air 
and  scene  after  his  recent  trials. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  at  last,  with  captivating  blunt- 
11'  ss,  "  suppose  you  got  one  such  son-in-law  as 
inc,  what  then  ?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  regarded  him  at  first  with  inex- 
pressible surprise;  then  gradually  breaking  into  a 
sort  of  dejected  vivacity,  said  : 

"  Then  well  I  know  whose  husband  he  would 
be!" 

"  Whose  ?"  asked  Jonas,  drily. 

"  My  eldest  girl's,  Mr.  Jonas,"  replied  Peck- 
sniff, with  moistening  eyes.  "My  dear  Cherry's : 
my  staff,  my  scrip,  my  treasure,  Mr.  Jonas.  A 
hard  struggle,  but  it  is  in  the  nature  of  things! 
T  must  one  day  part  with  her  to  a  husband.  I 
know  it,  my  dear  friend.    I  am  prepared  for  it." 

"  Ecod !  you  've  been  prepared  for  that,  a  pretty 
long  time,  I  should  think,"  said  Jonas. 

"  Many  have  sought  to  bear  her  from  me,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  All  have  failed.  'I  never  will 
give  my  hand,  papa,' — those  were  her  words, — 
•  unless  my  heart  is  won.'  She  has  not  been  quite 
60  happy  as  she  used  to  be,  of  late.  I  don't  know 
why." 

Again  Mr.  Jonas  looked  at  the  landscape ;  then 
at  the  coachman  ;  then  at  the  luggage  on  the  roof; 
finally,  at  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"1  suppose  you'll  have  to  part  with  the  other 
one,  some  of  these  days  ?"  he  observed,  as  he 
caught  that  gentleman's  eye. 

"  Probably,"  said  the  parent.  "  Years  will  tame 
down  the  wildness  of  my  foolish  bird,  and  then  it 
will  be  caged.  But  Cherry,  Mr.  Jonas,  Cherry — " 

"  Oh,  ah  !"  interrupted  Jonas.  "  Years  have 
made  her  all  right  enough.  Nobody  doubts  that. 
But  you  haven't  answered  what  I  asked  you.  Of 
course,  you  're  not  obliged  to  do  it,  you  know,  if 
you  don't  like.     You  're  the  best  judge." 

There  was  a  warning  sulkiness  in  the  manner 
of  this  speech,  which  admonished  Mr.  Pecksniff 
that  his  dear  friend  was  no',  to  be  trifled  with  or 
fenced  ofi",  and  that  he  must  either  return  a 
straight-forward  reply  to  his  question,  or  plainly 
give  him  to  understand  that  he  declined  to  en- 
iiifliten  him  tipon  the  subject  to  which  it  referred. 
Mindful  in  this  dilemma  of  the  caution  old  An- 
thony  had  given  him  almost  with  his  latest  breath, 
he  resolved  to  speak  to  the  point,  and  so  told  Mr. 
Jotiiis  —  enhirging  upon  the  communication  as  a 
proof  of  his  great  attachment  and  confidence  — 
that  in  the  case  he  had  put,  to  wit,  in  the  event 
of  such  a  man  as  he  proposing  for  his  daughter's 
hind,  he  would  endow  her  with  a  fortune  of  four 
tiiousand  {munds. 

"  1  should  sadly  pinch  and  cramp  myself  to  do 
scs"  wiis  his  fatherly  remark;  "but  that  would  be 
my  duly,  and  my  consciunce  would  reward  me. 
Tor  myself,  my  conscience  is  my  bank.  I  have 
a  trifle  invested  there — a  mere  irifle  Mr.  Jonas — 
but  I  prize  it  as  a  store  of  value,  I  assure  you." 

The  good  man's  enemies  would  have  divided 
upon  this  question  into  two  parties.  One  would 
have  asserted  without  scruple  that  if  Mr.  Peck- 
•niff's  conscience  were  his  bank,  and  he  kept  a 
running  account  there    lie  must  have  overdrawn 


it  beyond  all  mortal  nieans  of  computation.  The 
other  would  have  contended  that  it  was  a  mere 
fictitious  form ;  a  perfectly  blank  book  ;  or  one  in 
which  entries  were  only  made  with  a  peculiar 
kind  of  invisible  ink  to  become  legible  at  some 
indefinite  time ;  and  that  he  never  troubled  it 
at  all. 

"  It  would  sadly  pinch  and  cramp  me,  n\y  dear 
friend,"  repeated  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  but  Providence 
—  perhaps  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  a  special 
Providence  —  has  blessed  my  endeavours,  and  I 
could  guarantee  to  make  the  sacrifice." 

A  question  of  philosophy  arises  here,  whether 
Mr.  Pecksniff  had  or  had  not  good  re.ison  to  say, 
that  he  was  specially  patronised  and  encouraged 
in  his  undertakings.  All  his  life  long  he  had  been 
walking  up  and  down  the  narrow  ways  and  bye- 
places,  with  a  hook  in  one  hand  and  a  crook  in 
the  other,  scraping  all  sorts  of  valuable  odds  and 
ends  into  his  pouch.  Now,  there  being  a  special 
Providence  in  the  fall  of  a  sparrow,  it  tbllo\i;s  (so 
Mr.  Pecksniff  might  have  reasoned,  perhaps),  tliat 
there  must  also  be  a  special  Providence  in  the 
alighting  of  the  stone,  or  stick,  or  other  substance 
which  is  aimed  at  the  sparrow.  And  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff's hook,  or  crook,  having  invariably  knocked 
the  sparrow  on  the  liead  and  brought  him  down, 
that  gentleman  may  have  been  led  to  consider 
himself  as  specially  licensed  to  bag  sparrows,  and 
ad  being  specially  seised  and  possessed  of  all  the 
birds  he  had  got  together.  That  many  under- 
takings, national  as  well  as  individual — but  espe- 
cially the  former — are  held  to  be  specially  brought 
to  a  glorious  and  successful  issue,  which  never 
could  be  so  regarded  on  any  other  process  of  re^v 
soning,  must  be  clear  to  all  men.  Therefore  tho 
precedents  would  seem  to  show  that  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff  had  good  argument  for  what  he  siid,  and 
might  be  permitted  to  say  it,  and  did  not  say  it 
presumptuously,  vainly,  or  arrogantl}',  but  in  a 
spirit  of  high  faith  and  great  wisdom  meriting 
all  praise. 

l\lr.  Jonas,  not  being  much  accustomed  to  per 
ple.x  his  mind  with  theories  of  this  nature,  ex- 
pressed no  opinion  on  the  subject.  Nor  did  Im' 
receive  his  companion's  announcement  with  one 
solitary  sylhible,  good,  b;id,  or  indifferent.  He 
preserved  his  taciturnity  for  a  quarter  of  an  iiour 
at  least,  and  during  the  wliole  of  that  time  afv 
peared  to  be  steadily  engaged  in  subjecting  some 
given  amount  to  the  operation  of  every  known 
rule  in  figures;  adding  to  it,  taking  from  it,  mul- 
tiplying  ii,  reducing  it  by  long  and  shr)rt  division; 
working  it  by  the  rule  of  three  direct  and  inversid; 
exchange  or  barter;  practice;  simple  intenst  ; 
compound  interest;  and  other  means  of  arithme- 
tical calculation.  The  result  of  these  libourd 
appeared  to  be  satisfactory,  for  when  he  did  break 
silence,  it  was  as  one  who  had  arrived  at  some 
specific  result,  and  freed  himself  from  a  s'ate  of 
distressing  uncertainty. 

"Come,  old  Pecksniff !"  —  such  was  his  jocose 
address,  as  he  slapped  that  gentleman  on  the 
back,  at  the  end  of  the  stage — "let's  liavc  some- 
thing !" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  F/cl  's  treat  the  driver,"  cried  Jonas. 

"  It'you  think  it  won't  hurt  the  miin,  or  render 
him  discontented  with  his  station  —  certainly," 
faltered  Mr.  Pecksniff 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


133 


Jonas  only  laughed  at  this,  and  g^etting  down 
'rotii  tlie  coach-top  with  great  alacrity,  cut  a 
cumbersome  kind  of  caper  in  the  road.  After 
wliicli,  he  went  into  the  public-house,  and  there 
ordered  spirituous  drink  to  such  an  extent  tiiat 
Mr.  Pecksniff  had  some  doubts  of  his  perfect 
sanity,  until  Jonas  set  them  quite  at  rest  by  say- 
ing, when  the  coach  could  wait  no  longer: 

"  I  've  been  standing  treat  for  a  whole  week 
and  more,  and  letting  you  have  all  tiie  delicacies 
of  the  sciison.  You  shall  pay  for  this,  Pecksniff." 
It  was  not  a  joke  either,  as  Mr.  Pecksniff  at  first 
supposed  ;  tor  lie  went  off  to  the  coach  without 
fuithcr  ceremony,  and  left  his  respected  victim  to 
Bettie  the  bill. 

But  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  a  man  of  meek  en- 
durance, and  Mr.  Jonas  was  his  friend.  More- 
over, his  regard  for  that  gentleman  was  founded, 
as  we  know,  on  pure  esteem,  and  a  knowledge  of 
tlie  excellence  of  his  character.  He  came  out 
from  the  tavern  with  a  smiling  face,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  repeat  the  performance,  on  a 
less  expensive  scale,  at  the  next  ale-house.  There 
was  a  certain  wildness  in  the  spirits  of  Mr. 
Jonas  (not  usually  a  part  of  his  character)  which 
was  far  from  being  subdued  by  these  means,  and, 
for  the  rest  of  tlie  journey,  he  was  so  very  buoy- 
ant— it  may  be  said,  boisterous — that  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff  had  some  difficultj'  in  keeping  pace  with  him. 

They  were  not  expected — oh  dear,  no  I  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  proposed  in  London  to  give  the 
girls  a  surprise,  and  had  said  he  wouldn't  write  a 
word  to  prepare  them  on  any  account,  in  order 
that  he  and  Mr.  Jonas  might  take  them  unawares, 
and  just  see  what  they  were  doing,  when  they 
thought  their  dear  papa  was  miles  and  miles 
away.  As  a  consequence  of  this  playful  device, 
there  was  nobody  to  meet  them  at  the  finger-post, 
but  that  was  of  small  consequence,  for  they  had 
come  down  by  the  day  coach,  and  Mr.  Pecksniff 
had  only  a  carpet-bag,  while  Mr.  Jonas  had  only 
a  portmanteau.  They  took  the  portmanteau  be- 
tween them,  put  the  bag  upon  it,  and  walked  off 
up  the  lane  without  delay  :  Mr.  Pecksniff  already 
going  on  tiploe,  as  if,  without  this  precaution,  his 
fond  children,  being  then  at  the  distance  of  a 
couple  of  miles  or  so,  would  have  some  filial  sense 
of  his  approach. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  in  the  spring-time  of 
the  ye:ir;  and  in  the  soft  stillness  of  the  twilight, 
all  nature  was  very  calm  and  beautiful.  The  day 
had  been  fine  and  warm  ;  but  at  the  coming  on 
of  niglit,  the  air  grew  cool,  and  in  the  mellowing 
distance,  smoke  was  rising  genti}'  from  the  cot- 
tage chimneys.  There  were  a  thousand  pleasant 
scents  diffused  around,  from  youtig  leaves  and 
fresh  buds ;  the  cuckoo  had  been  singing  all  day 
long  and  was  but  just  now  hushed  ;  the  smell 
of  earth,  newly-upturned — first  breath  of  hope  to 
the  first  labourer,  after  his  garden  withered — was 
fragrant  in  the  evening  breeze.  It  was  a  time 
when  tnost  men  cherish  good  resolves,  and  sor- 
row for  the  wasted  past :  when  most  men,  look- 
ing on  the  shadows  as  they  gather,  think  of  that 
evening  which  must  close  on  all,  and  that  to- 
morrow which  has  none  beyond. 

"  Precious  dull,"  said  Mr.  Jonas,  looking  about. 
"It's  enough  to  make  a  man  go  meluicholy  mad." 

*  We  shall  have  lights  and  a  fire  sooji."  ob- 
•erved  .Mr.  Pecksniff. 


"  We  shall  need  'em  by  the  time  we  get  there," 
said  Jonas.  "  Why  the  devil  don't  you  talk  7 
What  are  you  thinking  of?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Jonas,"  said  Pick- 
sniff  with  great  solemnity,  "my  mind  was  run- 
ning at  that  moment  on  our  la,te  dear  friend,  your 
departed  father." 

Mr.  Jonas  immediately  let  his  burden  fall,  and 
said,  threatening  him  with  his  hand  : 

"  Drop  that,  Pecksniff!" 

Mr.  Pecksniff,  not  exactly  knowing  whether 
allusion  was  made  to  the  subject  or  the  portman- 
teau, stared  at  his  friend  in  unaffected  surprise. 

"Drop  it,  I  say  I"  cried  Jonas,  fiercely.  "  Do 
you  hear?  Drop  it — now  and  for  e^er.  You 
had  better,  I  give  you  notice  !" 

"  It  was  quite  a  mistake,"  urged  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, very  much  dismayed;  "though  I  admit  i» 
was  foolish.  I  might  have  known  it  was  a  tender 
string." 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  about  tender  strings,"  said 
Jonas,  wiping  his  forehead  with  the  cuff  of  his 
coat.  "  I  'm  not  going  to  be  crowed  over  by  you, 
because  I  don't  like  dead  company." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had  got  out  the  words  "Crowed 
over,  Mr.  Jonas  !"  when  that  young  man,  with  a 
dark  expression  in  his  countenance,  cut  him  short 
once  more : 

"  Mind  !"  he  said,  "  I  won't  have  it.  I  advise 
you  not  to  revive  the  subject,  neither  to  me  nor 
any  body  else.  You  can  take  a  hint,  if  you 
choose,  as  well  as  another  man.  There  's  eno\;gli 
said  about  it.     Come  along  !" 

Taking  up  his  part  of  the  load  again,  when  he 
had  said  these  words,  he  hurried  on  so  fast  tha 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  at  the  other  end  of  the  portman- 
teau, found  himself  dragged  forward  in  a  very 
inconvenient  and  ungraceful  manner,  to  the  great 
detriment  of  what  is  called  by  fancy  gentlemen 
"  the  bark"  upon  his  shins,  which  were  most  un- 
mercifully bumped  against  the  hard  leather  and 
the  iron  buckles.  In  the  course  of  a  few  minutes, 
however,  Mr.  Jonas  relaxed  his  speed,  and  suf- 
fered his  companion  to  come  up  with  him,  and  to 
bring  the  portmanteau  into  a  tolerably  straight 
position. 

It  was  pretty  clear  that  he  regretted  his  late 
outbreak,  and  that  he  mistrusted  its  effect  on  Mr 
Pecksniff;  for  as  often  as  that  gentleman  glancLd 
towards  Mr.  Jonas,  he  found  Mr.  Jonas  glancing 
at  him,  which  was  a  new  source  of  embarrass, 
ment.  It  was  but  a  short-lived  one  though,  for 
Mr.  Jonas  soon  began  to  whistle,  whereupon  Mr 
Pecksniff,  taking  his  cue  from  his  friend,  begat: 
to  hum  a  tune  melodiously. 

"  Pretty  nearly  there,  ain't  we  ?"  said  Jonas, 
when  this  had  lasted  some  time. 

"Close,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  What  '11  they   be  doing,   do  you   suppose  ? 
ask'  d  Jonas. 

"  Impossible  to  say,"  cried  Mr.  PccksniH, 
"Giddy  truants  I  They  may  he  away  from  home, 
perhaps.  I  was  going  to — he  I  he!  he  I — I  was 
going  to  propose,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "that  we 
should  enter  by  the  back  way,  and  come  upon 
them  like  a  clap  of  thunder,  Mr.  Jonas." 

It  ini[;ht  not  have  been  easy  to  decide  in  re- 
spect of  which  their  manifold  properties.  Jonas, 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  the  carpet-bag,  and  the  portman 
teau,  could  be  likened  to  a  clap  of  thunder.     Hiil 


134 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Mr.  Jonas  giving  his  assent  to  this  proposal,  they 
eiole  round  into  the  back  yard,  and  softly  ad- 
vanced towards  the  kitchen  window,  thmugh 
wliioli  the  mingled  liglit  of  fire  and  candle  shone 
jpon  the  darkening  night. 

Truly  Mr.  Pecksiiitf  is  blessed  in  his  children 
—  in  one  of  them,  at  any  rate.  The  prudent 
Cherry  —  staff,  and  scrip,  and  treasure  of  her 
doting  father — there  she  sits,  at  a  little  table  white 
as  driven  snow,  before  the  kitchen  fire,  making 
up  accoinitsl  See  the  neat  maiden,  as  with  pen 
in  haiid,  and  calculating  look  addressed  towards 
the  ctilhig,  and  bunch  of  keys  within  a  little  bas- 
ket at  her  side,  she  checks  the  housekeeping  ex- 
penditure !  From  flat-iron,  dish-cover,  and  warm- 
ing-pan ;  from  pot  and  kettle,  face  of  brass  footman, 
and  black-leaded  stove;  bright  glances  of  appro- 
bation wink  and  glow  upon  her.  The  very  onions 
dangling  from  the  beam  mantle  and  shine  like 
cluTubs'  cheeks.  Something  of  the  influence  of 
those  vegetables  sinks  into  Mr.  Pecksniff's  nature. 
He  weeps. 

It  is  but  for  a  moment,  and  he  hides  it  from  the 
observation  of  his  friend — very  carefully  —  by  a 
somewhat  elaborate  use  of  his  pocket-handker- 
cliief,  in  fact :  for  he  would  not  have  his  weak- 
ness known. 

"  Pleasant,"  he  murmured  —  "  pleasant  to  a 
father's  feelings  I  My  dear  girl !  Shall  we  let 
her  know  we  are  here,  Mr.  Jonas  ?" 

"  Why,  I  suppose  you  don't  mean  to  spend  the 
evening  in  the  stable  or  the  coach-house,"  he 
returned. 

"That,  indeed,  is  not  such  hospitality  as  I 
would  show  to  you,  my  friend,"  cried  Mr.  Peck- 
eniff,  pressing  his  hand.  And  then  he  took  a 
long  breath,  and  tapping  at  the  window,  shouted 
w.ith  stentorian  blandness : 

"  Boh  !" 

Cherry  dropped  her  pen  and  screamed.  But 
innocence  is  ever  bold  —  or  should  be.  As  they 
opened  the  door,  the  valiant  girl  exclaimed  in  a 
firm  voice,  and  with  a  presence  of  mind  which 
even  in  that  trying  moment  did  not  desert  her, 
"  Who  are  you  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  Speak  ! 
or  I  will  call  my  Pa." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  held  out  his  arms.  She  knew 
him  instantly,  and  rushed  into  his  fond  embrace. 

"  It  was  thoughtless  of  us,  Mr.  Jonas,  it  was 
very  thoughtless,"  said  Pecksniff,  smoothing  his 
daughter's  hair.  "My  darling,  do  you  see  that  I 
am  not  alone !" 

Not  she.  She  had  seen  nothing  but  her  father 
until  now.  She  saw  Mr.  Jonas  now,  though; 
and  blushed,  and  hung  lier  head  down,  as  she 
ga\e  him  welcome. 

But  where  was  Merry  ?  Mr.  PecksniflT  didn't 
ask  tlie  (]uestion  in  reproach,  but  in  a  vein  of 
mildness  touched  with  a  gentle  sorrow.  She  was 
upstairs,  reading  on  the  parlour  couch.  Ah! 
Domestic  details  had  no  charui  for  her.  "But 
call  her  ili.wii,"  s  .id  Mr.  Pecksniff,  witli  a  placid 
resignation.     "Call  her  down,  my  love." 

She  was  called  and  came,  all  flushed  and  tum- 
bled  from  reposing  on  the  sofa;  but  none  the 
worhefortliat  No,  not  at  ail.  Kalher  the  heller, 
if  anything. 

"  Oh  my  (.ondness  me  !"  cried  the  arch  girl, 
turning  to  her  cousin  when  she  had  kissed  Imt 
'«ther   on   both  cheeks,  and   in    her  fn.iieksuinc 


nature  had  bestowed  a  supt  numerary  salute  upcL 
the  tip  of  his  nose,  "■you  liere,  fright!  Well,  I'm 
very  thankful  that  you  won't  trouble  me  much  !" 

"What!  you're  as  lively  as  ever,  are  you?" 
said  Jonas.     "  Oh  !     You  're  a  wicked  one  I" 

"  There,  go  along  !"  retorted  Merry,  pushing 
him  away.  "  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  I  shall 
ever  do,  if  I  have  to  see  much  of  you.  Go  along, 
for  gracious'  sake  I" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  striking  in  here,  with  a  request 
that  Mr.  Jonas  would  immediately  walk  up  stairs, 
he  so  far  complied  with  the  young  lady's  ad|ura. 
tion  as  to  go  at  once.  But  though  he  had  the 
fair  Cherry  on  his  arm,  he  could  not  help  looking 
back  at  her  sister,  and  exchanging  some  further 
dialogue  of  the  same  bantering  description,  as 
they  all  four  ascended  to  the  parlour;  where  — 
for  the  young  ladies  happened,  by  good  fortune, 
to  be  a  little  later  than  usual  tliat  night — the  tea- 
board  was  at  that  moment  being  set  out. 

Mr.  Pinch  was  not  at  home,  so  they  had  it  all 
to  themselves,  and  were  very  snug  and  talkative, 
Jonas  sitting  between  the  two  sisters,  and  dis- 
playing his  gallantry  in  that  engaging  manner 
which  was  peculiar  to  him.  It  was  a  hard  thing, 
Mr.  Pecksniff  said,  when  tea  was  done  and 
cleared  away,  to  leave  so  pleasant  a  little  party, 
but  having  some  important  papers  to  examine  in 
his  own  apartment,  he  must  beg  them  to  excuse 
him  for  half  an  hour.  With  this  apology  he  with- 
drew, singing  a  careless  strain  as  he  went.  He 
had  not  been  gone  five  minutes,  when  Merry, 
who  had  been  sitting  in  the  window,  apart  from 
Jonas  and  her  sister,  burst  into  a  half-smothertd 
laugh,  and  skipped  towards  the  door. 

"  Hallo  !"  cried  Jonas.     "  Don't  go." 

"Oh,  I  dare  say  I"  rejoined  Merry,  looking 
back.  "  You  're  very  anxious  I  should  stay, 
fright,  ain't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  an),"  said  Jonas.  "  Upon  my  word  I 
am.  I  want  to  speak  to  you."  But  as  she  lefl 
the  room  notwithstanding,  he  ran  out  after  her, 
and  brought  her  back,  alter  a  »>horl  struggle  in  the 
passage  which  scandalized  Miss  Cherry  very 
much. 

"  Upon  my  word.  Merry,"  urged  that  young 
lady,  "  I  W'onder  at  you  !  There  are  bounds  even 
to  absurdity,  my  dear." 

"Thank  you  my  sweet,"  said  .Merry,  pursing 
up  her  rosy  lips.  "Much  obliged  to  it  lor  its 
advice.  Oh  !  do  leave  me  ulone,  you  monster, 
do !"  This  entreaty  was  wrung  from  her  by  a 
new  proceeding  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Jonas,  who 
pulled  her  down,  all  hreatliiess  as  she  was,  into  a 
seat  beside  iiiin  on  the  sola,  having  at  the  same 
time  Miss  ('lierry  upon  the  other  side. 

"  Now,"  said  Jonas,  eliisping  the  waist  of  each; 
"I  have  got  both  arms  full,  liaven't  1  V" 

"One  of  theni  will  be  black  and  blue  to-mor- 
row, if  you  don't  let  me  go,"  cried  tlic  playful 
Merry. 

"  Ah  !  I  don't  mind  your  pinching,"  grinned 
Jonas,  "  a  bit." 

"  Pinch  liim  for  me.  Cherry,  pray,"  said  Mer- 
cy. "  1  never  did  hate  anybody  so  mucli  as  I 
hate  this  creature,  1  declare!" 

"  No,  no,  don't  say  that,"  urged  Jonas,  "  anJ 
don't  pinch  either,  because  I  want  to  be  serious 
I  say — Cousin  Cliarity — " 

"  Well  I  what  ?"  she  answered,  sharply. 


MAKTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


133 


"  I  want  to  have  some  sober  talk,"  said  Jonas  : 
••  I  want  to  prevent  any  mistakes,  you  know,  and 
to  put  everything  upon  a  pleasant  understanding. 
Tliat's  desirable  and  proper,  ain't  it?" 

Neither  of  the  sisters  spoke  a  word.  Mr.  Jonas 
paused  and  cleared  his  throat,  which  was  very 
ary. 

"  She  Ml  not  believe  what  I  'm  going  to  say,  will 
niie  cousin  V  said  Jonas,  timidly  squeezing  Miss 
Ciiurity, 

"  Really  Mr.  Jonas  I  don't  know,  until  I  hear 
wliat  it  is.     It's  quite  impossible  !" 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Jonas,  "  lier  way  always 
being  to  make  game  of  people,  I  know  she  '11 
1.1  ugh,  or  pretend  to — I  know  that,  beforehand. 
But  you  can  tell  her  I  'm  in  earnest,  cousin  ; 
3;in't  you  ?  You'll  confess  you  know,  won't  you? 
You  '11  be  honourable,  I  'm  sure,"  he  added  per- 
suasively. 

No  answer.  His  throat  seemed  to  grow  hotter 
and  hotter,  and  to  be  more  and  more  difficult  of 
control. 

"  You  see,  Cousin  Charity,"  said  Jonas,  "  no- 
body but  you  can  tell  her  what  pains  I  took  to 
get  into  lier  company  when  you  were  both  at  the 
boarding-house  in  the  cit}',  because  nobody  's  so 
well  aware  of  it,  you  know.  Nobody  else  can 
tell  her  how  hard  1  tried  to  get  to  know  you  bet- 
ter, in  order  that  I  might  get  to  know  her  with- 
out seeming  to  wish  it:  can  they?  I  always 
asked  you  about  her,  and  said  where  had  she 
gone,  and  when  would  she  come,  and  how  lively 
she  was,  and  all  that;  didn't  I,  cousin  ?  I  know 
you  '11  tell  her  so,  rf  you  haven't  told  her  so  al- 
ready, and — and — I  dare  say  you  have,  because 
I  'm  sure  you  're  honourable,  ain't  you  ?" 

Still  not  a  word.  The  right  arm  of  Mr.  Jonas 
>^the  elder  sister  sat  upon  his  right — may  have 
been  sensible  of  some  tumultuous  throbbing 
which  was  not  within  itself;  but  nothing  else 
apprised  him  that  his  words  had  had  the  least 
effect. 

"  Even  if  you  kept  it  to  yourself,  and  haven't 
told  her,"  resumed  Jonas,  "  it  don't  much  matter, 
because  you  'II  bear  honest  witness  now ;  won't 
you  ?  We  've  been  very  good  friends  from  the 
fust;  haven't  we?  and  of  course  we  shall  be 
quite  friends  in  future,  and  so  I  don't  mind  speak- 
ing before  you  a  bit.  Cousin  Mercy,  you  've 
heard  v-fhat  I've  been  saying.  She'll  confirm  it, 
every  word  ;  she  must.  Will  you  have  me  for 
your  husbiind  ?    Eh  ?" 

As  he  released  his  hold  of  Charity,  to  put  this 
question  with  better  effect,  she  started  up  and 
hurried  away  to  her  own  room,  marking  her  pro- 
gress as  she  went  by  such  a  train  of  passionate 
and  incoherent  sound,  as  nothing  but  a  slighted 
woman  in  her  anger  could  produce. 

"  Let  me  go  away.  Let  me  go  after  her,"  said 
Merry,  pushing  him  off,  and  giving  him — to  tell 
tlie  truth — more  than  one  sounding  slap  upon  his 
outstretched  face. 

"  Fot  till  you  say  yes.  You  haven't  told  me. 
Will  you  li-ve  me  for  your  husband  ?" 

'*  No,  I  wont.  I  can't  bear  the  sight  of  you. 
I  have  told  you  so  a  hundred  times.  You  are  a 
f"ig}it.  Besidrs,  I  always  thought  you  liked  my 
eister  best.      We  all  thought  so." 

"  But  that  wasn't  my  faulty"  sjid  Jonas. 

"  Yes  it  wa?  •     su  k-  r  ^  ii  was." 


"  Any  trick  is  fair  in  love,"  s;iid  .Tonas  "  Sliq 
may  have  thought  1  liked  her  best,  but  you 
didn't." 

"  I  did  !" 

"  No,  you  didn't.  You  never  could  have  thouglit 
I  liked  her  best,  when  you  were  by." 

"There's  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  said  Mer- 
ry ;  "  at  least  I  didn't  mean  to  say  that.  I  don'l 
know  what  I  mean.     Let  me  go  to  her." 

"  Say  '  Yes,'  and  then  1  will." 

"  If  I  ever  brought  myself  to  say  so,  it  should 
only  be,  that  I  might  hate  and  lease  you  all  my 
life." 

"That's  as  good,"  cried  Jonas,  "as  saying  it 
right  out.  It's  a  bargain,  cousin.  We're  a  pair, 
if  ever  there  was  one." 

This  gallant  speech  was  succeeded  by  a  con- 
fused noise  of  kissing  and  slap|)ing;  and  then  the 
fair,  but  much  dishevelled  Merry,  broke  away 
and  followed  in  the  footsteps  of  her  sister. 

Now,  whether  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  been  listening 
— which  in  one  of  his  character  appears  impossi- 
ble :  or  divined  almost  by  inspiration  what  tiie 
matter  was — which,  in  a  man  of  his  sagacity,  is 
far  more  probable :  or  happened  by  sheer  good 
fortune  to  find  himself  in  exactly  the  riglit  place, 
at  precisely  the  right  time — which,  under  the  spe- 
cial guardianship  in  which  he  lived  might  very 
reasonably  happen  :  it  is  quite  certain  that  at  the 
moment  when  the  sisters  came  together  in  their 
own  room,  he  appeared  at  the  chamber  door.  And 
a  marvellous  contrast  it  was  —  they  so  heated, 
noisy,  and  vehement;  he  so  calm,  so  self-possessed, 
so  cool  and  full  of  peace,  that  not  a  hair  upon  his 
head  was  stirred. 

"Children  I"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  spreading  out 
his  hands  in  wonder,  but  not  before  he  had  shut 
the  door,  and  set  his  back  against  it.  "Girls I 
Daughters!     What  is  this?" 

"  The  wretch ;  the  apostate ;  the  false,  mean, 
odious  villain ;  has  before  my  very  face  proposed 
to  Mercy  I"  was  his  elder  daughter's  answer. 

"  Who  has  proposed  to  Mercy  ?"  said  Mr.  Peck 
sniff. 

"  He  has.     That  thing.     Jonas,  down  stairs." 

"Jonas  proposed  to  Mercy!"  said  Mr,  Peck 
sniff.     "  Ay,  ay  !     Indeed  !" 

"  Have  you  nothing  else  to  say  ?"  cried  Charity 
"Am  I  to  be  driven  mad,  papa  ?  He  has  proposed 
to  Mercy,  not  to  me." 

"Oh,  fie!  For  shame!"  said  Mr.  PecksnitT, 
gravrly.  "  Oh,  for  shame  !  Can  the  triumph  of 
a  sister  move  you  to  tiiis  terrible  display,  my 
child  ?  Oh,  really  this  is  very  sad  !  I  am  sorry  ; 
I  am  surprised  and  hurt  to  see  you  so.  Mercy, 
my  girl,  bless  you !  See  to  her.  Ah,  envy,  envy, 
wliat  a  passion  ynu  are !" 

Uttering  this  apostrophe  in  a  tone  full  of  grief 
and  lamentation,  .Mr.  Pecksniff  \e(l  tlie  room 
(taking  care  to  shut  the  door  behind  him),  and 
walked  down  stairs  into  the  parlour.  Tiicre  he 
fuund  his  intended  son-in-law,  whom  he  seizeij 
by  both  hands. 

"Jonas!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  ".Tonas.  the 
dearest  wish  of  my  heart  is  now  fulfilled!" 

"Very  well;  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Jon:i3 
"That'll  do.  I  say,  as  it  ain't  the  one  you're  so 
fond  of,  you  must  come  down  with  anoilier  tnou- 
saiid,  Pecksniff.  You  imist  make  it  up  five.  It 'a 
worth  that  to  keep  your  treasure  to  yourself,  you 


136 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


know.  You  get  ofF  very  cheap  that  way,  and 
haven''t  a  sacrifice  to  make." 

The  grin  with  which  he  accompanied  this,  set 
off  his  other  attractions  to  sucli  unspeakable  ad- 
vantage, that  evtii  Mr.  Pecksniff  lost  his  presence 
of  mind  for  the  moment,  and  looked  at  the  young 
man  as  if  he  were  quite  stupified  with  wonder 
and  admiration.  But  he  quickly  regained  his 
composure,  and  was  in  the  very  act  of  changing 
the  suljcct,  when  a  hasty  step  was  heard  without, 
and  Tom  Pinch,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement, 
came  darting  into  the  room. 

On  seeing  a  stranger  there,  apparently  engaged 
with  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  private  conversation,  Tom 
was  very  much  abashed,  though  he  still  looked  as 
if  he  had  something  of  great  importance  to  com- 
municate, which  would  be  a  sufficient  apology  for 
his  intrusion. 

"]\Ii.  Pinch,"  said  Pecksniff,  "this  is  hardly 
decent.  You  will  excuse  my  saying  that  I  think 
your  conduct  scarcely  decent,  Mr.  Pinch." 

"I  big  your  paidon,  sir,"  replied  Tom,  "for 
not  knocking  at  the  door." 

*'  Rather  beg  this  gentleman's  pardon,  Mr. 
Pinch,"  said  Pecksniff.  "  /  know  you  ;  he  does 
not. — My  young  man,  Mr.  Jonas." 

The  son-in-law  that  was  to  be  gave  him  a 
slight  nod — not  actively  disdainful  or  contemptu- 
ous, only  passively  :  for  he  was  in  a  good  humour. 

"Could  1  speak  a  word  with  you,  sir,  if  you 
{lease,  said  Tom.     "It's  rather  pressing." 

"*  It  should  be  very  pressing  to  justify  this 
strange  behaviour,  Mr.  Pinch,"  returned  his  mas- 
ter. "  Excuse  me  for  one  moment,  my  dear 
friend.  Now,  sir,  what  is  the  reason  of  this  rough 
intrusion  ?" 

"I  am  very  sorry,  sir,  I  am  sure,"  said  Tom, 
standing,  cap  in  hand,  before  his  patron  in  tiie 
passage :  "and  I  know  it  must  have  a  very  rude 
ippearurice — " 

"  It  has  a  very  rude  appearance,  Mr.  Pinch." 

"Yes,  I  feel  that,  sir;  but  the  truth  is,  I  was 
30  surprised  to  see  them,  and  knew  you  would  be 
■.oo,  that  I  ran  home  very  fast  indeed,  and  really 
hadn't  enough  command  over  myself  to  know 
what  I  was  doing  very  well.  I  was  in  the  church 
just  now,  sir,  touching  the  organ  for  my  own 
amusement,  when  I  ha])pincd  to  look  round,  and 
saw  a  gentleman  and  lady  standing  in  the  aisle 
listening.  They  seemed  to  be  strangers,  sir,  as 
well  as  I  could  make  out  in  the  dusk:  and  I 
thought  I  didn't  know  them  :  so  presently  I  left 
nir,  and  said,  would  (hey  walk  up  into  the  orjran- 
loit,  or  take  a  seat?  No,  they  said,  tliey  wouldn't 
do  that  ;  but  they  thanked  me  for  the  iTnisic  they 
had  heard — in  fact,"  observed  Tom,  hlusliing  — 
"they  said,  '  Delicious  music!'  at  least,  sA«  did; 
and  I  am  sure  that  was  a  greater  pleasure  and 
honour  to  n)e,  than  any  compliment  I  could  have 
h.id.  I — I — b(  g  your  pardon,  sir  ;"  he  was  all  in 
a  tremble,  and  dr(i|)p(d  his  hat  lor  the  second 
Utile  ;  "  but  I — I  'ni  rather  flurried,  and  I  fear 
•  *vc  w  iodered  from  the  point." 

'  If  you  will  come  back  to  it,  Thomas,"  said 


Mr.  Pecksniff,  with   an  icy  look,   "  I  shall  fed 
obliged." 

"Yes,  sir,"  returned  Tom,  "certainly.  Thej 
had  a  posting  carriage  at  the  porch,  sir,  and  had 
stopped  to  hear  the  organ,  they  said,  and  then 
they  said — she  said.  I  mean,  '  I  believe  you  live 
with  Mr.  Pecksniff,  sir?'  1  said  I  had  that  ho 
nour,  and  I  took  the  liberty,  sir,"  added  Tom, 
raising  nis  eyes  to  his  benefactor's  face,  "  of  say  ing 
as  I  always  will  and  must,  with  your  permission, 
that  I  was  under  great  obligations  to  you,  and 
never  could  express  my  sense  of  Ihein  sutficiently." 

"  That,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  was  very,  very 
wrong.     Take  your  time  Mr.  Pinch." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  cried  Tom.  "On  that  they 
asked  me — she  asked,  I  mean — 'Wasn't  there  a 
bridle-road  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's  house, — '  " 

Mf.  Pecksniff  suddenly  became  full  of  interest. 

"  Without  going  by  the  Dragon?'  When  I 
said  vtiere  was,  and  said  how  happy  I  should  be 
to  show  it  'em,  they  sent  the  carriage  on  by  the 
road,  and  came  with  me  across  the  meadows.  I 
left  'em  at  the  turnstile  to  run  forward  and  tell 
you  they  were  coming,  and  they  '11  be  here,  sir, 
in — in  less  than  a  minute's  time,  I  should  say,** 
added  Tom,  fetching  his  breath  witii  difficulty. 

"  Now  who,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  pondering, 
"  who  (nay  these  people  be  I" 

"  Bless  my  soul,  sir  !"  cried  Tom,  "  I  meant  to 
mention  that  at  first — I  thought  I  had.  I  knew 
them  —  her,  I  mean  — directly.  The  gentleman 
who  was  ill  at  the  Dragon,  sir,  last  winter ;  and 
the  young  lady  who  attended  him." 

Tom's  teeth  chattered  in  his  head,  and  he  po>>i. 
tively  staggered  with  amazement,  at  witnessin;^ 
the  extraordinary  effect  produced  on  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff by  these  simple  words.  The  dread  of  losing 
the  old  man's  favour  almost  as  soon  as  they  were 
reconciled,  tlirough  the  mere  fact  of  having  -lonas 
in  the  house;  the  impossibility  of  dismissing 
Jonas,  or  shutting  him  up,  or  tying  him  hand 
and  foot  and  putting  him  in  the  coal-cellar,  with- 
out  offending  him  beyond  recall;  the  horribh'  d's- 
cordance  prevailing  in  the  establishment,  and  the 
impossibility  of  reducing  it  to  decent  harmony 
with  Charity  in  loud  hysterics,  l\lercy  in  the  ut- 
most disorder,  Jonas  in  the  parlour,  and  Martin 
C'ImzzIcwit  and  his  j'oung  charge  upon  tiie  vi-ry 
door-steps ;  the  total  hopelessness  of  being  able  to 
disguise  or  feasibly  ex])lain  this  state  of  rampant 
confusion;  the  sudden  accumulation  over  his  de- 
voted head  of  every  complicated  perplexity  and 
entanglement — for  fiis  extrication  from  which  he 
had  trusted  to  time,  good  fortune,  chance,  atid 
his  own  plotting — so  filled  the  entrapped  arc'ii- 
tect  with  dismay,  that  if  Tom  could  have  boon  a 
Gorgon  staring  at  Mr.  Pecksniff,  and  Mr.  Prck- 
sniff  could  have  been  a  Gorgon  staring  at  'I'oni 
they  could  not  liavc  horrified  each  other  half  s 
nmch  as  in  their  own  bewildered  persons. 

**  Dear,  dear  I"  cried  Tom,  "  what  have  I  done  / 
I  hoped  it  would  be  a  pleasant  surprise,  ."ir.  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  know." 

I^It  at  that  moment  a.  loud  knocking  was  heard 
at  the  liall-door. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


137 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

WORE  AMERICAN  EXPERIENCE.  MARTIN  TAKES  A  PARTNER.  AND  MAKES 
A  PURCHASE.  SOME  ACCOUNT  OF  EDEN,  AS  IT  APPEARED  ON  PAPER. 
/vLSO  OF  THE  BRITISH  LION.  ALSO  OF  THE  KIND  OF  SYMPATHY  PRO 
FESSED  AND  ENTERTAINED  BY  THE  WATERTOAST  ASSOCIAITON  OF 
UNITED  SYMPATHIZERS. 


The  knockinjr  at  Mr.  Pecksniff's  door,  though 
lud  enough,  bore  no  resemblance  whatever  to  the 
imise  of  an  American  railway  train  at  full  speed. 
It  in.iy  be  will  to  bog-in  the  present  chapter  with 
liiis  frank  admission,  lest  the  reader  should  ima- 
gine that  tlie  sounds  now  deafening  this  history's 
ivirs  have  any  coiinection  with  the  knocker  on 
Mr.  Pecksniff's  door,  or  with  the  great  amount 
of  agitation  pretty  equally  divided  between  that 
worthy  man  and  Mr.  Pinch,  of  which  its  strong 
pt  rformance  was  the  cause. 

.Mr.  Pecksniff's  house  is  more  than  a  thousand 
leagues  away;  and  again  this  happy  chronicle 
L.is  Liberty  and  Moral  Sensibility  for  its  high 
companions.  Again  it  breathes  the  blessed  air 
of  Independence;  again  it  contemplates  with 
[Mnus  awe  tliat  moral  sense  which  renders  unto 
tVpsar  nothing  that  is  his;  again  inhales  that 
pacred  atmospliore  which  was  the  life  of  him — oh 
liuble  patriot,  with  many  followers  ! — who  dreamed 
ot  Freedom  in  a  slave's  embrace,  and,  waking, 
sold  her  offspring  and  his  own  in  public  markets. 
How  the  wheels  clank  and  rattle,  and  the  tratn- 
roiid  shakes,  as  tlie  train  rushes  on  I  And  now 
the  engine  yells,  as  it  were  lashed  and  tortured 
.ike  a  living  labourer,  and  writhed  in  agony.  A 
pijor  fancy  ;  for  steel  and  iron  are  of  infinitely 
Afreater  account,  in  this  commonwealth,  than  flesh 
'  and  blood.  If  the  cunning  work  of  man  be  urged 
beyond  its  powers  of  endurance,  it  has  within  it 
tlie  elements  of  its  own  revenge ;  whereas  the 
wretched  mechanism  of  the  Divine  Hand  is  dan- 
gerous with  no  such  property,  but  may  be  tam- 
pered with,  and  crushed,  and  broken,  at  the 
diiver's  pleasure.  Look  at  that  engine  !  It  shall 
c.ist  a  man  more  dollars,  in  the  way  of  penalty 
and  fine,  and  satisfaction  of  the  outraged  law,  to 
defdCe  in  wantonness  that  senseless  nKiss  of  rne- 
tiil,  than  to  take  the  lives  of  twenty  human  crea- 
tures! Thus  the  stars  wink  upon  the  bloody 
stripes;  and  Liberty  pulls  down  her  cap  upon  her 
eyes,  and  owns  Oppression  in  its  vilest  aspect,  for 
her  sister. 

The  engine-driver  of  the  train  whose  noise 
awoke  us  to  the  present  chapter,  was  certainly 
troubled  with  no  such  reflections  as  these;  not  is 
it  very  ])robahle  that  his  mind  was  disturbed  by 
uny  refleotiiins  at  all.  He  leaned  with  folded  arms 
Biid  crossed  legs  against  the  side  of  the  carriage, 
Biiioking;  and,  except  when  he  e.xpressed,  by  a 
grtnit  as  short  as  his  pipe,  his  approval  of  some 
pirticulai'ly  dexterous  aim  on  the  part  of  his  col-  '■ 
ltM<;ue,  the  fireman,  who  beguiled  his  leisure  by 
throwing  logs  of  wood  from  the  tender  at  the  nu- 
nierous  stray  cattle  on  the  line,  he  preserved  a 
oi'.nposurc  so  immovable,  and  an  indifference  so 
ciiinplete,  that,  if  the  locomotive  had  been  a  suek- 
ii''/-|'itr,  he  could  not  have  been  more  perfectly  in- 
diffeieiit  In  its  doings.  Nntvvithst.mding  the 
.".Miquil  state  of  tliis  offieer,  and  his  unbroken 
peace  of  mind,  the  train  was  proceeding  with 
18 


tolerable  rapidity ;  and  the  rails  being  but  poorly 
laid,  the  jolts  and  bumps  it  met  with  in  its  pro- 
gress were  neither  slight  nor  few. 

There  were  three  great  caravans  or  cars  at- 
tached— the  ladies'  car,  the  gentlemen's  car,  anci 
the  car  for  negroes  ;  the  latter  painted  black,  as  :iil' 
appropriate  compliment  to  its  company.  Martiri 
and  Mark  Tapley  were  in  the  first,  as  it  was  the' 
most  comfortable ;  and,  being  far  from  full,  ro- 
ceived  other  gentlemen  who,  like  them,  were  un- 
blessed by  the  society  of  ladies  of  their  own.  They 
were  seated  side  by  side,  and  were  engaged  in 
earnest  conversation. 

"And  so,  Mark,"  said  Martin,  looking  at  him 
with  an  anxious  expression, — "  and  so  you  arc 
glad  we  have  left  New  York  far  behind  us,  are 
you  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mark,  "  I  am.  Precious 
glad." 

"  Were  you  not  'jolly'  there?"  asked  Martin. 
"On  the  contrairy,  sir,"  returned  Mark.    "Tiic 
jolliest  week  as  ever  I  spent  in  my  life,  was  thai 
there  week  at  Pawkins's." 

"What  do  you  think  of  our  prospects?"  in- 
quired Martin,  with  an  air  that  phiinly  said  he 
had  avoided  the  question  for  some  time. 

"  Uncommon  bright,  sir,"  returned  Mark.  "  In> 
possible  for  a  place  to  have  a  better  name,  sir, 
than  the  Wnlley  of  Eden.  No  man  couldn't  think 
of  settling  in  a  better  place  than  the  VValley  of 
Eden.  And  I'm  told,"  added  Mark  after  a  pause, 
"  as  there's  lots  of  serpents  there,  so  we  shall 
come  out,  quite  complete  and  reg'Iar." 

So  far  from  dwelling  upon  this  agreeable  piece 
of  information  with  the  least  dismay,  Mike's  face 
grew  radiant  as  he  called  it  to  mind ;  so  very  ra- 
diant, that  a  stranger  might  have  supposed  he  had 
all  his  life  been  yearning  for  the  society  of  ser. 
pents,  and  now  hailed  with  delight  the  approach- 
ing consummation  of  his  fondest  wislies. 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?"  asked  Martin,  sternly. 
"A  military  officer,"  said  Mark. 
"Confound  you  for  a  ridiculous  fellow!"  cried 
Martin,  laughing  heartily  in  spite  of  himself — 
"What  military  office^''  you  know    they  spring 

up  m  every  field" 

"As  thick  as  scarecrows  in  England,  sir,"  in 
terposed  Mark,  "  which  is  a  sort  of  militia  tbeiii- 
selves,  being  entirely  co.it  and  wr^coat,  with  a 
stick  inside.  Ha,  ha! — Don't  mind  me,  sir;  it's 
my  way  sometimes.  I  can't  help  being  jolly. — 
Why,  it  was  one  of  them  inwading  conquerors  at 
Pawkins's,  as  told  me.  'Am  I  rightly  in'Ijrmed,' 
he  says — not  exactly  through  his  nose,  but  as  if 
he'd  got  a  stoppage  ir.  ..,  very  high  up — 'that 
you're  a  going  to  the  Wullcy  of  Eden  ?'  '  I  heard 
some  talk  on  it,'  I  told  him.  '  Oh  I'  says  he,  '  if 
you  should  ever  happen  to  go  to  bed  there — yoii 
may,  you  know,'  he  says,  '  in  course  of  time.  h« 
civilisation  progresses — don't  fortret  to  taKe  a  a.'.o 
with  you.'  I  lo(jks  at  him  tolerable  hard.  '  Fleas  f' 


f 


138 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OP 


says  I.  '  And  more,'  says  he.  '  Wampires  ?'  says 
I.  '  And  more,' says  he.  '  Musqnitnes!,  perhaps  ?' 
fi:ivs  I.  '  And  more,'  says  he.  '  What  more  V 
gays  I.  'Snakes  more,'  says  he;  'rattlesnakes. 
You're  rijfht  to  a  certain  extent,  strnngfcr ;  there 
air  some  catawampous  chavvers  in  the  small  way, 
too,  as  jrraze  upon  a  human  pretty  strong- ;  but 
don't  mind  them — lliey  're  company.  It's  snakes,' 
he  says,  'as  yon  'II  object  to;  and  whenever  you 
wake  and  sec  one  in  a  upright  poster  on  your 
bed,'  he  savs,  '  like  a  corkscrev/  with  the  handle 
offii  sittin'  on  its  bottom  ring,  cut  him  down,  for 
he  means  wttioni.'  " 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  this  before!"  cried 
Martin,  witli  an  expression  of  face  which  set  off 
the  cheerruliiess  of  Mark's  visage  to  great  ad- 
vantage. 

"  I  nt'VfT  fliought  on  it,  sir,"  said  Mark.  "  It 
come  in  at  one  ear,  and  went  out  at  the  other. 
Rut  Lord  love  us,  he  was  one  of  another  Company 
I  dare  say,  and  only  made  up  the  story  that  we 
might  go  to  his  Eden,  and  not  the  o[)position  one." 

"  There  'a  some  probability  in  that,"  observed 
Martin.  "  I  can  honestly  say  that  1  hope  so,  with 
all  my  heart." 

•'  I  've  not  a  doubt  about  it,  sir,"  returned  Mark, 
who,  full  of  the  in'jpiriting  influence  of  the  anec- 
d')te  himself,  had  for  the  moment  forgotten  its 
probable  eflect  upon  his  master:  "anyhow,  we 
must  live,  you  know,  sir." 

"  Live  I"  cried  Martin.  "  Yes,  it 's  easy  to  say 
live;  but  if  we  should  happen  not  to  wake  when 
rattlesnakes  are  making  corkscrews  of  themselves 
upon  our  beds,  it  may  not  be  so  easy  to  do  it." 

"  And  that  's  a  fact,"  said  a  voice  so  close  in  his 
ear  that  it  tickled  him.      "That's  dreadful  true." 

Martin  looked  round,  and  found  that  a  gentle- 
man, on  the  scat  behind,  had  thrust  his  head 
between  himself  and  Mark,  and  sat  with  his  chin 
resting  on  the  back  rail  of  their  little  bench,  en- 
tertnining  himself  with  their  conversation.  He 
was  as  languid  and  listless  in  his  looks,  as  most 
of  the  genlleinen  they  had  seen;  his  cheeks  were 
BO  hollow  that  he  seemed  to  be  always  sucking 
tbern  in;  and  the  sun  had  burnt  him  —  not  a 
wholesome  red  or  brown,  but  diity  yellow.  Me 
liad  briglil  dark  eyes,  which  he  kept  half  closed  ; 
only  peej)ing  out  of  the  corners,  and  even  then 
with  a  glance  that  seemed  to  say,  "  Now  you 
■won't  overreach  me  :  y»u  want  to,  but  you  won't." 
His  arms  rested  carelessly  on  iiis  knees  as  lie 
leant  forward;  in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  as 
English  rustics  have  their  slice  of  cheese,  he  had 
a  cake  of  tobacco  ;  in  his  right  a  ijcnknife.  He 
struck  mto  the  dialogue  with  as  little  reserve  as 
if  he  had  been  specially  called  in,  days  before,  to 
hear  the  arguments  on  both  sides,  and  favour  them 
with  his  o|iitii(m  ;  and  Jie  no  more  contemplated 
or  Cared  tor  the  possibility  of  their  not  desiring 
the  honour  of  his  acquaintance  or  interference  in 
Uielr  privdte  alTuirs,  than  if  he  had  been  a  bear  or 
a  buffalo. 

"'i'hat,"  he  repeated,  nodding  condescendingly 
Vi  Martin,  as  to  an  outer  barbarian  and  foreigner, 
"is  dreadful  true.     Darn  uU  manner  of  vermin." 

Martin  could  not  help  frowning  for  a  moment, 
as  if  he  were  disposed  to  insinuate  that  the  gentle- 
man had  uncoMseinusly  "  darned"  himself.  Hut 
"ememocring   the  wisdom  of  doing  at  Rome  as 


Romans  do,  he  smiled  with  the  pleasantesf  exprcb 
sion  he  could  assume  upon  so  short  a  notice. 

Their  new  friend  said  no  more  just  then,  being 
busily  employed  in  cutting  a  quid  or  plug  from 
his  cake  of  tobacco,  and  whistling  softly  to  hiiiw 
self  the  while.  When  he  had  shaped  it  to  his  lik- 
ing, he  took  out  his  old  pfug,  and  de|)osited  tiie 
same  on  the  back  of  the  seal  between  Mark  and 
Martin,  while  he  thrust  the  new  one  into  the  bel- 
low of  his  cheek,  where  it  looked  like  a  largo 
walnut,  or  tolerable  pippin.  Finding  if  quite  satis- 
factory, he  stuck  the  point  of  his  kiiifu  into  the 
old  plug,  and  holding  it  out  for  their  inspection, 
remarked  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  had  not  lived 
in  vain,  that  it  was  "used  up  considerable."  Then 
he  tossed  it  away;  put  his  knife  into  one  pocket 
and  his  tobacco  into  another;  rested  iiis  chin  upon 
the  rail  as  before  ;  and  approving  of  the  pattern  ou 
IMartin's  waistcoat,  reached  out  his  hand  to  feel 
the  texture  of  that  garment. 

"  What  do  you  call  this  now  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Martin,  "  I  don't  know 
what  it 's  called." 

"  It  'If  cost  a  dollar  or  more  a  yard,  I  reckon?" 

"  I  really  don't  know." 
y  "  In   my   country,"  said  the  gentleman,   "  we 
^now  the  cost  of  our  own  pro-duce." 

Martin  not  discussing  the  question,  there  wa« 
a  pause. 

"  Well  I"  resumed  their  new  friend,  after  star- 
ing at  them  intently  during  the  whole  interval  of 
silence:  "how's  the  unnal'ral  old  parent  by  tlii* 
time  ?" 

Mr.  Tapley,  regarding  this  enquiry  as  only 
another  version  of  impertinent  English  question — 
"  How  's  your  mother  ?" — would  have  resented  it 
instantly,  but  for  Martin's  prompt  interposition. 

"  You  mean  the  old  country  ?"  he  said.  % 

"  Ah  !"  was  the  reply.  "  How  's  she  !  Progress- 
ing back'ards,  I  expect,  as  usual  ?  Well !  How  's 
Queen  Victoria  ?" 

"  In  good  health,  I  believe,"  said  Martin. 

"Queen  Victoria  won't  shake  in  her  royal  shoes 
at  all,  when  she  hears  to-morrow  named,"  ob. 
served  the  stranger.     "  No." 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of     Why  should  she  ?" 

"  She  won't  be  taken  with  a  cold  chill,  when 
she  realises  what  is  being  done  in  these  diggings," 
said  the  stranger.     "No." 

"No,"  said  Martin.  "I  think  I  could  take  my 
oalh  of  that." 

The  strange  gentleman  looked  at  him  as  if  in 
pity  for  his  ignorance  or  prejudice,  and  said: 

"  Well,  sir,  I  tell  you  this — there  ain't  a  en-gine 
with  its  hiler  bust,  in  God  A'mighty's  free  U-nil<-d 
States,  so  fixed,  and  nipped,  and  frizzled  to  a  ino,4 
e-tarna!  smash,  as  that  young  critter,  in  her  hi  cu- 
rious lo-cation  in  the  Tower  of  Limdon,  will  be, 
when  she  reads  the  next  double  extra  Watertoast ; 
Gazette."  ' 

Several  other  gentlemen  had  left  their  seats  and 
gathered  round  during  the  foregoing  dialogue 
Tfiey  were  highly  delighted  with  this  spei  tli. 
One  very  lank  gentleman,  in  a  loose  limp  wl)ito 
cravat,  a  long  white  waistcoat,  and  a  black  gnat- 
coat,  who  seemed  to  be  in  authority  among  them, 
felt  called  U|)oii  to  acknowledge  it. 

"  Hem  !  Mr.  La  Fayette  Kettle,"  he  said,  taking 
off  his  hat.     . 


MARTIN   CnUZZLEWIT. 


139 


There  was  a  grave  murmur  of  "  Hush  1" 
"  Mr.  La  Fayettlc  KoltJe!     Sirl" 
Mr.  Kettle  bowed. 

"  In  the  name  of  this  compiny,  sir,  and  in  tlie 
name  of  our  common  country,  and  in  the  name  of 
that  righteous  cause  of  holy  sympathy  in  which 
we  are  engaged,  I  ll.ank  you.  I  thank  you,  sir, 
in  the  name  of  tlie  VVatertoist  Sympathizers;  and 
I  thank  you,  sir,  in  tlie  name  of  the  VVaterloast 
Gazette;  and  I  (hank  yon,  sir,  in  the  name  of  tlie 
sttr-sjiaiiglcd  banner  of  the  Great  United  States, 
for  yiiur  eloquent  and  categoric, il  exposition.  And 
if,  sir,"  said  the  s[)eaker,  poking  Martin  with  the 
handle  of  his  umbrella  to  bespeak  his  attention,  for 
he  was  listening  to  a  whisper  from  Mark;  "if,  sir, 
in  such  a  place,  and  at  such  a  time,  I  might  ven- 
ture to  con-elude  with  a  sentiment,  glancing  — 
however  slantin'dieularly — at  the  subject  in  hand, 
I  would  say,  sir.  May  the  British  Lion  have  his 
talons  eradicated  by  the  noble  bill  of  the  Ameri- 
can Eagle,  and  be  taught  to  play  upon  the  Irish 
Harp  and  the  Scotch  Fiddle  that  music  which  is 
breatlied  in  every  empty  shell  that  lies  upon  the 
shores  of  green  Co-lumbia!" 

Here  the  lank  gentleman  sat  down  again, 
amidst  a  great  sensation ;  and  every  one  looked 
very  grave. 

"  General  Choke,"  said  Mr.  La  Fayette  Kettle, 
"you  warm  my  heart;  sir,  you  warm  my  heart. 
But  the  British  Lion  is  not  unrepresented  here, 
sir;  and  I  should  be  glad  to  hear  his  answer  to 
those  remarks." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  cried  Martin,  laughing, 
■since  you  do  ine  the  honour  to  consider  me  his 
representative,  I  have  only  to  say  that  I  never 
heard  of  Queen  Victoria  reading  the  What  's-his- 
name  Gazette,  and  that  I  should  scarcely  think  it 
probable." 

General  Choke  smiled  upon  the  rest,  and  said, 
in  patient  and  benignant  explanation  : 
•     "  It  is  sent  to  her,  sir.     It  is  sent  to  her.     Per 
Mail." 

"  But  if  it  is  addressed  to  the  Tower  of  London, 
it  would  hardly  come  to  hand,  I  fear,"  returned 
Martin  :  "for  she  don't  live  there." 

"The  Queen  of  England,  gentlemen,"  observed 
Mr.  Tapley,  affecting  the  greatest  politeness,  and 
regarding  them  with  an  immovable  face,  "  usually 
lives  in  the  Mint,  to  take  care  of  the  money.  She 
has  lodgings,  in  virtue  of  her  office,  with  the  Lord 
Mayor  at  the  Mansion-House ;  but  don't  often 
occupy  them,  in  consequence  of  the  parlour  chim- 
ney smoking." 

"  Mark,"  said  Martin,  "  I  shall  be  very  much 
obligrd  to  you  if  you'll  have  the  goodness  not  to 
interfere  with  preposterous  statements,  however 
jocose  they  may  appear  to  you.  I  was  merely 
remarking,  gentlemen — though  it's  a  point  of 
very  little  import  —  that  the  Queen  of  England 
does  not  happen  to  live  in  the  Tower  of  London." 
"General !"  cried  Mr.  La  Eayette  Kettle. 
**  You  hear?" 

"  General .'"  echoed  several  others.  "  General !" 
"  Hush  !  .Pray,  silence  I"  said  General  Choke, 
nolding  up  his  hand,  and  speaking  with  a  patient 
and  complacent  benevolence  that  was  quite  touch- 
ing. "  i  have  always  remarked  it  as  a  very  ex- 
traordinary circumstance,  which  I  impute  to  the 
natur'  of  British  Institutions  and  their  tendency 
to  suppress  that  popular  inquiry  and  information 


which  air  so  widely  diffused  even  in  the  trackless 
forest.s  of  tms  vast  Continent  ot  the  Western 
Ocean  ;  that  the  knowledge  of  Britishers  them- 
selves on  such  points  is  not  to  be  compared  uiUi 
that  possessed  by  our  intelligent  and  lo.^oniotiv'e 
citizens.  'This  is  interesting,  and  contiinis  my 
observation.  When  you  say,  sir,"  he  continui  ■!, 
addressing  Martin,  "that  your  Queen  does  not 
re.-^ide  in  the  Tower  of  London,  you  fall  into  an 
error,  not  uncommon  to  yo'ir  countrymen,  even 
when  their  abilities  and  moral  elements  air  such 
as  to  command  respect.  But,  sir,  you  air  wrong. 
She  docs  live  there — " 

"  When  she  is  at  the  Court  of  Saint  James's  ;" 
interposed  Kettle. 

"  When  she  is  at  the  Court  of  Saint  James's,  of 
course,"  returned  the  General,  in  the  same  benign, 
ant  way:  "for  if  her  location  was  in  Winds. jr 
Pavilion  it  couldn't  be  in  London  at  the  same 
time.  Your  Tower  of  London,  sir,"  pursued  the 
(ieneral,  smiling  with  a  mild  consciousness  of  his 
knowledge,  "is  nat'rally  your  royal  residence, 
Bding  located  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood 
of  your  Parks,  your  Drives,  your  Iriumphant 
Arches,  your  Opera,  and  your  Royal  Almacks,  it 
nat'rally  suggests  itself  as  the  place  for  holding 
a  luxurious  and  thoughtless  court.  And,  con.-ie- 
quently,"  said  the  General,  "  consequently,  tlie 
court  is  held  there." 

"  Have  you  been  in  England  ?"  asked  Martin.    . 
"In  print  I  have,  sir,"  said  the  General,  "not 
otherwise.     We  air  a   reading  people  here,  sir  , 
You  will  meet  with  much  inliaMnation  among  us 
that  will  surprise  you,  sir." 

"  I   have  not  the   least  doubt  of  it,"   returned 
Martin.     But  here  he  was  interrupted  by  Mr.  La 
Fayette  Kettle,  who  whispered  in  his  ear : 
"  You  know  General  Choke  ?" 
"  No,"  returned  Martin,  in  the  same  tone. 
"  You  know  what  he  is  considered  ?" 
"  One  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in  the  couu 
try  ?"  said  Martin,  at  a  venture, 

"  That 's  a  fact,"  rejoined  Kettle,  "  I  was  suro 
you  must  have  heard  of  him  1" 

"  I  think,"  said  Martin,  addressing  himself  tc 
the  General  again,  "that  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
being  the  bearer  of  a  letter  of  introduction  to  you» 
sir.  From  Mr.  Bevan,  of  Massachusetts,"  hr, 
added,  giving  it  fo  him. 

The  General  took  it  and  read  it  attentively  : 
now  and  then  stopping  to  glance  at  the  two  stran. 
gers.  When  he  liad  finished  the  note,  he  camo 
over  to  Martin,  sat  down  by  him,  and  shook 
hands. 

"  Well !"  he  said,  "  and  you  think  of  settling 
in  Eden  ?" 

"Subject  to  your  opinion,  and  the  agent's  ad 
vice,"  replied  Martin.  "  I  am  told  there  is  nothing 
to  be  done  in  the  old  towns." 

"  I  can  introduce  you  to  the  agent,  sir,"  sair 
the  General.  "I  know  him.  In  fiet,  I  am  i 
member  of  the  Eden  Land  Corporation  myself" 

This  was  serious  news  to  Martin,  (ijr  ins  t'riend 
had  laid  great  stress  upon  the  General's  haviiiw 
no  connection,  as  he  thought,  with  any  land  com- 
pany,  and  therefore  beinjr  likely  to  give  him  disiu 
terested  advice.  The  General  explained  that  lie 
had  joined  the  Corporation  only  a  few  weeljs  ago, 
and  thit  no  communication  had  passed  betweer 
hunself  und  Mr.  Bevan  since. 


140 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


"We  have  very  little  to  venture,"jSaid  Martin 
anxiously — "only  a  few  pounds — but  it  is  our  all. 
N'lw,  do  you  think  that  for  one  of  my  profession, 
this  would  be  a  speculation  with  any  hope  or 
chance  in  it  ?" 

"  Well !"  observed  the  General,  gravely,  "  if 
there  wasn't  any  hope  or  chance  in  tiie  specula- 
tion,  it  wouldn't  have  engaged  my  dollars,  I  opin- 
ionate." 

"  I  don't  mean  for  the  sellers,"  said  Martin. 
"  F'lr  the  buj'crs — for  the  buyers  I" 

"  For  the  buyers,  sir  ?"  observed  the  General, 
in  a  most  impressive  manner.  "Well!  you  come 
from  an  old  country  :  from  a  country,  sir,  that  has 
p'lid  up  gr)!den  calves  as  high  as  Babel,  and  wor- 
shipped 'i  m  for  ages.  We  are  a  new  country, 
sir;  iiii:n  is  in  a  more  primeval  state  here,  sir; 
We  have  not  the  excuse  of  having  lapsed  in  the 
,  slow  course  of  time  into  degenerate  practices;  we 
i  have  no  false  gods;  man,  sir,  here,  is  man  in  all 
I  his  dignity.  We  fought  for  that  or  nothing. 
Here  am  I,  sir,"  said  the  General,  setting  up  his 
Umbrella  to  represent  himself;  and  a  villanous- 
looking  umbrella  it  was;  a  very  bad  counter  to 
stand  for  the  sterling  coin  oT"  his  benevolence : 
"  here  am  I  with  grey  hairs,  sir,  and  a  moral 
sense.  Would  I,  with  my  principles,  invest  capi- 
tal in  this  speculation  if  I  didn't  think  it  full  of 
hopes  and  chances  for  my  brotlier  man?" 

Martin  tried  to  look  convinced,  but  he  thought 
of  New  York,  and  found  it  difficult. 

"  Wliat  are  the  Great  United  States  for,  sir," 
pursued  the  Geno^l,  "  if  not  for  the  regeneration 
of  man?  But  it  is  nal'ral  in  you  to  make  such 
an  enquerry,  for  you  come  from  England,  and 
you  do  not  know  my  country." 

"  Then  you  think,"  said  Martin,  "  that  allowing 
for  the  hardsliips  we  are  prepared  to  undergo, 
there  is  a  reasonable — Heaven  knows  we  don't  ex- 
pect much — a  reasonable  opening  in  tliis  place?" 

"  A  reasonable  opening  in  Eden,  sir  !  But  see 
the  agerjt,  see  the  agent ;  see  the  maps,  and  plans, 
sir;  and  conclude  to  go  or  stay,  according  to  the 
natur'  of  the  settlement.  Eden  hadn't  need  to  go 
a  begging  yet,  sir,"  remarked  the  General. 

"It  ia  an  awful  lovely  place,  sure-ly.  And 
frightful  wholesome,  likewise  !"  said  Mr.  Kettle, 
wiio  h;id  made  himself  a  party  to  this  conversa- 
tion as  a  matter  of  course. 

Martin  felt  that  to  dispute  such  testimony,  for 
no  better  reason  than  because  he  had  his  secret 
iiiis^rivings  on  the  subject,  would  be  ungentlcmanly 
and  iiuiecent.  So  he  thanked  the  General  for  his 
promise  to  put  him  in  personal  communication 
with  tlie  agent;  and  "concluded"  to  see  that  offi- 
cer next  morning.  He  tfien  begged  the  General 
to  inform  him  who  the  Watcrtoast  Sympathizers 
were,  of  whom  lie  had  spoken  in  addressing  Mr. 
I. a  Fiiyctte  Kt  tile,  am)  on  what  grievances  they 
bi:stov.'ed  their  Sympathy.  To  which  the  Gene- 
ral, loo!iing  very  serious,  made  answer,  that  he 
rnight  fully  enlighten  himself  on  those  points  to- 
morrow by  attending  a  Great  Meeting  of  the  Bo- 
dy, which  would  then  be  held  at  the  town  to  which 
they  were  travelling  :  "over  which,  sir,"  said  the 
p  General,  "  my  fellow. citizens  have  Culled  on  me 
to  preside." 

They  came  to  their  journey's  end  late  in  the 
vvening.  ('lose  lo  the  railway  was  an  immense 
wfiiie  edifice,  like  an  ugly  hospital,  on  which  was 


painted  "  National  Hotel."  There  was  a  wood- 
en gallery  or  verandah  in  front,  in  which  it  was 
rather  startling,  when  the  train  stopped,  to  behold 
a  great  many  pairs  of  boots  and  shoes,  and  tl>e 
smoke  of  a  great  many  cigars,  but  no  other  evW 
dences  of  human  habitation.  By  slow  degrtc», 
however,  some  heads  and  shoulders  appeared,  and 
connecting  themselves  with  the  boots  and  shoes, 
led  to  the  discovery  that  certain  gentlemen  board- 
ers, who  had  a  fancy  for  putting  their  heels  whe.'-e 
the  gentlemen  boaiders  in  other  countries  usually 
put  their  heads,  were  enjoying  themselvus  alU.1 
their  own  manner,  in  the  cool  of  the  evening. 

There  was  a  great  bar-room  in  this  hotel,  and 
a  great  public  room  in  which  the  general  tabte 
was  being  set  out  for  supper.  There  were  inter, 
minable  whitewashed  staircases,  long  whitewash- 
ed galleries  up  stairs  and  down  stairs,  scores  of 
little  whitewashed  bedrooms,  and  a  four-sided  ve- 
randah to  every  story  in  the  house,  which  I'ormed 
a  large  brick  square  with  an  uncomfortable  court- 
yard in  the  centre  :  where  some  clothes  were  dry- 
ing. Here  and  there,  some  yawning  gentlemen 
lounged  up  and  down  with  their  hands  in  their 
pockets;  but  within  the  house  and  without, 
wherever  half-a-dozen  people  were  collected  toge- 
ther, there,  in  their  looks,  dress,  morals,  manners, 
habits,  intellect,  and  conversation,  were  Mr.  Jet 
ferson  Brick,  Colonel  Diver,  Major  Pawkins,  Gen- 
eral Choke,  and  Mr.  La  Fayette  Kettle,  over,  and 
over,  and  over  again.  They  did  the  same  things  ; 
said  the  same  things;  judged  all  subjects  by,  and 
reduced  all  subjects  to,  the  same  standard.  Ob- 
serving how  they  lived,  and  how  they  were  always 
in  the  enchanting  company  of  each  other,  Martin 
even  began  to  comprehend  their  being  the  social, 
cheerful,  winning,  airy  men  they  were. 

At  the  sounding  of  a  dismal  gong,  this  pleasant 
company  went  trooping  down  from  all  parts  of 
the  house  to  the  public  room ;  while  from  the 
neighbouring  stores  other  guests  came  flocking 
in,  in  shoals;  for  half  the  town,  married  folks  as 
well  as  single,  resided  at  the  National  Hotel.  Tea, 
coffee,  dried  meats,  tongue,  ham,  pickles,  cake, 
toast  preserves,  and  bread  and  butter,  were  swal- 
lowed with  tiie  usual  ravaging  speed  ;  and  then, 
as  before,  the  company  dropped  off  by  degrees, 
and  lounged  awj-y  to  the  desk,  the  counter,  or  the 
bar-room.  The  ladies  had  a  smaller  ordinary  of 
their  own,  to  which  their  husbands  and  brothers 
were  admitted  if  they  chose;  and  in  all  other  re- 
spects they  er)joyed  themselves  as  at  Pawkins's. 

"Now  Mark,  my  good  fellow,"  said  Martin, 
closing  the  door  of  his  little  chamber,  "we  inii^t 
hold  a  solemn  council,  for  our  fate  is  decided  l(v 
morrow  morning.  You  are  determined  lo  invest 
these  savings  of  yours  in  the  common  stock,  are 
you  ?" 

"  If  I  hadn't  been  determined  to  make  that 
wcntur,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Tapley,  "  I  shouldn't 
have  come." 

"  IIovv  much  is  there  here,  did  you  say  ?"  ask 
ed  Martin,  holding  up  a  little  bag. 

"Thirty-seven  pound  ten  and  sixpence.  Tlie 
Savings'  Bank  said  so,  at  least.  I  ne\er  counted 
it.  But  ihry  know,  bless  yon,"  said  Mark,  with 
a  shake  of  the  head  exi)ressivc  of  his  uni)ounde<J 
confidence  in  the  wisdom  and  arithmetic  of  those 
Institutions. 

"  The  money  we  brought  with  us,"  said  Mar 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWrT. 


i41 


tin,  "  is  reduced  to  a  few  shilling's  less  than  eight 
prjunds." 

Mr.  Tapley  smiled,  and  looked  all  manner  of 
tvays,that  he  might  not  be  supposed  to  attach  any 
jinporlance  to  this  fact. 

"  U|ion  the  ring — her  ring,  Mark,"  said  Martin, 
looking  ruefully  at  his  em|)ty  finger — 

"Ahl"  sighed  Mr.  Tapley.  "Beg  your  par- 
i  )n,  sir." 

"  We  raised,  in  English  money,  fourteen 
pounds.  So,  even  with  that,  your  share  of  the 
stock  IS  still  very  much  the  larger  of  the  two, 
you  see.  Now  Mark,"  said  Martiu,  in  his  old 
way,  just  as  he  might  have  spoken  to  Tom  Pinch, 
"  I  have  thought  of  a  means  of  making  this  up 
to  you, — more  than  making  it  up  to  you,  I  hope, 
— and  very  materially  elevating  your  prospects  in 
lite." 

"  Oh  !  don't  talk  of  that,  you  know,  sir,"  re- 
turned Mark.  "I  don't  want  no  elevating,  sir. 
I'm  all  right  enough,  sir,  /am." 

"No,  but  hear  me,"  said  Martin,  "because  this 
IS  very  important  to  you,  and  a  great  satisfaction 
to  me.  Mark,  you  shall  be  a  partner  in  the  busi- 
ness :  an  equal  partner  with  myself.  I  will  put 
in,  as  my  additional  capital,  my  profes.sional 
knowledge  and  ability  ;  and  half  the  annual 
profits,  as  long  as  it  shall  be  carried  on,  shall  be 
yours." 

Poor  Martin  !  for  ever  building  castles  in  the 
ttir.  For  ever,  in  his  very  selfishness,  forgetful 
of  his  own  teeming  hopes  and  sanguine  plans. 
Swelling,  at  that  instant,  with  the  consciousness 
of  patronising  and  most  munificently  rewarding 
Mark  I 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  Mark  rejoined,  much  more 
Badly  than  his  custom  was,  though  from  a  very 
different  cause  than  Martin  supposed,  "  what  I 
can  say  to  this,  in  the  way  of  thanking  you.  I'll 
stand  b}'  you,  sir,  to  the  best  of  my  ability,  and 
to  the  last.     That 's  all." 

"  We  quite  understand  each  other,  my  good 
fellow,"  said  Martin,  rising  in  self-approval  and 
condescension.  "We  are  no  longer  master  and 
servant,  but  friends  and  partners;  and  are  mu- 
tually gratified.  If  we  determine  on  Eden,  the 
business  shall  be  commenced  as  soon  as  we  get 
there.  Under  tlie  name,"  said  Martin,  who  never 
hammered  upon  an  idea  that  wasn't  red  hot, 
"  under  the  name  of  Chuzzlewit  and  Tapley." 

"  Lord  love  you,  sir,"  cried  Mark,  "  don't  have 
my  name  in  it.  I  ain't  acquainted  with  the  bu- 
siness,  sir.  I  must  be  Co.,  I  must.  I've  oflen 
thought,"  he  added,  in  a  low  voice,  "as  I  should 
like  to  know  a  Co. ;  but  I  little  thought  as  ever  I 
should  live  to  be  one." 

"  You  sliall  have  your  own  way,  Mark." 

"  Thaiike'e,  sir.  If  any  country  gentleman 
thereabouts,  in  the  public  way,  or  otherwise, 
wanted  such  a  thing  as  a  skittle-ground  made,  1 
Could  take  that  part  of  the  bis'ness,  sir." 

"  Against  any  architect  in  the  States,"  said 
Martin.  "Get  a  couple  of  sherry-cobblers,  Mark, 
we'll  drink  success  to  the  firm." 

Either  he  forgot  already  (and  often  afterwards,) 
mat  they  were  no  longer  master  and  servant,  or 
considered  this  kind  of  duty  to  be  among  the 
legitimate  functions  of  the  Co.  But  Mark  obeyed 
with  his  usual  alacrity ;  and  before  they  parted 
for  tlie  night,  it  was  agreed  between  them  that 


they  should  go  together  to  the  agent's  in  the 
morning,  liut  liiat  Martin  should  decide  the  Eden 
question,  on  his  own  sound  judgment.  And  Mark 
made  no  merit,  even  to  himself  in  his  jollity,  of 
this  concession;  perfectly  well  knowing  tlial  the 
matter  would  come  to  that  inthe  end,  any  way. 

The  (General  was  one  of  the  party  at  the  public 
table  ne.\t  day,  and  after  hreakt'ast  suggcsleii  that 
they  should  wait  upcm  the  agent  witliout  loss  of 
time.  They,  desiring  nothing  more,  agreed;  so 
otF  they  all  four  started  for  the  otiice  of  the  lOdun 
Settlement,  which  was  almost  within  rifie-shot  of 
the  National  Hotel. 

It  was  a  small  place — something  like  a  turn- 
pike. But  a  great  deal  of  land  may  be  got  in  a 
dice-box,  and  why  may  not  a  whole  territory  be 
bargained  for,  in  a  shed?  It  was  but  a  tem(x>. 
rary  office  too;  for  the  Edeners  were  "g<jing"  \o 
build  a  superb  establishment  for  the  transaction 
of  their  business,  and  had  already  got  so  far  aa 
to  mark  out  the  site:  which  is  a  great  way  ir^ 
America.  The  office-door  was  wide  open,  and  in 
the  dot)r-way  was  the  agent :  no  doubt  a  lremer»- 
dous  fellow  to  get  through  his  work,  for  he  seemed 
to  have  no  arrears,  but  was  swnigmg  backwards 
and  forwards  in  a  rocking-chair,  with  one  of  lij:i 
legs  planted  high  up  against  the  door-post,  and 
the  other  doubled  up  under  him,  as  if  he  were 
hatching  his  foot. 

He  was  a  gaunt  man  in  a  huge  straw  hat,  and 
a  coat  of  green  stuff.  The  weather  beinp  iiot 
he  had  no  cravat,  and  wore  his  shirt  collar  wide 
open;  so  that  every  time  he  spoke  somethiog  was 
seen  to  twitch  and  j(4rk  up  in  his  throat,  like  the 
little  hammers  in  a  harpsichord  when  the  notes 
are  struck.  Perhaps  it  was  the  Truth  itjebly  en- 
deavouring to  leap  to  his  lips.  If  so,  it  never 
reached  them. 

Two  grey  eyes  lurked  deep  within  thi.-«  agent'.s 
head,  but  one  of  them  had  no  sight  in  it,  and 
stood  stock  still.  With  that  side  of  his  t'ace  tie 
seemed  to  listen  to  what  the  other  side  was  doing. 
Thus  each  profile  had  a  distinct  expression  ;  and 
when  the  moveable  side  was  most  in  action,  tiie 
rigid  one  was  in  its  coldest  state  of  watciii'ulness. 
It  was  like  turning  the  man  inside  out,  to  pass  to 
that  view  of  his  features  in  his  liveliest  mood,  and 
see  how  calculating  and  intent  they  were. 

Each  long  black  hair  upon  his  head  Inmg  down 
as  straight  as  any  plummet  line,  but  ruuiplod 
tufts  were  on  the  arches  of  his  eyes,  a-<  il  tne 
crow  whose  foot  was  de«ply  printed  in  the  cor- 
ners, had  pecked  and  torn  them  in  a  savage  re- 
cognition of  his  kindred  nature  as  a  bird  ot' prey. 
Such  was  the  man  whom  they  now  approniied, 
and  whom  the  General  saluted  by  tlie  name  of 
Scadder. 

"  Well,  Gen'ral,"  he  returned,  "  and  how  are 
you  ?" 

"  Ac-tive  and  spry,  sir,  in  my  comitry's  servic* 
and  sympathetic  cause.  Two  genllemeii  on  bu- 
siness, Mr.  Scadder." 

He  shook  hands  with  each  of  them — nothinjf 
is  done  in  America  without  shaking  hands — then 
went  on  rocking 

"  I  think  I  know  what  bis'ness  you  have 
brought  these  strangers  here  upon,  thin,  Ger' 
ral  ?" 

"  Well,  sir.     I  expect  you  may." 

"  You  air  a  tongue-y  person,  Gen'ral.    For  jro» 


112 


LIFE   AND   ADVENl  URES   OF 


talk  too  much,  and  that's  a  fact,"  said  Scadder. 
"  You  speak  a-larining'  well  in  public,  but  you 
didn't  ought  to  go  ahead  so  fast  in  private.  Now  !" 

"  If  I  can  realise  your  meanings,  ride  nie  on  a 
r.-'il  I"  returned  the  General,  after  pausing  for 
Con.-ideration. 

"  You  know  we  didn't  wish  to  sell  the  lots  off 
Tit^lil  away  to  any  loafer  as  might  bid,"  said  Scad- 
der; "  but  had  con-eluded  to  reserve  'em  for  Aris- 
to(.Tats  of  Natur'.     Yes!" 

"  And  they  are  here,  sir  !"'  cried  the  General 
with  warmth.     "They  are  here,  sir!" 

'•^  If  they  air  here,"  returned  the  agent,  in  re- 
proachful accents,  "that's  enoug-h.  But  you 
didn't  ought  to  have  your  dander  ris  with  me, 
Gen'ral." 

The  General  whispered  Martin  that  Scadder 
wa.s  the  honestest  fellow  in  the  world,  and  that 
he  wouldn't  have  given  him  offence  designedly, 
for  ten  thfiusand  dollars. 
«  "I  do  iriy  duty ;  and  I  raise  the  dander  of  my 
feller  critturs,  as  I  wish  to  serve,"  said  Scudder 
in  a  low  voice,  looking  down  the  road  and  rocking 
still.  "  riiey  rile  up  rough,  along  of  my  objecting 
to  their  selling  Eden  off  too  cheap.  That 's  human 
natur' !   Well !" 

//""  Mr.  Scadder,"  siid  the  General,  assuming  his 
oratorical  deportment.  "Sir  !  Here  is  my  hand, 
and  here  my  heart.  I  esteem  you,  sir,  and  ask 
your  pardon.  These  gentlemen  air  friends  of 
mine,  or  I  would  not  have  brought 'em  here,  sir, 
bring  well  aware,  sir,  that  the  lots  at  present  go 
entirely  too  cheap.  But  these  air  friends,  sir ; 
these  air  partick'ler  friends." 
/^  Mr.  Scadder  was  so  satisfied  by  this  explana- 
/  fion,  that  he  shook  the  General  warmly  by  the 
hand,  and  got  out  of  the  rocking-chair  to  do  it. 
He  then  invited  the  General's  particular  friends 
to  accompany  him  into  the  office.  As  to  the  Ge- 
neral, he  observed,  with  his  usual  benevolence, 
that  being  one  of  the  company,  he  wouldn't  in- 
terfere in  the  transaction  on  any  account  ;  so  he 
appropriated  the  rocking-chair  to  himself,  and 
looked  at  the  prospect,  like  a  good  Samaritan 
waiting  for  a  traveller. 

"  Heyday  I"  cried  Mari-n,  as  his  eye  rested  on 
a  great  plan  which  occupied  one  whole  side  of  the 
oftice.  Indeed,  the  office  had  little  else  in  it,  but 
^orne  geological  and  botanical  specimens,  one  or 
t«o  rusty  ledgers,  a  homely  desk,  and  a  stool. 
"  Heyday  !  what's  that'" 

"'I'hat's  Eden,"  said  Scadder,  picking  his 
teeth  with  a  sort  of  young  bayotiet  that  flew  out 
of  his  knife  when  ho  touched  a  spring. 

"  Why,  I  had  no  idea  it  was  a  city." 

"  Hadn't  yon  ?  Oh,  it's  a  city." 

A  flourishing  city,  too!  Aii  architectural  city  ! 
There  were  banks,  churches,  cathedrals,  market- 
places, factories,  hotels,  stores,  mansions,  wharves; 
an  exchimge,  a  theatn;;  public  buildings  of  all 
kinds,  down  to  the  office  of  the  f^den  Stinger,  a 
daily  journal;  all  faithfully  depicted  in  the  view 
before  them. 

"  Dear  me !  It's  really  a  most  important  place !" 
cried  Martin,  turning  round. 

"  Oh  '  it  's  very  important,"  observed  the  agent. 

"  But,  I  am  afraid,"  said  Martin,  glancing  again 
at  the  Public  Buildings,  "  that  there 's  nothing 
left  for  ine  to  do." 


"  Well !  it  ain't  all  built,"  replied  the  agent. 

"  Not  quite." 

This  was  a  great  relief. 

"The  market-place,  now,"  said  Martin.  "Is 
that  built?" 

"  That  ?"  said  the  agent,  sticking  his  toothpick 
into  the  weathercock  on  the  top.  "  Let  me  see. 
No  :  that  ain't  built." 

"  Rather  a  good  job  to  begin  with, — eh,  Mark?" 
whispered  Martin,  nudging  him  with  his  tibow. 

Mark,  who,  with  a  very  stolid  countenance,  had 
been  eyeing  the  plan  and  the  agent  by  turns, 
merely  rejoined  "  Uncommon  !" 

A  dead  silence  ensued,  Mr.  Scadder  in  some 
short  recesses  or  vacations  of  liis  tootli(iick, 
whistled  a  few  bars  of  Yankee  Doodle,  and  blew 
the  dust  off  the  roof  of  the  Theatre. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Martin,  feigning  to  look  more 
narrowly  at  the  plan,  but  showing  by  his  tremu- 
lous voice  how  much  depended,  in  his  mind,  upon 
the  answer  ;  "  I  suppose  there  are — several  archi- 
tects there  ?" 

"  There  ain't  a  single  one,"  said  Scadder. 

"  Mark,"  whispered  Maitin,  pulling  him  by  the 
sleeve,  "  do  you  hear  that  ?  But  whose  work  is 
all  this  before  us,  then  ?"  he  asked  aloud. 

"  The  soil  being  very  fruitful,  public  buildings 
grows  spontaneous,  perhaps,"  said  Mark. 

He  was  on  the  agent's  dark  side  as  he  said  it; 
but  Scadder  instantly  changed  his  place,  and 
brought  his  ac'.ive  eye  to  bear  upon  him. 

"  Fee]  of  my  hands,  young  man,"  he  said, 

"  What  for?"  asked  Mark  :  declining. 

"Air  they  dirty,  or  air  they  clean,  sir?"  said 
Scadder,  holding  them  out 

In  a  physical  point  of  view  they  were  decidedly 
dirty.  But  it  being  obvious  that  Mr.  Scadder 
offered  them  for  examination  in  a  figurative  sense, 
as  emblems  of  his  moral  character,  Martin  hasten- 
ed to  pronounce  them  pure  as  the  driven  siiciw. 

"  I  entreat,  Mark,"  he  said,  with  some  irrita- 
tion, "  that  you  will  not  obtrude  remarks  of  that 
nature,  which,  however  harmless  and  well-inten- 
tioned, are  quite  out  of  place,  and  cannot  be  ex- 
pected to  be  very  agreeable  to  strangers.  I  am 
quite  surprised." 

"  The  Co.'s  a  putting  his  foot  in  it  already  " 
thought  Mark.  '  He  must  be  a  sleeping  [)artner 
— fast  asleep  and  snoring — Co.  must :  /see." 

Mr.  Scadder  said  nothing,  but  he  set  his  bai,« 
against  the  plan,  and  thrust  his  toothpick  into  the 
desk  some  twenty  times:  looking  at  Mark  all  the 
while  as  if  he  were  stabbing  him  in  cfligy. 

"  You  haven't  said  whose  work  it  is,"  Martin 
ventured  to  observe,  at  length,  in  a  tone  ol'  mdd 
propitiation. 

"  Well,  never  mind  whose  work  it  is,  or  isn't," 
said  the  agent  sulkily.  "  No  matter  how  it  did 
eventuate.  P'raps  he  cleared  off,  handsome,  with 
a  heap  of  dollars;  p'raps  he  wasn't  worth  a  cent. 
P'raps  he  was  a  loafin'  rowdy;  p'raps  a  ring-tailed 
roarer.     Now !" 

"  All  your  doing,  Mark  !"  said  Martin. 

"  P'raps,"  pursued  the  agent,  "  them  an't 
plants  of  Eden's  raising.  No  !  P'raps  that  desk 
and  stool  ain't  made  from  Eden  lumber.  No! 
P'raps  no  end  of  squatters  ain't  gone  out  there. 
No  !  P'raps  there  ain't  no  such  lo-cation  in  the 
territoary  of  the  Great  U-nited  States.    Oh,  no." 


MARTIN  CHQZZLEVVIT. 


143 


*  T  hope  yon  're  satisfiod  with  the  success  of 
/our  joke,  Mark,"  said  M;irf;iu 

But  here,  at  a  most  opjjortnnc  and  hapfiy  time, 
,he  General  interposed,  and  culled  out  to  Scadder 
from  tiie  doorway  to  give  his  friends  the  partieu- 
!:;rs  of  that  little  lot  of  fifty  acres  with  the  house 
upon  it;  wliich,  having  belonged  to  the  company 
fjrmerlv,  liad  lately  lapsed  again  into  their  hands. 

"  You  air  a  deal  too  open-handed,  Gen'ral," 
was  the  answer.  "  It  is  l  lot  as  should  be  rose  in 
price.     It  is." 

He  grumblingly  opened  his  hooks  notwitlistand- 
jng,  and  always  keeping  his  bright  side  towards 
I\Iark,  no  matter  at  what  amount  of  inconveni- 
ence to  himself,  displayed  a  certain  leaf  for  tlieir 
perusal.  Martin  read  it  greedily,  and  then 
ir.rjuired  : 

"  Now  where  upon  the  plan  may  this  place 
b.;  ?" 

^  Upon  the  plan  ?"  said  Scadder. 

"  Yes." 

He  turned  towards  it,  and  reflected  for  a  short 
time,  as  if  having  been  put  upon  his  mettle,  he 
was  resolved  to  be  particular  to  the  very  minutest 
hair's-breadth  of  a  sliade.  At  length,  after  wheel- 
ing  his  toothpick  slowly  round  and  round  in  the 
air,  as  if  it  were  a  carrier  pigeon  just  tlirown  uri, 
he  suddenly  made  a  dart  at  tlie  drawinsr,  and 
pierced  the  very  centre  of  tlie  main  wharf,  through 
and  tlirough. 

"There  1"  he  said,  leaving  his  knife  quivering 
in  the  wall;  "that's  wliere  it  is  I" 

Martin  glanced  with  sparkling  eves  upon  his 
Co.,  and  his  Co.  saw  that  the  tiling  was  done. 

The  bargain  was  not  eoncinded  as  easily  ns 
migiit  have  been  expected  t!i(;ugh,  for  Sc.idder 
was  caustic  and  ill-humoured,  and  cast  much  un- 
necessary  opposition  in  tlie  way  :  at  one  time 
requesting  them  to  think  of  it,  and  call  again  in 
a  week  or  a  fortnight;  at  another,  predicting  that 
they  wouldn't  like  it ;  at  another,  offerinir  to  re- 
tract and  let  them  off,  and  muttering  strong  im- 
precations upon  the  folly  of  the  General.  But  the 
whole  of  the  astoundingly  sm.fU  sum  total  of 
purchase  money — it  was  only  one  hundred  and 
fifty  dollars,  or  something  more  than  thirtv 
pounds  of  the  capital  brought  by  Co.  info  the 
architectural  concern — was  ultimately  paid  down; 
and  Martin's  head  was  two  inches  nearer  the 
roof  of  the  little  wooden  office,  with  the  conscious- 
ness of  being  a  landed  proprietor  in  the  thriving 
city  of  Eden. 

"  If  it  shouldn't  happen  to  fit,"  said  .Scadder,  as 
he  ffave  Martin  the  necessary  credentials  on 
recei[rt  of  bis  money,  "  don't  blame  me," 

"No,  no,"  he  replied,  merrily.  "We'll  not 
blame  you.     General,  are  you  going  ?" 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  sir;  and  I  wish  you," 
said  the  General,  giving  him  his  hand  with  grave 
cordiality,  "joy  of  your  po-se--si()n.  You  air  now, 
sir,  a  denizen  of  the  mo.st  powerful  and  highly. 
civilized  do-minion  that  has  ever  graced  the 
woild;  a  do-minion,  sir,  where  man  is  bound  to 
man  in  one  vast  bond  of  equal  love  and  truth. 
May  you,  sir,  be  worthy  of  your  a-dopted 
country  !" 

Martin  thanked  him,  and  took  leave  of  Mr. 
Scadder;  who  had  resumed  his  post  in  the  rock- 
ing-chair immediately  on  the  General's  risiner 
from  it,  and  was  once  more  swinging  away  as  if 


he  had  never  been  disturbed.  Mark  looked  back 
several  limes  as  they  went  down  the  road  towards 
the  National  Hotel ;  but  now  his  blighted  profile 
was  towards  them,  and  nothing  but  attentive 
thoughtfulness  was  written  on  it.  Strangely  dit 
ferent  to  the  other  side  I  He  was  not  a  man 
much  given  to  laughing,  and  never  laughed  out- 
right;  but  every  line  in  the  print  of  the  crow's 
foot,  and  every  little  wiry  vein  in  that  division  of 
his  head,  was  wrinkled  up  into  a  grin  I  The 
compound  figure  of  Death  and  the  Lady  at  the 
lop  of  tlie  old  ballad  was  not  divided  with  a 
greater  nicety,  and  hadn't  halves  more  mon- 
strously unlike  each  other,  than  ttie  two  profiles 
of  Zephaniah  Scadder. 

The  General  posted  along  at  a  great  rate,  for 
the  clock  was  on  tlie  stroke  of  twelve ;  and  at 
that  hour  precisely,  the  Great  Meetintr  of  the 
Waterloast  Sympathisers  Vv'as  to  be  holdcti  in  the 
public  room  of  the  National  Hotel.  Beint,'-  very 
curious  to  witness  the  demon.stration,  and  know 
what  it  was  all  about,  Martin  kept  close  to  t!ic 
General :  and,  keeping  closer  than  ;vcr  when 
they  entered  the  Hall,  got  by  that  means  upon  a 
little  platform  of  tables  at  tiie  upper  end  :  where 
an  arm-chair  was  set  for  the  General,  and  Mr. 
Lafayette  Kettle,  as  secretary,  was  making  a 
great  display  of  some  foolscap  documents  — 
Screamers,  no  doubt. 

"Well,  sir  !"  he  said,  as  he  shook  hands  with 
Martin,  "  here  is  a  spectacle  calc'lated  to  make 
the  British  Lion  put  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and 
howl  with  anguish,  I  expect !" 

Martin  certainly  thought  it  possible  that  the 
British  Lion  miglit  have  been  rattier  out  of  his 
element  in  that  Ark  :  but  he  kept  the  idea  to 
himself.  The  General  was  then  voted  to  the 
chair,  on  the  motion  of  a  pallid  lad  of  the  JetTer- 
son  Brick  school:  who  forthwith  set  in  for  a 
high-spiced  speech,  with  a  good  deal  about 
hearths  and  homes  in  it,  and  unriveting  the 
("h  litis  of  Tyranny. 

Oh  but  it  was  a  clincher  for  the  British  Lion,  it 
WIS  I  The  indignation  of  the  glowing  young  (^o- 
lurnbian  knew  no  bounds.  If  he  could  (jnly  have 
been  one  of  his  own  forefathers,  he  said,  would'iit 
he  have  peppered  that  same  Lion,  and  been  to 
him  as  another  Brute  Tamer  with  a  wire  whip, 
teaching  him  lessons  not  easily  forgotten.  "  Lion  I 
(erii'd  that  young  Columbian)  where  is  he  ?  Who 
is  he  ?  What  is  he  ?  Show  him  to  me.  Let  me 
have  him  here.  Here!"'  said  the  young  Coluni. 
bian,  in  a  wrestling  attitude,  "upon  this  sacred 
altar.  Here  I"  cried  the  young  Columbian,  ideal- 
ising  the  dining-tabie,  "upon  ancestral  ashes, 
cemented  witli  the  glorious  blood  poured  out  lilte 
water  on  our  native  plains  of  Chickabiddy  Lick  I 
Bring  firth  that  Lion  I"  said  the  young  Colum- 
bian, "  Alone,  I  dare  him  !  I  taunt  that  Lion.  I 
tell  that  Lion,  that  Freedom's  hand  once  twisted 
in  his  mane,  he  rolls  a  corse  before  me,  and  the 
Ea<rles  of  the  Great  Republic  laugh,  ha,  ha  !" 

When  it  was  found  that  the  Lion  didn't  come, 
but  kept  out  of  the  way  ;  that  the  young  Couim- 
bian  stood  there,  with  folded  arms,  alone  in  his 
glory ;  and  conse<]uently  that  the  Eagles  were  nu 
doubt  laughing  wildly  on  the  mountain  tops, — 
such  cheers  arose  as  might  have  shaken  the  hands 
upon  the  Horse-Guards'  clock,  and  changed  th* 
very  mean  time  of  the  day  in  England's  capita] 


144 


LIFE    AND   ADVEx\TURES   OF 


"  Who  is  this  ?"  Martin  telegraphed  to  La  Fay- 
ette. 

The  Secretary  wrote  something',  very  gravely, 
on  a  piece  of  paper,  twisted  it  up,  and  had  it 
passed  to  him  from  hand  to  hand.  It  was  an  im- 
provement on  tlie  old  sentiment:  "Perhaps  as 
rem.irkable  a  man  as  any  in  our  country." 

This  young  Columbian  was  succeeded  by  an- 
other, to  the  full  as  eloquent  as  he,  who  drew 
down  storms  of  cheers.  But  both  remarkable 
youths,  in  their  great  excitement  (for  your  true 
fK)etry  can  never  stoop  to  details),  forgot  to  say 
with  whom  or  what  the  Watertoasters  sympa- 
thised, and  likewise  why  or  wherefore  they  were 
sympathetic.  Thus,  Martin  remained  for  a  long 
tin)e  as  completely  in  the  dark  as  ever;  until  at 
length  a  ray  of  light  broke  in  upon  him  through 
tlie  medium  of  the  Secretary,  who,  by  reading  the 
niinutes  of  their  past  proceedings,  made  the  mat- 
ter somewhat  clearer.  He  then  learned  that  the 
Watertoast  Association  sympathised  with  a  cer- 
tain Public  Man  in  Ireland,  who  held  a  contest 
upon  certain  points  with  England  :  and  that  they 
did  so,  because  they  didn't  love  England  at  all — 
not  by  any  means  because  they  loved  Ireland 
much  :  being  indeed  horribly  jealous  and  distrust- 
ful of  its  people  always,  and  only  tolerating  them 
because  of  their  working  hard,  which  made  them 
very  useful;  labour  being  held  in  greater  indig- 
nity in  the  simple  republic  than  in  any  other 
Country  upon  earth.  This  rendered  Martin  curi- 
ous to  see  what  grounds  of  sympathy  the  Water- 
toast  Association  put  forth ;  nor  was  he  long  in 
suspense,  for  the  General  rose  to  read  a  letter  to 
the  Public  Man,  which  with  his  own  hands  he 
had  written. 

"  Thus,"  said  the  General,  "  thus,  my  friends 
and  fellow-citizens,  it  runs  : 

'"Sir, — I  address  you  on  behalf  of  the  Water- 
toast  Association  of  United  Sympathisers.  It  is 
founded,  sir,  in  the  great  republic  of  America ! 
and  now  holds  its  breath,  and  swells  the  blue 
veins  in  its  forehead  nigh  to  bursting,  as  it 
watches,  sir,  with  feverish  intensity  and  sympa- 
thetic ardour,  your  noble  efforts  in  the  cause  of 
Freedom.' " 

At  the  name  of  Freedom,  and  at  every  repeti- 
tion of  that  name,  all  the  Sympathisers  roared 
aloud ;  cheering  with  nine  limes  nine,  and  nine 
times  over.' 

"'In  Freedom's  name,  sir — holy  Freedom — I 
address  you.  In  Freedom's  name,  I  send  here- 
with a  contribution  to  the  fimds  of  your  Society. 
In  Freedom's  name,  sir,  I  advert  witli  indignation 
and  disgust  to  that  accursed  animal,  with  gore- 
stained  whiskers,  whose  rampnnt  cruelty  and  fiery 
lust  have  ever  been  a  scourge,  a  torment,  to  the 
world.  The  naked  visitors  to  Crusoe's  Island, 
sir;  the  flying  wives  of  Peter  Wilkins;  the  fruit- 
smeared  ciiildrcn  of  the  tangled  bush;  nay,  even 
the  men  of  large  stature,  anciently  bred  in  the 
mining  districts  of  Cornwall ;  alike  bear  witness 
to  its  Kav;i!/e  nature.  Where,  sir,  arc  the  Cormo- 
rans,  the  Hlundcrhores,  the  Great  Fecfofums, 
named  in  History?  all,  all,  exterminated  by  its 
dcstrciyiiig  hand. 

"•I  nlhidc,  sir,  to  the  British  Lion. 

"'Devoted,  mind  and  body,  heart  and  soul,  to 
Freedom,  sir — to  Freedom,  blessed  solace  to  the 
■noil  upoP  <hc  cellar-door,  the  oyster  in  iiis  pearly 


bed,  the  still  mite  in  his  home  of  cheese,  the  very 
winkle  of  your  country  in  his  shelly  lair — in  her 
unsullied  name,  we  oifer  you  our  sympathy.  Oli, 
sir,  in  this  our  cherished  and  our  happy  land,  her 
fires  burn  bright  and  clear  and  smokeless :  once 
hghted  up  in  yours,  the  lion  shall  be  roasted 
whole. 

"'I  am,  sir,  in  Freedom's  name,  your  affection, 
ate  friend  and  faithful  Sympathiser, 

"'Cyrus  Choke, 
"'General,  U.  S.  M.' " 

It  happened  that  just  as  the  General  began  to 
read  this  letter,  the  railroad  train  arrived,  bring- 
ing a  new  mail  from  England ;  and  a  packet  hud 
been  handed  in  to  the  Secretary,  which  during  its 
perusal  and  the  frequent  cheerings  in  homage  to 
freedom,  he  had  opened.  Now,  its  contents  dis- 
turbed him  very  much,  and  the  moment  the  Gene- 
ral sat  down,  he  hurried  to  his  side,  and  placed 
in  his  hand  a  letter  and  several  printed  extracts 
from  English  newspapers;  to  which,  in  a  state 
of  infinite  excitement,  he  called  his  immediate  aU 
tention. 

The  General,  being  greatly  heated  by  his  own 
composition,  was  in  a  fit  state  to  receive  any  in- 
flammable influence ;  but  he  had  no  sooner  [ws. 
sessed  himself  of  the  contents  of  these  documents, 
than  a  change  came  over  his  face,  involving  such 
a  huge  amount  of  choler  and  passion,  that  the 
noisy  concourse  were  silent  in  a  moment,  in  very 
wonder  at  the  sight  of  him. 

"  My  friends  I"  cried  the  General,  rising ;  "  my 
friends  and  fellow-citizens,  we  have  been  mistaken 
in  this  man." 

"  In  what  man  ?"  was  the  cry. 

"  In  this,"  panted  the  General,  holding  up  the 
letter  he  had  read  aloud  a  few  minutes  before. 
"  I  find  that  he  has  been,  and  is,  the  advocate — 
consistent  in  it  always  too — of  Nigger  emancipa. 
tion  !" 

If  anything  beneath  the  sky  be  real,  those  Sorw 
of  Freedom  would  have  pistolled,  stabbed  —  in 
some  way  slain — that  man  by  coward  hands  and 
murderous  violence,  if  he  had  stood  among  them 
at  that  time.  The  most  confiding  of  their  own 
countrymen,  would  not  have  wagered  then  ;  no, 
nor  would  they  ever  peril;  one  dunghill  straw, 
upon  the  life  of  any  man  in  such  a  strait.  They 
tore  the  letter,  cast  the  fragments  in  the  air,  trod 
down  the  pieces  as  they  fell ;  and  yelled,  and 
groaned,  and  hissed,  till  they  could  cry  no  longer. 

"  I  shall  move,"  said  the  General,  when  he  conld 
make  himself  heard,  "that  the  Watertoast  Asso- 
ciation of  United  Sympathisers  be  immediately 
dissolved !' 

Down  with  it !  Away  with  it !  Don't  hear  of 
it !  Burn  its  records  !  Pull  the  room  down  !  Blot 
it  out  of  human  memory  ! 

"  But,  my  fellow  countrymen  !"  said  the  Gene 
ral,  "  the  contributions.  We  have  funds.  Wlia 
is  to  be  done  with  the  funds?" 

It  was  hastily  resolved  that  a  piece  of  plate 
should  be  presented  to  a  certain  constitutional 
Judge,  who  had  laid  down  from  the  Bench  the 
noble  principle,  that  it  was  lawful  for  any  while 
mob  to  murder  any  black  man  :  and  that  another 
piece  of  plate,  of  similar  value,  should  be  presenter! 
to  a  certain  Patriot,  who  had  declared  from  his 
high  place  in  the  Legislature,  that  he  and  hip 
friends  would  hang,  without  trial,  any  abolitiunisl 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


116 


*«'ho  mifjht  pay  them  a  visit.  For  the  surplus,  it  ;  was  attracted  by  the  Republican  banner,  whic}< 
was  ajoreed  that  it  sliould  be  devoted  to  aiding- the  i  had  been  hoisted  from  the  house-lop  in  iionour  o!' 
enforcement  of  those  free  and  equal  laws,  which  the  occasion,  and  was  fluttering  before  a  wind  j'3 
render  it  incalculably  more  criminal  and  dangerous  i  which  he  passed. 


to  teach  a  negro  to  icad  and  write,  than  to  roast 
liim  alive  in  a  public  city.  These  points  adjusted, 
Jie  meeting  broke  up  in  great  disorder;  and  there 
was  an  end  of  the  Watertoast  Sympathy. 

As  Martin  ascended  to  his  bedroom,  his  eye 


"Tut  I"  said  Martin.  "You're  a  gay  flag  in 
the  distance.  But  let  a  man  be  near  enough  to 
gel  the  light  upon  the  other  side,  and  see  through 
you  ;  and  you  are  but  sorry  fustian  I" 


CHAPTER  XXII. 


FROM  WHICH  IT  WILL  BE  SEEN   THAT   MARTIN   BECAME   A   LION    ON 
OWN  ACCOUNT.     TOGETHER  WITH  THE  REASON  WHY. 


HIS 


As  soon  as  it  v^as  generally  known  in  the  Na- 
tional Hotel  that  the  young  Englishman,  Mr. 
fliuzzlewit,  had  purchased  "a  lo-cation"  in  the 
Valley  of  Eden,  and  intended  to  betake  himself  to 
that  Paradise  by  the  next  steamboat,  he  became 
a  popular  character.  Why  this  should  be,  or  how 
it  had  come  to  pass,  Martin  no  more  knew  than 
Mrs.  Gamp,  of  Kingsgate-street,  High  Holborn, 
did ,  but  that  he  was,  for  the  time  being,  the  lion, 
by  popular  election,  of  the  Watertoast  commu- 
nity, and  that  his  society  was  in  rather  inconve- 
nient request,  there  could  be  no  kind  of  doubt. 

The  first  notification  he  received  of  this  change 
m  his  position,  was  the  following  epistle,  written 
in  a  thin  running  hand, — with  here  and  there  a 
fat  letter  or  two,  to  make  the  general  effect  more 
striking, — on  a  sheet  of  paper,  ruled  with  blue 
lines. 

"  National  Hotel, 

"  Monday  Morning. 
"  Dear  Sir — When  I  had  the  privillidge  of  being 
your  fellow-traveller  in  the  cars,  the  day  before 
yesterday,  you  offered  some  remarks  upon  the 
subject  of  the  Tower  of  London,  which  (in  com- 
mon with  my  fellow-citizens  generally,)  I  could 
wish  to  hear  repeated  to  a  public  audience. 

"  As  secretary  to  the  Young  Men's  Watertoast 
Association  of  this  town,  I  am  requested  to  inform 
you  that  the  Society  will  be  proud  to  hear  you 
deliver  a  lecture  upon  the  Tower  of  London,  at 
their  Hall,  to-morrow  evening,  at  seven  o'clock ; 
and  as  a  large  issue  of  quarter-dollar  tickets  may 
be  expected,  your  answer  and  consent  by  bearer 
will  be  considered  obliging. 

"  Dear  sir,  yours  truly, 

"La  Fayette  Kettle. 
"  The  Honourable  M.  Chuzzlewit. 
"  P.S. — The  Society  would  not  be  particular  in 
limiting  you  to  the  Tower  of  London.  Permit 
me  to  suggest  that  any  remarks  upon  the  Ele- 
ments of  Geology,  or  (if  more  convenient)  upon 
the  Writings  of  your  talented  and  witty  country- 
man, the  honourable  Mr.  Miller,  would  be  well 
received." 

Very  much  aghast  at  this  invitation,  Martin 
wrote  back,  civilly  declining  it;  and  had  scarcely 
done  so,  when  he  received  another  letter. 

"  No.  47,  Bimker  Hill  Street, 
"  Private.  "  Morning  Morning, 

"Sir — I  was  raised  in  those  interminable  soli- 
tudes where  our  mighty  Mississippi  (or  Father  of 
Waters)  rolls  his  turbid  flood. 
19 


"  I  am  young,  and  ardent.  For  there  is  a  poetry 
in  wildness,  and  every  alligator  basking  in  the 
slime  is  in  himself  an  Epic,  self-contained.  I 
aspirate  tor  fame.  It  is  my  yearning  and  my 
thirst. 

"Are  you,  sir,  aware  of  any  member  of  Con- 
gress in  England,  who  would  undertake  to  pay 
my  expenses  to  that  country,  and  for  six  months 
after  my  arrival  ? 

"There  is  something  within  me  which  gives 
me  the  assurance  that  this  enlightened  patronage 
would  not  be  thrown  away.  In  literature  or  art ; 
the  bar,  the  pulpit,  or  the  stage;  in  one  or  other, 
if  not  all,  I  feel  that  I  am  certain  to  succeed. 

"  II  too  much  engaged  to  write  to  any  such 
yourself,  please  let  me  have  a  list  of  three  or  four 
of  those  most  likely  to  respond,  and  I  will  addresH 
them  through  the  Post  Office.  May  I  also  ask 
you  to  favour  me  with  any  critical  observations 
that  have  ever  presented  themselves  to  your  re- 
flective faculties,  on  'Cain,  a  Mystery,'  by  the 
Right  Honourable  Lord  Byron  ? 
"  I  am.  Sir, 

"  Yours  (forgive  me  if  I  add,  soaringly), 
"  Putnam  Smip. 
"P.S. — Address  your  answer  to  America  Ju- 
nior,    Messrs.    Hancock    &    Floby,    Dry    Goode 
Store,  as  above." 

Both  of  which  letters,  together  with  Martin's 
reply  to  each,  were,  according  to  a  laudable  cuh- 
tom,  much  tending  to  the  promotion  of  gentle- 
manly feeling  and  social  confidence,  published  in 
the  ne.xt  number  of  the  Watertoast  Gazette. 

He  had  scarcely  got  through  this  correspond- 
ence, when  Captain  Kedgick,  the  landlord,  kindly 
came  up  stairs  to  see  how  he  was  getting  on. 
The  Captain  sat  down  upon  the  bed  before  he 
spoke,  and,  finding  it  rather  hard,  moved  to  tl»e 
pillow. 

"  Well,  sir!"  said  the  Captain,  putting  his  hat 
a  little  more  on  one  side,  for  it  was  rather  tight 
in  the  crown :  "  You  're  quite  a  public  man,  I 
calc'late." 

"So  it  seems,"  retorted  Martin,  who  wa«  veiy 
tired. 

"Our  citizens,  sir,"  pursued  the  Captain,  "in 

tend  to  pay  their  respects  to  you.     You  will  have 

to  hold  a  sort  of  le — vee,  sir,  while  you  're  here.'' 

"  Powers  above  I"  cried  Martin,  "  I  couldn't  dv 

that,  my  good  fellow  !" 

"  I  reckon  you  must  then,"  said  the  Caotain. 
"  Must  is  not  a  pleasant  word,  Captain  '  'orjfort 
Martin. 


146 


IIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


•'Well!  1  didn't  fix  the  mother  lanpnagc,  and  I 
I  can't  unfix  it,'"  said  the  Captain,  cooll)'  :  "  else 
I  'd  make  it  pleasant.  You  must  re-ceive.  That 's 
all." 

"  But  why  should  I  receive  people  who  care  as 
much  for  me  as  I  care  for  them  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"  Well  I  because  I  have  had  a  muniment  put  up 
in  the  bar,"  returned  the  Captain. 

"A  what?"  cried  Martin. 

"  A  muniment,"  rejoined  the  captain. 

Martin  looked  despairingly  at  Mark,  who  in- 
formed him  that  the  Captain  meant  a  written 
notice  that  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  would  receive  the 
Watertoaslers  that  day,  at  and  after  two  o'clock  : 
which  was,  in  effect,  then  hanging  in  the  bar,  as 
Mark  from  ocular  inspection  of  the  same  could 
testify. 

"  You  wouldn't  be  unpop'lar,  /  know,"  said  the 
Captain,  paring  his  nails.  "  Our  citizens  an't 
long  of  riling  up,  I  tell  you  ;  and  our  Gazette  could 
flay  you  like  a  wild  cat." 

Martin  was  going  to  be  very  wroth,  but  he 
thought  better  of  it,  and  said  : 

"  In  Heaven's  name  let  them  come,  then." 

"  Oh,  they  '11  come,"  returned  the  Captain.  "  I 
have  seen  the  big  room  fixed  a'purpose,  with  my 
eyes." 

"  But  will  you,"  said  Martin,  seeing  that  the 
Captain  was  about  to  go ;  "  will  you  at  least  tell 
me  this.  What  do  they  want  to  see  me  for  ? 
what  have  I  done?  and  how  do  they  happen  to 
have  such  a  sudden  interest  in  me  ?" 

Captain  Kedgick  put  a  thumb  and  three  fingers 
to  each  side  of  the  brim  of  his  hat;  lifted  it  a  little 
way  off  his  head  ;  put  it  on  again  carefnlly  ;  passed 
one  hand  all  down  his  face,  beginning  at  the  fore- 
head and  ending  at  the  chin  ;  looked  at  Martin  ; 
llien  at  Mark  ;  then  at  Martin  again ;  winked ; 
and  walked  out. 

"  Upon  my  life,  now  I"  said  Martin,  bringing 
his  hand  heavily  upon  the  table ;  "  such  a  per- 
fectly unaccountable  fellow  as  that,  I  never  saw. 
Mark,  what  do  you  say  to  this  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  returned  his  partner,  "  my  opinion 
is  that  we  must  have  got  to  the  most  remarkable 
man  in  the  country,  at  last.  So  I  hope  there  's  an 
end  of  the  breed,  sir." 

Although  this  made  Martin  laugh,  it  couldn't 
keep  off  two  o'clock.  Punctually,  as  the  hour 
struck,  Captain  Kedgick  returned  to  hand  him  to 
the  room  of  state;  and  he  had  no  sooner  got  him 
safe  there,  than  he  bawled  down  the  staircase  to 
his  fellow-citizens  below,  that  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  was 
"  receiving." 

Up  they  came  with  a  rush.  Up  they  came  until 
the  room  was  full,  and,  through  the  open  door,  a 
dismal  perspective  of  more  to  come  was  shown 
upon  the  stairs.  One  after  another,  one  after 
another,  dozen  after  dozen,  score  after  score,  more 
more,  more,  up  they  came  :  all  shaking  hands 
with  Martin.  Such  varieties  of  hands,  the  thick, 
thf,  thill,  the  short,  the  long,  the  fat,  the  lean,  the 
coarse,  the  fine;  such  differences  of  temperature, 
the  hot,  the  cold,  the  dry,  the  moist,  the  flabby  ; 
Hiich  diversities  of  grasp,  the  tight,  the  loose,  the 
nhorl-lived,  and  the  lingering  !  Still  up,  up,  up, 
more,  more,  more :  and  ever  and  anon  the  Cap- 
tain's voice  was  heard  above  the  crowd — "There's 
more  below;  there's  more  below.  Now,  gentle- 
Mieu.  vuu  that  have  been  introduced  to  Mr.  Chuz- 


zlewit, will  you  clear,  gentlemen?  Will  3\u 
clear  ?  Will  you  be  so  good  as  clear,  gentlemen, 
and  make  a  little  room  for  more  ?" 

Regardless  of  the  Captain's  cries,  they  didn't 
clear  at  all,  but  stood  there,  bolt  upright  and 
staring.  Two  gentlemen  connected  with  the 
Watertoast  Gazette  had  come  express  to  get  the 
matter  for  an  article  on  Martin.  They  had  agreed 
to  divide  the  labour.  One  of  them  took  him 
below  tlie  waistcoat ;  one  above.  Each  stood 
directly  in  front  of  his  subject  with  his  head  a 
little  on  one  side,  intent  on  his  department.  If 
Martin  put  one  boot  before  the  other,  the  lower 
gentleman  was  down  upon  him  ;  he  rubbed  a 
pimple  on  his  nose,  and  the  upper  gentleman 
booked  it.  He  opened  his  mouth  to  speak,  and 
the  same  gentleman  was  on  one  knee  before  him, 
looking  in  at  his  teeth,  with  the  nice  scrutiny  of 
a  dentist.  Amateurs  in  the  physiognomical  and 
phrenological  sciences  roved  about  him  with 
watchful  eyes  and  itching  fingers,  and  sometimes 
one,  more  daring  than  the  rest,  made  a  mad  grasp 
at  the  back  of  his  head,  and  vanished  in  the 
crowd.  They  had  him  in  all  points  of  view  :  in 
front,  in  profile,  three-quarter  face,  and  behind. 
Those  who  were  not  professional  or  scientific, 
audibly  exchanged  opinions  on  his  looks.  New 
lights  shone  in  upon  him,  in  respect  of  his  nose. 
Contradictory  rumours  were  abroad  on  the  sub- 
ject of  his  hair.  And  still  the  Captain's  voice 
was  heard  —  so  stifled  by  the  concourse,  that  he 
seemed  to  speak  from  underneath  a  feather-bed — 
exclaiming,  "Gentlemen,  you  that  have  been 
introduced  to  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  xoill  you  clear?" 

Even  when  they  began  to  clear,  it  was  no  bet- 
ter ;  for  then  a  stream  of  gentlemen,  every  one 
with  a  lady  on  each  arm  (exactly  like  the  chorus 
to  the  National  Anthem  when  Royalty  goes  in 
state  to  the  play),  came  gliding  in  —  every  new 
group  fresher  than  the  last,  and  bent  on  staying 
to  the  latest  moment.  If  they  spoke  to  him, 
which  was  not  often,  they  invariably  asked  the 
same  questions,  in  the  same  tone  ;  \.'ith  no  more 
remorse,  sr  delicacy,  or  consideration,  than  if  he 
had  been  a  figure  of  stone,  purchased,  and  paid 
for,  and  set  up  there,  for  their  delight.  Even  when, 
in  the  slow  course  of  time,  these  died  off,  it  was 
as  bad  as  ever,  if  not  worse  ;  for  then  the  boys 
grew  bold,  and  came  in  as  a  class  of  themselves, 
and  did  everything  that  the  grown-up  people  had 
done.  Uncouth  stragglers  too  appeared  ;  men  of 
a  ghostly  kind,  who  being  in,  didn't  know  how 
to  get  out  again  :  insomuch  that  one  silent  gentle- 
man with  glazed  and  fishy  eyes,  and  only  one 
button  on  his  waistcoat  (which  was  a  very  large 
metal  one,  and  shone  prodigiously),  got  behind 
the  door,  and  stood  there,  like  a  Clock,  long  after 
everybody  else  was  gone. 

Martin  felt,  from  pure  fatigue,  and  heat,  and 
worry,  as  if  he  could  have  fallen  on  the  groimd 
and  willingly  remained  there,  if  they  would  but 
have  had  the  mercy  to  leave  him  alone.  But  as 
letters  and  messages  threatening  his  public  de- 
nouncement if  he  didn't  see  the  senders,  poured  in 
like  hail ;  and  as  more  visitors  cniiic  wliile  he 
took  his  coft'ee  by  himself;  and  as  Mark,  with  all 
his  vigilance,  was  unable  to  keep  them  from  tho 
door ;  he  resolved  to  go  to  bed — not  that  he  felt  at 
all  sure  of  bed  being  any  protection,  but  that  ho 
might  not  leave  a  forlorn  hope  untnd. 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


147 


He  had  communicated  this  design  to  Mark,  and 
was  on  the  eve  of  escaping,  when  the  door  was 
tlirown  open  in  a  great  iiurry,  and  an  elderly 
gentleman  entered  :  bringing  witli  him  a  lady 
who  certainly  could  not  be  considered  young — 
that  was  matter  of  fact;  and  probably  could  not 
be  considered  handsome — but  that  was  matter  of 
opinion.  She  was  very  straight,  very  tall,  and  not 
at  all  flexible  in  face  or  figure.  On  her  head  she 
wore  a  great  straw  bonnet,  with  trimmings  of-the 
same,  in  which  she  looked  as  if  she  had  been 
thatched  by  an  unskilful  labourer ;  and  in  her 
hand  slie  held  a  most  enormous  fan. 

"  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  I  believe  ?"  said  the  gentle- 
man. 

"  That  is  my  name." 

"  Sir,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  am  pressed  for 
time." 

"  Thank  God  !"  thought  Martin. 

"  I  go  back  Toe  my  home,  sir,"  pursued  the 
gentleman,  "  by  the  return  train,  which  sturts  im- 
mediate. Start  is  not  a  word  you  use  in  your 
country,  sir." 

"Oh  yes,  it  is,"  said  Martin. 

"You  air  mistaken,  sir,"  returned  the  gentle- 
man, with  great  decision  :  "  but  we  will  not  pursue 
the  subject,  lest  it  should  awake  your  preju — dice. 
Sir,  Mrs.  Hominy." 

Martin  bowed. 

"Mrs.  Hominy,  sir,  is  the  lady  of  Major  Ho- 
miny, one  of  our  chicest  spirits  ;  and  belongs  Toe 
one  of  our  most  aristocratic  families.  You  air, 
p'raps,  acquainted  sir,  with  Mrs.  Hominy's  writ- 
ings  ?" 

Martin  couldn't  say  he  was. 

"  You  have  much  Toe  learn,  and  Toe  enjoy, 
Bir,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Mrs.  Hominy  is  going 
Toe  stay  until  the  end  of  the  Fall,  sir,  with  her 
married  daughter  at  the  settlement  of  New  Ter- 
mopylsB,  three  days  this  side  of  Eden.  Any  at- 
tention, sir,  that  you  can  show  Toe  Mrs.  Hominy 
upon  the  journey,  will  be  very  grateful  Toe  the 
Major  and  our  fellow-citizens.  Mrs.  Hominy,  I 
wish  you  good  night,  ma'am,  and  a  pleasant  pro- 
gress  on  your  rout !" 

Martin  could  scarcely  believe  it;  but  he  had 
gone,  and  Mrs.  Hominy  was  drinking  the  milk. 

"  A'most  used-up  I  am,  I  do  declare  I"  she  ob- 
served. "  The  jolting  in  the  cars  is  pretty  nigh 
as  bad  as  if  the  rail  was  full  of  snags  and  sawyers." 

"  Snags  and  sawyers,  ma'am  ?"  said  Martin. 

"  Well,  then,  I  do  suppose  you  '11  hardly  realise 
my  meaning,  sir,"  said  Mrs,  Hominy.  "  My  ! 
Only  think  !  Do  tell !" 

It  did  not  appear  that  these  expressions,  although 
they  seemed  to  conclude  with  an  urgent  entreaty, 
stood  in  need  of  any  answer  ;  for  Mrs.  Hominy, 
untying  her  bonnet-strings,  observed  that  she 
would  withdraw  to  lay  that  article  of  dress  aside, 
and  would  return  immediately. 

"  Mark  !"  said  Martin.  "  Touch  me,  will  you. 
Am  1  awake !" 

"  Hominy  is,  sir,"  returned  his  partner — "  Broad 
awake  !  Ju^t  the  sort  of  woman,  sir,  as  would  be 
discovered  with  her  eyes  wide  open,  and  her  mind 
a-wofking  for  her  country's  good,  at  any  hour  of 
the  day  or  night." 

They  had  no  opportunity  of  saying  more,  for 
Mrs.  Hominy  stalked  in  again  —  very  erect,  in 
proof  of  her  aristocratic  blood ;  and  holding  in 


her  clasped  hands  a  red  cotton  pocket-handkcr- 
chief,  perhaps  a  parting  gift  from  that  choice 
spirit,  the  Major.  She  had  laid  aside  her  bormet, 
and  now  appeared  in  a  highly  aristocratic  and 
classical  cap,  meeting  beneath  her  chin :  a  style 
of  head-dress  so  admirably  adapted  to  her  coun- 
tenance, that  if  the  Lite  Mr.  Grimaldi  had  appe.irrd 
in  the  lappets  of  Mrs.  Siddons,  a  more  complete 
effect  could  not  have  been  produced. 

Martin  handed  her  to  a  chair.  Her  first  words 
arrested  him  before  he  could  get  back  to  his  own 
seat. 

"  Pray,  sir  !"  said  Mrs  Hominy,  "  where  do 
you  hail  from  ?" 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  dull  of  comprehension," 
answered  Martin,  "  being  extremely  tired  ;  but, 
upon  my  word,  I  don't  understand  you." 

Mrs.  Hominy  shook  her  head  with  a  melancholy 
smile  that  said,  not  inexpressively,  '  They  corrupt 
even  the  language  in  that  old  country !"  and  ad- 
ded then,  as  coming  down  a  step  or  two  to  meet 
his  low  capacity,  "  VVhere  was  you  rose  ?" 

"  Oh  !"  said  Martin,  ^'  I  was  born  in  Kent." 

"  And  how  do  you  like  our  country,  sir  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hominy. 

"  Very  much  indeed,"  said  Martin,  half  asleep 
"  At  least — that  is — pretty  well,  ma'am." 

"Most  strangers  —  and  partick'larly  Britishers 
—  are  much  surprised  by  what  they  see  in  the 
U-nited  States,"  remarked  Mrs.  Hominy. 

"  They  have  excellent  reason  to  be  so,  ma'am," 
said  Martin.  "  I  never  was  so  much  surprised  in 
all  my  life." 

"  Our  institutions  make  our  people  smart  much, 
sir  ?"  Mrs.  Hominy  remarked. 

"The  most  short-sighted  man  could  see  that  at 
a  glance,  with  his  naked  eye,"  said  Martin. 

Mrs.  Hominy  was  a  philosopher  and  an  au- 
thoress, and  consequently  had  a  pretty  strong 
digestion;  but  this  coarse,  this  indecorous  phrase, 
was  almost  too  much  for  her.  For  a  gentleman 
sitting  alone  with  a  lady — although  the  door  wis 
open — to  talk  about  a  naked  eye  ! 

A  long  interval  elapsed  before  even  she  — 
woman  of  masculine  and  towering  intellect 
though  she  was  —  could  call  up  fortitude  enoujj h 
to  resume  the  conversation.  But  Mrs.  Hominy 
was  a  traveller.  Mrs.  Hominy  was  a  writer  of 
reviews  and  analytical  disquisitions.  Mrs.  Ho- 
miny had  had  her  letters  from  abroad,  beginning 
"  My  ever  dearest  blank,"  and  signed  "  Tlie 
Mother  of  the  Modern  Gracchi"  (meaning  the 
married  Miss  Hominy),  regularly  printed  in  a 
public  journal,  with  all  the  indignation  in  capit.il>-, 
and  all  the  sarcasm  in  italics.  Mrs.  Hominy  had 
looked  on  foreign  countries  with  the  eye  of  a 
perfect  republican  hot  from  the  model  oven  ;  an<l 
Mrs.  Hominy  could  talk  (or  write)  about  tliem  by 
the  hour  together.  So  Mrs.  Hominy  at  last  came 
down  on  Martin  heavily,  and  as  he  was  fas-t 
asleep,  she  had  it  all  her  Twn  way  and  braised 
him  to  her  heart's  content. 

It  is  no  great  matter  what  Mrs  Hominy  saio, 
save  that  she  had  learnt  it  from  the  cant  of  a 
class,  and  a  large  class,  of  her  fellow-country- 
men, who,  in  their  every  word,  avow  themselves, 
to  be  as  senseless  to  the  high  principles  on  which 
America  sprang,  a  nation,  into  life,  as  any  Orsor» 
in  her  legislative  halls.  Who  are  no  more  caps 
ble  of  feeling,  or  of  caring  if  they  did  ^eel,  *Jia« 


148 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


by  reducing  their  own  country  to  the  ebb  of  ho- 
nest men's  contempt,  they  put  in  hazard  the  rights 
i>f  nations  yet  unborn,  and  very  progress  of  the 
iiuman  race,  than  are  the  swine  who  wallow  in 
their  streets.  Who  think  that  crying  out  to  other 
nations,  jld  in  their  iniquity,  "  We  are  no  worse 
than  you  !"  (No  worse  I)  is  high  defence  and 
'vantage  ground  enough  for  that  Republic,  but 
yesterday  let  loose  upon  her  noble  course,  and  but 
to-day  so  maimed  and  lame,  so  full  of  sores  and 
ulcers,  foul  to  the  eye,  and  almost  hopeless  to  the 
nense,  that  her  best  friends  turn  from  the  loath- 
some creature  with  disgust.  Who,  havirig  by 
their  ancestors  declared  and  won  their  Independ- 
ence, because  tlrey  would  not  bend  the  knee  to 
certain  Public  vices  and  corruptions  and  would 
not  abrogate  the  truth,  run  riot  in  the  Bad,  and 
turn  their  backs  upon  the  Good  ;  and  lying  down 
contented  with  the  wretched  boast  that  other  Tem- 
ples also  are  of  glass,  and  stones  which  batter 
theirs  may  be  flung  back;  show  themselves,  in 
that  alone,  as  immeasurably  behind  the  import  of 
the  trust  they  hold,  and  as  unworthy  to  possess  it, 
as  if  the  sordid  hucksterings  of  all  their  little 
governments — each  one  a  kingdom  in  its  small 
depravity — were  brought  into  a  heap  for  evidence 
against  them. 

Martin  by  degrees  became  so  far  awake,  that 
he  had  a  sense  of  a  terrible  oppression  on  his 
mind;  an  imperfect  dream  that  he  had  murdered 
a  particular  friend,  and  couldn't  get  rid  of  the 
body.  When  his  eyes  opened,  it  was  staring  him 
full  in  the  face.  There  was  the  horrible  Hominy, 
talking  deep  truths  in  a  melodious  snuffle,  and 
pouring  forth  her  mental  endowments  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  Major's  bitterest  enemy,  hearing 
her.  would  have  forgiven  him  from  the  bottom  of 
liis  heart.  Martin  might  have  done  something 
desperate  if  the  gong  had  not  soun<led  for  supper ; 
but  sound  it  did  most  opportunely ;  and  having 
stationed  Mrs.  Hominy  at  the  upper  end  of  the 
table,  he  took  refuge  at  the  lower  end  himself; 
whence,  after  a  hasty  meal,  he  stole  away,  while 
the  lady  was  yet  busied  with  dried  beef  and  a 
whole  sauner-full  of  pickled  fixings. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  give  an  adequate  idea 
of  Mrs.  Hominy's  freshness  ne.xt  day,  or  of  the 
avidity  with  which  she  went  headlong  into  moral 
philosophy  at  breakfast.  Some  little  additional 
degree  of  asperity,  perhaps,  was  visible  in  her  fea- 
tures, but  not  more  than  the  pickles  would  have 
naturally  produced.  All  that  day,  she  clung  to 
Martin.  She  sat  beside  him  while  he  received 
his  friends — for  there  was  another  Reception,  yet 
more  numerous  than  the  former — propounded  the- 
ories, and  answered  imaginary  objections  :  so  that 
Martin  really  began  to  think  he  must  be  dream, 
ing,  and  speaking  for  two ;  quoted  interminable 
passages  from  certain  essays  on  government,  writ- 
ten by  herself;  used  the  Major's  pocket-handker- 
chief as  if  the  snuffle  were  a  temporary  malady, 
of  whicii  she  was  determined  to  rid  herself  by 
«ome  means  or  other ;  and,  in  short,  was  such  a 
remarkable  companion,  that  Martin  quite  settled 
!t  between  himself  and  his  conscience,  that  in  any 
new  settlement  it  would  be  absolutely  necessary 
to  have  such  a  person  knocked  on  the  head  for 
uie  general  peace  of  society. 

In  the  mean  time  Mark  was  busy,  from  early 
'0  the  morning  until  late  at  night,  in  getting  on  j 


board  the  steamboat  such  provisions,  tools,  and 
other  necessaries,  as  they  had  been  forewarned  it 
would  be  wise  to  take.  The  purchase  of  these 
things,  and  the  settlement  of  their  bill  at  the  Na- 
tional,  reduced  their  finances  to  so  low  an  ebU 
that  if  the  captain  had  delayed  his  departure  any 
longer,  they  would  have  been  in  almost  as  bud  a 
plight  as  the  unibrtunate  poorer  emigrants,  who 
(seduced  on  board  by  solemn  advertisement)  had 
been  living  on  the  lower  deck  a  whole  week,  and 
exhausting  their  miserable  stock  of  provisions  be- 
fore the  voyage  commenced.  There  they  were, 
all  huddled  together,  with  the  engine  and  the  fires. 
Farmers  who  had  never  seen  a  plough  ;  woodmen 
who  had  never  used  an  axe  ;  builders  who  couldn't 
make  a  box ;  cast  out  of  their  own  land,  with  not 
a  hand  to  aid  them  :  newly  come  into  an  unknown 
world,  children  in  helplessness,  but  men  in  wants 
— with  younger  children  at  their  backs,  to  live  or 
die  as  it  might  happen  ! 

The  morning  came ;  and  they  would  start  at 
noon.  Noon  came,  and  they  would  start  at  night. 
But  nothing  is  eternal  in  this  world :  not  even  the 
procrastination  of  an  American  skipper  :  and  at 
night  all  was  ready. 

Dispirited  and  weary  to  the  last  degree,  but  a 
greater  lion  than  ever  (he  had  done  nothing  all 
the  afternoon  but  answer  letters  from  strangers  : 
half  of  them  about  nothing  :  half  about  borrowing 
money  :  and  all  requiring  an  instantaneous  reply), 
Martin  walked  down  to  the  wharf,  through  a  con- 
course of  people,  with  Mrs,  Hominy  upon  his 
arm  ;  and  went  on  board.  But  Mark  was  benl 
on  solving  the  riddle  of  this  lionship,  if  he  cculd 
and  so,  not  without  the  risk  of  being  left  behind 
ran  back  to  the  hotel. 

Captain  Kedgick  was  sitting  in  the  colonnade 
with  a  julep  on  his  knee,  and  a  cigar  in  his  mouth 
He  caught  Mark's  eye,  and  said  : 

"  Why,  what  the  'Tarnal  brings  you  here  ?" 

"  I  '11  tell  you  plainly  what  it  is,  Captain,"  sait 
Mark.     "  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"  A  man  may  ask  a  question,  so  he  may,"  re 
turned  Kedgick  :  strongly  implying  that  anothe* 
man  might  not  answer  a  question,  so  he  mightn't 

"  What  have  they  been  making  so  much  of  hiiv 
for,  now?"  said  Mark,  slyly,     "Come  !" 

"  Our  people  like  ex-citement,"  answerec* 
Kedgick,  sucking  his  cigar. 

"  But  how  has  he  excited  'em  ?"  asked  Mark, 

The  captain  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were  half 
inclined  to  unburden  his  mind  of  a  capital  joke. 

"  You  air  a  going  ?"  he  said. 

"Going!"  cried  Mark.  "  Ain't  every  moment 
precious  ?" 

"Our  people  like  ex-citement,"  said  the  Cap 
tain,  whispering.  "  He  ain't  like  emigrants  in 
gin'ral ;  and  he  ex-cited  'em  along  of  tliis ;"  he 
winked  and  burst  into  a  smothered  laugh;  "along 
of  this.  Scadder  is  a  smart  man,  and  —  and 
—  nobody  as  goes  to  Eden  ever  comes  back 
a-live  !" 

The  wharf  was  close  at  hand,  and  at  that  in 
stant  Mark  could  hear  them  shouting  out  lits 
name — could  even  hear  Martin  calling  to  him  to 
make  haste  or  they  would  be  separated.  It  was 
too  late  to  mend  the  matter,  or  put  any  face  upon 
it  but  the  best.  He  gave  the  Captain  a  parting 
benediction,  and  ran  oft'  like  a  racehorse. 

"  Mark  !  Mark  I"  cried  Martin, 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


149 


**  ITere  am  I,  sir  !"  shouted  Mark,  suddenly  re- 
olying  from  the  edge  of  the  quay,  and  leaping  at 
i  bound  on  board.  "Never  was  half  so  jolly,  sir. 
All  right !     Haul  in  '     Go  a-head  !" 


The  sparks  from  the  wood  fire  streamed  up- 
ward from  the  two  chimneys,  as  if  the  vessel  was 
a  great  firework  just  lighted ;  and  they  roared 
away  upon  the  dark  water. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


MARTIN  AND  HIS  PARTNER  TAKE  POSSESSION  OF  THEIR  ESTATE.    THE 
JOYFUL  OCCASION  INVOLVES  SOME  FURTHER  ACCOUNT  OF  EDEN. 


There  happened  to  be  on  board  the  steamboat 
several  gentlemen  passengers,  of  the  same  stamp 
as  Martin's  New  York  friend  Mr.  Bevan ;  and  in 
their  society  he  was  cheerful  and  happy.  They 
released  him  as  well  as  they  could  from  tlie  intel- 
lectual entanglements  of  Mrs.  Hominy;  and  ex- 
hibited, in  all  they  said  and  did,  so  much  good 
sense  and  high  feeling,  that  he  could  not  lii<e 
them  too  well.  *'  If  this  were  a  republic  of  In- 
tellect and  Worth,"  he  said,  "instead  of  vapour- 
ing and  jobbing,  they  would  not  want  the  levers 
to  keep  it  in  motion," 

"  Having  good  tools,  and  using  bad  ones,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Tapley,  "would  look  as  if  they  was 
rather  a  poor  sort  of  carpenters,  sir,  wouldn't  it?" 

Martm  nodded.  "As  if  their  work  were  infi- 
nitely above  their  powers  and  purpose,  Mark  ; 
and  they  b'<tclied  it  in  conseqnence." 

"The  best  on  it  is,"  said  Mark,  "that  when  they 
do  happen  to  make  a  decent  stroke;  such  as  better 
workmen  with  sucli  opportunities, make  every  day 
of  their  lives  and  think  nothing  of;  they  begin  to 
sing  out  so  surprising  loud.  Take  notice  of  my 
words,  sir.  If  ever  the  defaulting  part  of  this 
Here  country  pays  its  debts — along  of  finding 
that  not  paying  'em  won't  do  in  a  commercial 
point  of  view,  you  see,  and  is  inconvenient  in  its 
consequences — they  '11  take  such  a  shine  out  of 
it,  and  make  such  bragging  speeches,  that  a  man 
might  suppose  no  borrowed  money  had  ever  been 
paid  afore,  since  the  world  was  first  begun. 
That's  the  way  they  gammon  each  other,  sir. 
Bless  you,  /  know  'em.  Take  notice  of  my 
words,  now  1" 

"You  seem  to  be  growing  profoundly  saga- 
cious!" cried  Martin,  laughing. 

"  Whether  that  is,"  thought  Mark,  "  because 
I  'm  a  day's  journey  nearer  Eden,  and  am  bright- 
ening up,  afore  I  die,  I  can't  say.  P'raps  by  the 
time  I  get  there,  I  shall  have  growed  into  a 
prophet." 

He  gave  no  utterance  to  these  sentiments;  but 
the  excessive  joviality  they  inspired  within  him, 
and  the  merriment  they  brought  upon  his  shining 
face,  were  quite  enough  for  Martin.  Although 
he  might  sometimes  profess  to  make  light  of  his 
partner's  inexhaustible  cheerfulness  and  might 
sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  Zephaniah  Scadder, 
find  him  too  jocose  a  commentator,  he  was  al- 
ways sensible  of  the  effect  of  his  example  in 
rousing  him  «o  hopefulness  and  courage.  Whether 
he  were  in  tie  humour  to  profit  by  it,  mattered 
not  a  jot.  It  was  contagious,  and  he  could  not 
';hoose  but  be  affected. 

At  first  they  parted  with  some  of  their  passen- 
gers once  or  twice  a  day,  and  took  in  others  to 
replace  tlieni      But  by  degrees,  the  towns  upon 


their  route  became  more  thinly  scattered ;  and 
for  many  hours  together  they  would  see  no  other 
habitations  than  the  huts  of  the  wood-cutters, 
where  the  vessel  stopped  for  fuel.  Sky,  wood, 
and  water,  and  the  livelong  day ;  and  heat  that 
blistered  every  thing  it  touched. 

On  they  toiled  through  great  solitudes,  where 
the  trees  upon  the  banks  grew  thick  and  close  ; 
and  floated  in  the  stream  ;  and  held  up  shrivelled 
from  out  the  river's  depths;  and  slid  down  froin 
the  margin  of  the  land  :  half  growing,  half  de- 
caying, in  the  miry  water.  On  through  the  weary 
day  and  melancholy  night :  beneati)  the  burning 
sun,  and  in  the  mist  and  vapour  of  the  evening : 
on,  until  return  appeared  impossible,  and  restora- 
tion to  their  home  a  miserable  dream. 

They  had  now  but  few  people  on  board,  and 
these  few  were  as  flat,  as  dull,  and  stagnant,  as 
the  vegetation  that  oppressed  their  eyes.  Nc 
sound  of  cheerfulness  or  hope  was  heard ;  no 
pleasant  talk  beguiled  the  tardy  time  ;  no  little 
group  made  common  cause  against  the  dull  de- 
pression of  the  scene.  But  that,  at  certain  pe- 
riods, they  swallowed  food  together  from  a  com- 
mon trough,  it  might  have  been  old  Charon's 
boat.  Conveying  melancholy  shades  to  judgment 

At  length  they  drew  near  New  Thermopyla*; 
where,  that  same  evening,  Mrs.  Hominy  would 
disembark.  A  gleam  of  comfort  sunk  into  Mar- 
tin's bosom  when  she  told  him  this.  Mark 
needed  none ;  but  he  was  not  displeased. 

It  was  almost  night  when  they  came  alongside 
the  landing-place — a  steep  bank  with  an  hott-l, 
like  a  barn,  on  the  top  of  it;  a  wooden  store  or 
two  ;  and  a  few  scattered  sheds. 

"  You  sleep  here  to-night,  and  go  on  in  the 
morning,  I  suppose,  ma'am  ?"  said  Martin. 

"Where  should  I  go  on  to?"  cried  the  mother 
of  the  modern  Gracchi. 

"  To  New  Thermopylae." 

"  My  !  ain't  I  there  ?"  said  Mrs.  Hominy. 

Martin  looked  for  it  all  round  the  darkening 
panorama;  but  he  couldn't  see  it,  and  was  obliged 
to  say  so. 

"  Why,  that's  it!"  cried  Mrs.  Hominy,  point 
ing  to  the  sheds  just  mentioned. 

"  That .'"  exclaimed  Martin. 

"  Ah  !  that ;  and  work  it  which  way  you  will, 
it  whips  Eden,"  said  Mrs.  Hominy,  nodding  her 
head  with  great  expression. 

The  married  Miss  Hominy,  who  had  come  on 
board  with  her  husband,  gave  to  this  statement 
her  most  unqualified  support,  ah  did  that  gentle. 
man  also.  Martin  gratefully  declined  their  invi 
t.ition  to  regale  himself  at  their  house  during  tlit 
half-hour  of  the  vessel's  stay  ;  and  liavinfr  es^-jrlod 
Mrs.  Hominy  and  the  red  pocket-handkurciiiei 


150 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


(wliich  was  still  on  active  service)  safely  across 
the  gangway,  returned  in  a  thoughtful  mood  to 
watch  the  emigrants  as  they  removed  their  goods 
ashore. 

Mark,  as  he  stood  beside  him,  glanced  in  his 
face  from  time  to  time  ;  anxious  to  discover  what 
effect  this  dialogue  had  had  upon  him,  and  not 
unwilling  that  his  hopes  siiould  be  dashed  before 
tlioy  reached  their  destination,  so  that  the  blow 
he  feared,  might  be  broken  in  its  fall.  But  saving 
that  he  sometimes  looked  up  quickly  at  the  poor 
erections  on  the  hill,  he  gave  him  no  clue  to  what 
was  passing  in  his  mind,  until  they  were  again 
upon  their  way. 

"  Mark,"  he  said  then,  "  are  there  really  none 
but  ourselves  on  board  this  boat  who  are  bound 
for  Eden  ?" 

"  None  at  all,  sir.  Most  of  'em,  as  you  know, 
have  stopped  short,  and  the  few  that  are  left  are 
going  further  on.  What  matters  that !  More  room 
there  for  us,  sir." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure  !"  said  Martin,  "  But  I  was 
thinking" — and  there  he  paused. 

"  Yes,  sir  ?"  observed  Mark. 

"  How  odd  it  was  that  the  people  should  have 
arranged  to  try  their  fortune  at  a  wretclied  hole 
'ike  that,  for  instance,  when  there  is  such  a  much 
better,  and  such  a  very  diiferent  kind  of  place, 
near  at  hand,  as  one  may  say." 

He  spoke  in  a  tone  so  very  different  from  his 
usual  confidence,  and  with  such  an  obvious  dread 
of  Mark's  reply,  that  the  good-natured  fellow  was 
full  of  pity. 

"  Why,  you  know,  sir,"  said  Mark,  as  gently  as 
he  could  by  any  means  insinuate  the  observation, 
"  we  must  guard  against  being  too  sanguine. 
There  's  no  occasion  for  it,  either,  because  we  're 
delerminod  to  make  the  best  of  everytiiing,  after 
we  know  the  worst  of  it.     Ain't  we,  sir?" 

Martin  looked  at  hinv  but  answered  not  a 
word. 

"  Even  Eden,  you  know,  ain't  all  built,"  said 
Mark. 

"  In  the  name  of  Heaven,  man,"  cried  Martin 
angrily,  "  don't  talk  of  Eden  in  the  same  breath 
with  that  place.  Are  you  mad  ?  There  —  God 
forgive  me  I  —  don't  think  harshly  of  me  for  my 
temper !" 

After  that,  he  turned  away,  and  walked  to  and 
tto  upon  fJie  deck  full  two  hours.  Nor  did  he 
speak  again,  except  to  say  "Good  night,"  until 
next  day;  nor  even  then  upon  this  subject,  but  on 
other  topics  quite  foreign  to  the  purpose. 

As  they  proceeded  further  on  their  track,  and 
came  more  and  more  towards  their  journey's  end, 
the  monotonous  desolation  of  the  scene  increased 
to  that  degree,  that  for  any  redeeming  feature  it 
presented  to  their  eyes,  they  might  have  entered, 
in  the  body,  on  the  grim  domains  of  Giant  De- 
spair. A  flat  fnorass,  bestrewn  with  fallen  timber; 
a  marsh  on  which  the  good  growth  of  tlie  earth 
seemed  to  have  been  wrecked  and  cast  away,  that 
from  its  decomposing  ashes  vile  and  ugly  things 
might  rise ;  where  tlie  very  trees  took  the  aspect 
of  huge  weeds,  begotten  of  the  slime  from  which 
they  sprung,  by  the  hot  sun  that  burnt  them  up ; 
where  fatal  maladies,  seeking  whom  they  might 
•nfect,  came  forth,  at  night,  in  misty  sliajjcs,  and 
creeping  out  upon  the  water,  hunted  them  like 
«iH;clrcs  until  day ;  where  even  the  blessed  sun, 


shining  down  on  festering  ele^ients  of  corruption 
and  disease,  became  a  horror;  this  was  the  realm 
of  Hope  through  which  they  moved. 

At  last  they  stopped.  At  Eden  too.  The  waters 
of  the  Deluge  might  have  left  it  but  a  week  before ; 
so  choked  with  slime  and  matted  growth  was  the 
hideous  swamp  which  bore  that  name. 

There  being  no  depth  of  water  close  in  shore, 
they  landed  from  the  vessel's  boat,  with  all  their 
goods  beside  them.  There  were  a  few  log-houses 
visible  among  the  dark  trees;  the  best,  a  cow-shed 
or  a  rude  stable  ;  but  for  the  wharves,  the  market- 
place, the  public  buildings — 

"  Here  comes  an  Edener,"  said  Mark.  "  He  '11 
get  us  help  to  carry  these  things  up.  Keep  a  good 
heart,  sir.     Hallo  there  1" 

The  man  advanced  towards  them  through  the 
thickening  gloom,  very  slowly  :  leaning  on  a  stick. 
As  he  drew  nearer,  they  observed  that  he  was 
pale  and  worn,  and  that  his  anxious  eyes  were 
deeply  sunken  in  his  head.  His  dress  of  home- 
spun blue  hung  about  him  in  rags ;  his  feet  and 
head  were  bare.  He  sat  down  on  a  stump  half- 
way, and  beckoned  them  to  come  to  him.  When 
they  complied,  he  put  his  hand  upon  his  side  as 
if  in  pain,  and  while  he  fetched  his  breath  stared 
at  them,  wondering. 

"  Strangers  !"  he  exclaimed,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak. 

"  The  very  same,"  said  Mark.  "  How  are  you, 
sir  ?" 

"  I  've  had  the  fever  very  bad,"  he  answered 
faintly.  "  I  haven't  stood  upright  these  many 
weeks.  Those  are  your  notions  I  see,"  pointing 
to  their  property. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mark,  "they  are.  You  couldn't 
recommend  us  some  one  as  would  lend  a  hand  to 
help  carry  'em  up  to  the — to  the  town,  could  you, 
sir?" 

"  My  eldest  son  would  do  it  if  he  could,"  replied 
the  man  ;  "  but  to-day  he  has  his  chill  upon  him, 
and  is  lying  wrapped  up  in  the  blankets.  My 
youngest  died  last  week." 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  it,  governor,  with  all  my  heart," 
said  Mark,  shaking  him  by  the  hand.  "  Don't 
mind  us.  Come  along  with  me,  and  I  '11  give  you 
an  arm  back.  The  goods  is  safe  enough,  sir," — . 
to  Martin,  —  "there  ain't  many  peojile  about,  to 
make  away  with  'em.     What  a  com  tort  that  is!" 

"No,"  cried  the  man.  "You  must  look  for 
such  folk  here,"  knocking  his  slick  upon  the 
ground,  "  or  yonder  in  the  bush,  towards  the 
north.  We  've  buried  most  of 'em.  The  rest  have 
gone  away.  Them  that  we  have  here,  don't  come 
out  at  night." 

"  The  night  air  ain't  quite  wholesome,  I  sup 
pose  ?"  said  Mark. 

"  It 's  deadly  poison,"  was  the  settler's  answer. 

Mark  showed  no  more  uneasiness  than  if  it  had 
been  commended  to  him  as  ambrosia ;  but  he 
gave  the  man  his  arm,  and  as  they  went  along 
explained  to  him  the  nature  of  their  purchase, 
and  inquired  where  it  lay.  Close  to  his  own  log- 
house,  he  said  :  so  close  that  he  had  used  their 
dwelling  as  a  store-lKuise  for  some  corn  ;  they 
must  excuse  it  that  night,  but  he  would  endea- 
vour to  get  it  taken  out  on  the  morrow.  He  then 
gave  them  to  undc^rstand,  as  an  additional  scrap 
of  local  eliit-chat,  that  he  had  buried  the  last  pro- 
prietor with  his  own  hands;  u   piece  of  informa 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


151 


tion  which  Mark  also   received  without  the  least 
I  bateinenl  of  his  eqii;iniiriity. 

In  a  word,  lie  conducted  them  to  a  miserable 
cabin,  rudely  constructed  of"  the  trunks  of  trees ; 
the  door  of  which  hud  either  I'allen  down  or  been 
carried  away  long  ago  ;  and  which  was  conse- 
quently o[)en  to  the  wide  landscape  and  the  dark 
nig-ht.  Saving  for  the  little  store  he  had  men- 
tioned, it  was  perfectly  bare  of  all  furniture  ;  but 
they  had  left  a  chest  upon  the  landing-place,  and 
he  gave  them  a  rude  torch  in  lieu  of  candle. 
This  latter  acquisition  Mark  planted  in  the  hearth, 
and  then  declaring  tliat  the  mansion  "  looked 
quite  comfortable,"  hurried  Martin  off  again  to 
help  bring  up  the  chest.  And  all  tlie  way  to  the 
landing-place  and  back,  Mark  talked  incessantly  : 
as  if  he  would  infuse  into  his  partner's  breast 
some  faint  belief  that  they  had  arrived  under 
the  most  auspicious  and  cheerful  of  all  imaginable 
circumstances. 

But  many  a  man  who  would  have  stood  within 
a  home  dismantled,  strong  in  his  passion  and 
design  of  vengeance,  has  had  the  firmness  of  his 
nature  conquered  by  tiie  razing  of  an  air-built 
castle.  When  the  log-hut  received  tiiem  for  the 
second  time,  Martin  lay  down  upon  the  ground, 
and  wept  aloud. 

"  Lord  love  you,  sir  1"  cried  Mr.  Tapley,  in 
great  terror  ;  "  don't  do  that  I  Don't  do  that,  sir  ! 
Anything  but  that !  It  never  helped  man,  wo- 
nan,  or  child  over  the  lowest  fence  yet,  sir,  and  it 
lever  will.  Besides  its  being  of  no  use  to  you, 
t  's  worse  than  of  no  use  to  me,  for  the  least 
Bound  of  it  will  knock  me  flat  down.  I  can't 
atand  up  agin  it,  sir.     Anything  but  that." 

There  is  no  doubt  he  spoke  the  truth,  for  the 
extraordinary  alarm  with  which  he  looked  at 
Martin  as  he  paused  upon  his  knees  before  the 
chest,  in  the  act  of  unlocking  it,  to  say  these 
words,  sufficiently  confirmed  him. 

"  I  ask  your  forgiveness  a  thousand  times,  my 
dear  fellow,"  said  Martin.  "  I  couldn't  have 
helped  it,  if  death  had  been  the  penalty." 

"  Ask  my  forgiveness  !"  said  Mark,  with  his 
accustomed  cheerfulness  ;  as  he  proceeded  to  un- 
pack the  chest.  "  The  head  partner  a  asking  for- 
giveness of  Co.,  eh  ?  There  must  be  something 
wrong  in  the  firm  when  that  happens.  I  must 
have  the  books  inspected,  and  the  accounts  gone 
over  immediate.  Here  we  are.  Everything  in 
its  proper  place.  Here  's  the  salt  pork.  Here  's 
the  biscuit.  Here's  the  whiskey  —  uncommon 
good  it  smells,  too.  Here's  the  tin  pot.  This 
tivn  pot's  a  small  fortun'  in  itself!  Here's  the 
blankets.  Here  's  the  axe.  Who  says  we  ain't 
get  a  first-rate  fit  out  ?  I  feel  as  if  I  was  a  cadet 
gene  out  to  Indy,  and  my  noble  father  was  chair- 
man of  the  Board  of  Directors.  Now,  when  I  've 
got  some  water  from  the  stream  afore  the  door, 
and  mixed  the  grog,"  cried  Mark,  running  out  to 
suit  the  action  to  the  word,  "  there  's  a  supper 
ready,  comprising  every  delicacy  of  the  season. 
Here  we  are,  sir,  all  complete.  For  what  we  are 
going  to  receive,  et  cetrer.  Lord  bless  you,  sir, 
it 's  very  like  a  gipsy  party  !" 

It  was  impossible  not  to  take  heart,  in  the  com- 
pany of  such    a   man    as  this.     Martin  sat  upon 
♦he  ground    beside  the   box  ;  took  out  his  knile, 
«nd  ate  and  drank  sturdily. 
"  Now   you   see,"  said   Mark,  when   they  had  j 


made  a  hearty  meal;  "  with  your  knife  and  mine, 
I  sticks  this  blanket  right  afiire  tiie  door,  or 
where,  in  a  state  of  high  civilization,  the  do^r 
would  be.  And  very  neat  it  looks.  Then  I  stopu 
the  aperture  below,  by  putting  the  chest  agin  it 
And  very  neat  that  looks.  Then  there 's  your 
blanket,  sir.  Then  here 's  mine.  And  what  s 
to  hinder  our  passing  a  good  night?" 

For  all  his  light-hearted  speaking,  it  was  long 
before  he  slept  himself.  He  wrapj)ed  his  blanket 
round  him,  put  the  axe  ready  to  his  hiM(l,and  lay 
across  the  threshold  of  the  door  :  too  anxious  and 
too  watchful  to  close  his  eyes.  The  novelty  of 
their  dreary  situation,  the  dread  of  some  rapacious 
animal  or  liuman  enemy,  the  terrible  uncertainty 
of  their  means  of  subsistence,  the  apprehension 
of  death,  the  immense  distance  and  the  hosts  of 
obstacles  between  themselves  and  England,  were 
fruitful  sources  of  disquiet  in  the  deep  silence  of 
the  night.  Though  Martin  would  have  had  him 
think  otherwise,  Mark  felt  that  he  was  waking 
also,  and  a  prey  to  the  same  reflections.  This 
was  almost  worse  than  all,  for  if  he  began  to 
brood  over  their  miseries  instead  of  trying  to 
make  head  against  them,  there  could  be  little 
doubt  that  such  a  state  of  mind  would  powerfully 
assist  the  influence  of  the  pestilent  climate. 
Never  had  the  light  of  day  been  half  so  welcome 
to  his  eyes,  as  when  awaking  from  a  fitful  doze, 
Murk  saw  it  shining  through  the  blanket  in  tue 
doorway. 

He  stole  out  gently,  for  his  companion  wa* 
sleeping  now  ;  and  having  refreshed  himself  hy 
washing  in  the  river,  where  it  flowed  before  the 
door,  took  a  rough  survey  of  the  settlement. 
There  were  not  above  a  score  of  cabins  in  the 
whole;  half  of  these  appeared  untenanted;  all 
were  rotten  and  decayed.  The  most  tottering, 
abject,  and  forlorn  among  them,  was  called,  with 
great  propriety,  the  Bank,  and  National  Credit 
Office.  It  had  some  feeble  props  about  it,  but 
was  settling  deep  down  in  the  mud,  past  all 
recovery. 

Here  and  there,  an  effort  had  been  made  to 
clear  the  land;  and  something  like  a  field  had 
been  marked  out,  where,  among  the  stumps  and 
ashes  of  burnt  trees,  a  scanty  crop  of  Indian  corn 
was  growing.  In  some  quarters,  a  snake  or  zig- 
zag  fence  had  been  begun,  but  in  no  instance  had 
it  been  completed  ;  and  the  fallen  logs,  half  hidden 
in  the  soil,  lay  mouldering  away.  Three  or  four 
meagre  dogs,  wasted  and  vexed  with  hunger; 
some  long-legged  pigs,  wandering  away  into  the 
woods  in  search  of  food;  some  children,  nearly 
naked,  gazing  at  him  from  the  huts ;  were  all  the 
living  things  he  saw.  A  fetid  vapour,  hot  ana 
sickening  as  the  breath  of  an  oven,  rose  up  from 
the  earth,  and  hung  on  everything  around  ;  and 
as  his  foot-prints  sunk  into  the  marshy  ground,  a 
black  ooze  started  forth  to  blot  them  out. 

Their  own  land  was  mere  forest.  The  trees 
had  grown  so  thick  and  close,  that  thev  shoul- 
dered one  another  out  of  their  places,  and  tho 
weakest,  forced  into  shapes  of  strange  distortion, 
languished  like  cripples.  The  best  were  stunted, 
from  the  pressure  and  the  want  of  room  ;  ann  high 
about  the  stems  of  all  grew  long  rank  grass,  dank 
weeds,  and  frowzy  underwood  :  not  divisible  in'o 
their  separate  kinds,  but  tansrled  all  together  in  a 
heap;  a  jungle  deep  and  dark,  with  neither  c^iitt 


152 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


nor  water  at  its  roots,  but  putrid  matter,  formed  I 
of  the  pulpy  offal  of  the  two,  and  of  their  own 
cajrruption. 

He  went  down  to  the  landing  place  where  they 
had  left  their  goods  last  night;  and  there  he  found 
gome  half-dozen  men — wan,  and  forlorn  to  look 
at,  but  ready  enough  to  assist — who  helped  him 
to  carry  them  to  the  log-house.  They  shook  their 
licads  in  speaking  of  the  settlement,  and  had  no 
comfort  to  give  him.  Those  who  had  the  means 
of  going  away,  had  all  deserted  it.  They  who 
were  left,  had  lost  their  wives,  tlieir  cliildren, 
friends,  or  brothers,  tliere,  and  suffered  much 
themselves.  Most  of  them  were  ill  then  ;  none 
were  the  men  they  had  been  once.  They  frankly 
offered  their  assistance  and  advice,  and,  leaving 
him  for  that  time,  went  sadly  off  upon  their  seve- 
ral tasks. 

Martin  was  by  this  time  stirring ;  but  he  had 
greatly  changed,  even  in  one  night.  He  was  very 
pale  and  languid  ;  he  spoke  of  pains  and  weakness 
in  his  limbs,  and  complained  that  his  sight  was 
dim,  and  his  voice  feeble.  Increasing  in  his  own 
briskness  as  the  prospect  grew  more  and  more 
dismal,  Mark  brought  away  a  door  from  one  of 
the  deserted  houses,  and  fitted  it  to  their  own  ha- 
bitation ;  then  went  back  again  for  a  rude  bench 
he  had  observed,  with  which  he  presently  returned 
in  triumph  ;  and,  having  put  this  piece  of  furni- 
ture outside  ihe  house,  arranged  the  notable 
tin-pot  and  other  such  movables  upon  it,  that  it 
might  represent  a  dresser,  or  a  sideboard.  Greatly 
satisfied  with  this  arrangement,  he  next  rolled 
their  cask  of  Hour  into  the  house,  and  set  it  up  on 
end  in  one  corner,  where  it  served  for  a  side-table. 
No  better  dining-table  could  be  required  than  the 
chest,  which  he  solemnly  devoted  to  th.-it  useful 
service  thenceforth.  Their  blankets,  clothes,  and 
the  like,  lie  hung  on  pegs  and  nails.  And  lastly, 
he  brought  forth  a  great  placard  (which  Martin  in 
the  exultation  of  his  heart  had  prepared  at  the 
National  Hotel),  bearing  the  inscription,  Chuzzlk- 
wiT  &.  Co.,  Architects  and  Surveyors,  which  he 
displayed  upon  the  most  conspicuous  part  of  the 
premises,  with  as  much  gravity  as  if  the  thriving 
city  of  Eden  had  had  a  real  existence,  and  they 
expected  to  be  overwhelmed  with  business. 

"These  here  tools,"  said  Mark,  bringing  for- 
ward Martin's  cnse  of  instruments,  and  sticking 
the  compassies  upright  in  a  stump  before  the  door, 
"  shall  be  set  out  in  the  open  air,  to  show  that  we 
come  provided.  And  now,  if  any  gentleman 
wants  a  house  built,  he'd  hetter  give  his  orders, 
afore  we  're  other  ways  bespoke." 

Considering  the  intense  heat  of  the  weather, 
this  was  not  a  had  morning's  work;  but,  without 
pausing  fur  a  moment,  though  he  was  streaming 
at  every  jjore,  Mark  vanished  into  the  house 
egain,  and  presently  re^'ppeared  with  a  hatchet, 
intent  on  perlbrming  some  impossibilities  with 
that  implement. 

"  Here  's  a  ugly  old  tree  in  the  way,  sir,"  he 
observed,  "  which  'II  be  i.ll  the  belter  down.  We 
can  build  the  oven  in  the  afternoon.    There  never 


was  such    a   handy    spot    for   clay  as    Eden    ik 
That's  convenient,  anyhow." 

But  Martin  gave  him  no  answer.  He  had  sat 
the  whole  time  with  his  head  upon  his  hands, 
gazing  at  the  current  as  it  rolled  swiftly  by  ; 
thinking,  perhaps,  how  fast  it  moved  towards  the 
open  sea,  the  high  road  to  the  home  he  nevei 
would  behold  again. 

Not  even  the  vigorous  strokes  which  Mark 
dealt  at  the  tree,  awoke  him  from  his  mournfui 
meditation.  Finding  all  his  endeavours  to  rouse 
him  of  no  use,  Mark  stopped  in  his  work  and 
came  towards  him. 

"Don't  give  in,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley. 

"  Oh,  Mark,"  returned  his  friend,  "  what  have 
I  done  in  all  my  life  that  has  deserved  this  heavy 
fate  ?" 

"  Whj',  sir,"  returned  Mark,  "  for  the  matter 
of  that,  ev'rybody  as  is  here  might  say  the  same 
thing;  many  of  'em  with  better  reason  p'raps 
than  ynu  or  me.  Hold  up,  sir.  Do  something. 
Couldn't  you  ease  your  mind,  now,  don't  you 
think,  by  making  some  personal  obserwations  in 
a  letter  to  Scadder  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Martin,  shaking  his  head  sorrow 
fully  :  "  I  am  past  that." 

"  But  if  you  're  past  that  already,"  returned 
Mark,  "you  must  be  ill,  and  ought  to  be  attended 
to." 

"Don't  mind  me,"  said  Martin.  "Do  the 
best  you  can  for  yourself.  You  'II  soon  have  only 
yourself  to  consider.  And  then  God  speed  you 
liome,  and  forgive  me  for  bringing  you  here!  3 
am  destined  to  die  in  this  place.  I  lelt  it  the  in. 
stunt  I  set  toot  upon  the  shore.  Sleeping  or 
waking,  Mark,  I  dreamed  it  all  last  night." 

"  I  said  you  must  be  ill,"  returned  Mark,  ten- 
derly, "and  novi'  I'm  sure  of  it.  A  touch  ot' 
fever  and  ague  caught  on  these  rivers,  I  dare  say  ; 
but  bless  you,  that  's  nothing.  It 's  only  a  season- 
ing ;  and  we  must  all  be  seasoned,  one  way  or 
another.  That 's  religion,  that  is,  you  know," 
said  Mark. 

He  only  sighed  and  shook  his  head, 

"  Wait  half  a  minute,"  said  Mark  cheerily, 
"  till  I  run  up  to  one  of  our  neighbours  and  ask 
what's  best  to  be  took,  and  borrow  a  little  of  it  to 
give  you  ;  and  to-morrow  you  '11  find  yourself  as 
strong  as  ever  again.  I  won't  be  gone  a  minute. 
Don't  give  in,  while  I  'm  away,  whatever  you 
do!" 

Throwing  down  his  hatchet,  he  sped  away  im- 
mediately, but  stopped  when  he  had  gone  a  little 
distance,  and  looked  back ;  then  hurried  on 
again. 

"Now,  Mr.  Tapley,"  said  Mark,  giving  him- 
self  a  tremendous  blow  in  the  cliest  by  way  of 
reviver,  "just  you  attend  to  what  I  'vc  got  to  say 
Things  is  looking  about  as  bad  as  they  can  look, 
young  man.  You  'II  not  have  such  another  op- 
portunity for  showing  your  jolly  disposition,  mi| 
fine  fellow,  as  long  as  you  live.  And  therefore 
Tapley,  Now  's  your  time  to  comt  out  strong,  oi 
Never  " 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


153 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


REPORTS  PROGRESS   IN   CERTAIN  HOMELY  MATTERS   OF   LOVE,  HATRED, 
JEALOUSY,  AND  REVENGE. 


"Hallo,  Pecksniff!"  cried  Mr.  Jonas  from  the 
parlour.  "  Isn't  somebody  a  going  to  open  that 
precious  old  door  of  yours  ?" 

"Immediately,  Mr.  Jonas.     Immediately." 

"  Ecod,"  muttered  tiie  orphan,  "not  before  it's 
time  neither.  Whoever  it  is,  has  knocked  three 
times,  and  each  one  loud  enous;'h  to  wake  the — " 
he  had  such  a  repugnance  to  tiie  idea  of  waking 
tlie  dead,  that  he  stopped  ev^ti  then  with  the  words 
upon  his  tongue,  and  said,  instead,  "the  Seven 
Sleepers," 

"Immediately,  Mr.  Jonas;  immediately,"  re- 
peated Pecksniff.  "Thomss  Pinch" — he  couldn't 
make  up  his  mind,  in  his  great  agitation,  whether 
to  call  Tom  his  dear  friend  or  a  villain,  so  he 
shook  his  fist  at  him  pro  tern. — "go  up  to  my 
daughters'  room,  and  tell  them  who  is  here.  Say, 
Silence.     Silence  !     Do  you  hear  me,  sir  ?" 

"  Directly,  sir  I"  cried  Tom,  departing,  in  a 
state  of  much  amazement,  on  .his  errand. 

"  You  'II — ha,  ha,  ha  ! — you  'II  excuse  me,  Mr. 
Jonas,  if  I  close  this  door  a  moment,  will  you  ?" 
said  Pecksniff  "  This  may  be  a  professional  call. 
Indeed  I  am  pretty  sure  it  is.  Thank  you  !" — 
Then  Mr.  Pecksniff,  gently  warbling  a  rustic 
stave,  put  on  his  garden  hat,  seized  a  spade,  and 
opened  the  street-door;  calmly  appearing  on  the 
threshold,  as  if  he  thought  he  had,  from  his  vine- 
yard,  heard  a  modest  rap,  but  was  not  quite 
certain. 

Seeing  a  gentleman  and  lady  before  him,  he 
started  back  in  as  much  confusion  as  a  good  man 
with  a  crystal  conscience  might  betray  in  mere 
surprise.  Recognition  came  upon  him  the  next 
moment,  and  he  cried  : 

"Mr.  Chuzzlewit!  Can  I  believe  my  eyes  !  My 
dear  sir,  my  good  sir !  A  joyful  hour  ;  a  happy 
hour  indeed.  Pray,  my  dear  sir,  walk  in.  You 
find  me  in  my  garden-dress.  You  will  excuse  it, 
I  know.  It  is  an  ancient  pursuit,  gardening. 
Primitive,  my  dear  sir ;  for  if  I  mistake  not,  Adam 
was  the  first  of  our  calling.  My  Eve,  I  grieve  to 
aay,  is  no  more,  sir;  but" — here  he  pointed  to  his 
spade,  and  shook  his  head,  as  if  he  were  not 
cheerful  without  an  effort—"  but  I  do  a  little  bit 
of  Adam  still." 

He  had  by  this  time  got  them  into  the  best 
parlour,  where  the  portrait  by  Spiller,  and  the  bust 
by  Spoker,  were. 

"  My  daughters,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  will  be 
overjoyed.  If  I  could  feel  weary  upon  such  a 
theme,  I  should  have  been  worn  out  long  ago,  my 
dear  sir,  by  their  constant  anticipation  of  this  hap- 
piness, and  their  repeated  allusions  to  our  meeting 
al  Mrs.  Todgers's.  Their  fair  young  friend,  too," 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "whom  they  so  desire  to  know 
and  love — indeed,  to  know  her  is  to  love — I  hope 
I  see  her  well.  I  hope  in  saying,  '  Welcome  to 
my  humble  roof!'  I  find  some  echo  in  her  own 
sentiments.  If  features  are  an  index  to  the  heart. 
I  have  no  fears  of  that.  An  extremely  engaging 
expression  of  couritenance,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  my 
dear  sir — verv  inuch  so  1" 

"  Mary,"  said  the  old  man,  "  Mr.  Pecksniff  flat- 
520 


ters  you.  But  flattery  from  him  is  worth  the 
having.  He  is  not  a  dealer  in  it,  and  it  comes 
from  his  heart.     We  thought  Mr. -" 

"  Pinch,"  said  Mary. 

"  Mr.  Pinch  would  have  arrived  before  us,  Peck- 
sniff." 

"  He  did  arrive  before  you,  my  dear  sir,"  re- 
torted Pecksniff,  raising  his  voice  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  Tom  upon  the  stairs,  "  and  was  about,  I 
dare  say,  to  tell  me  of  your  coming,  when  I  begged 
him  first  to  knock  at  my  daugliters'  chamber,  and 
inquire  after  Charity,  my  dear  child,  who  is  not 
so  well  as  I  could  wish.  No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
answering  their  looks,  "  I  am  sorry  to  say,  she  is 
not.  It  is  merely  an  hysterical  affection  ;  nothing 
more.  I  am  not  uneasy.  Mr.  Pinch  !  Thomas !" 
exclaimed  Pecksniff,  in  his  kindest  accents  ;  "  pray 
come  in.  I  shall  make  no  stranger  of  you.  Tho- 
mas  is  a  friend  of  mine  of  rather  long  standing, 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  you  must  know." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Tom.  "  You  introduce 
me  very  kindly,  and  speak  of  me  in  terms  of  which 
I  am  very  proud." 

"Old  Thomas!"  cried  his  master,  pleasantly, 
"  God  bless  you  !" 

Tom  reported  that  the  young  ladies  would  ap. 
pear  directly,  and  that  the  best  refreshments  which 
the  house  afforded  were  even  then  in  preparation, 
under  their  joint  superintendence.  While  he  was 
speaking,  the  old  man  looked  at  him  intiintly, 
though  with  less  harshness  than  was  common  to 
him,  nor  did  the  mutual  embarrassment  of  Tom 
and  the  young  lady,  to  whatever  cause  he  attribu- 
ted it,  seem  to  escape  his  observation. 

"  Pecksniff,"  he  said  after  a  pause,  rising  and 
taking  him  aside  towards  the  window,  "  I  vv.is 
nmch  shocked  on  hearing  of  my  brother's  death. 
We  had  been  strangers  for  many  years.  My  only 
comfort  is,  that  he  must  have  lived  the  happier 
and  better  man  for  having  .associated  no  hopes  or 
schemes  with  me.  Peace  to  his  memory !  We 
were  playfellows  once ;  and  it  would  have  been 
better  for  us  both  if  we  had  died  then." 

Finding  him  in  this  gentle  mood,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
began  to  sec  another  way  out  of  his  difficulties, 
besides  the  casting  overboard  of  Jonas. 

"That any  man,  my  dear  sir,  could  possibly  be 
the  happier  for  not  knowing  you,"  he  returned, 
"you  will  excuse  my  doubting.  But  that  Mr. 
Anthony,  in  the  evening  of  his  life,  was  happy  in 
the  affection  of  his  excellent  son, — a  pattern,  my 
dear  sir,  a  pattern  to  all  sons, — and  in  the  care  of 
a  distant  relation,  who,  however  lowly  in  his 
means  of  serving  him,  had  no  bounds  to  his  incli- 
nation  ;  /  can  inform  you." 

"  How  's  this  ?"  said  the  old  man.  "  You  »»re 
not  a  legatee  ?" 

"  You  don't,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  a  melan 
clioly  pressure  of  his  hand,  "quite  understand  in> 
nature  yet,  I  find.  No,  sir,  I  am  not  a  legatee.  1 
am  proud  to  say  I  am  not  a  legatee.  I  am  proud 
to  say  that  neither  of  my  children  is  a  legatee. 
And  yet,  sir,  I  was  with  him  at  his  own  request 
He  understood  me  somewhat  bettt;r,  si>"    He  wrote 


154 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


and  said, '  I  am  sick,  I  am  sinking.  Come  to 
me!'  I  went  to  him.  I  sat  beside  his  bed,  sir, 
and  I  stood  beside  his  grave.  Yes,  at  the  risk  of 
offending  even  you,  I  did  it,  sir.  Though  the 
avowal  should  lead  to  our  instant  separation,  and 
to  the  severing  of  those  tender  ties  between  us 
which  have  recently  been  formed,  I  make  it.  But 
I  am  not  a  legatee,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  smiling 
dispassionately;  "and  I  never  expected  to  be  a 
legatee.     I  knew  better  !" 

"  His  son  a  pdttern  !"  cried  old  Martin.  "  How 
can  you  tell  me  that?  My  brother  had  in  his 
wealth  tlie  usual  doom  of  wealth,  that  root  of  mise- 
ry. He  carried  his  corrupting  influence  with  him, 
go  where  he  would ;  and  shed  it  round  him,  even 
on  his  hearth.  It  made  of  his  own  child  a  greedy 
expectant,  who  measured  every  day  and  hour  the 
lessening  distance  between  his  father  and  the 
grave,  and  cursed  his  tardy  progress  on  that  dis- 
mal road." 

"  No !"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  boldly.  "  Not  at 
all,  sir  I" 

"  But  I  saw  that  shadow  in  his  house,"  said 
Martin  Chuzzlewit,  "the  last  time  we  met,  and 
warned  him  of  its  presence.  I  know  it  when  I 
see  it,  do  I  not  ?  I,  who  have  lived  within  it  all 
these  years  I" 

"  I  deny  it,"  Mr.  Pecksniff  answered,  warmly. 
'  I  deny  it  altogether.  That  bereaved  young  man 
is  now  in  this  house,  sir,  seeking  in  change  of 
scene  the  peace  of  mind  he  has  lost.  Shall  I  be 
backward  in  doing  justice  to  that  young  man, 
when  even  undertakers  and  cofBn-makers  have 
been  moved  by  the  conduct  he  has  exhibited; 
when  even  mutes  have  spoken  in  his  praise,  and 
the  medical  man  hasn't  known  what  to  do  with 
himself  in  tlie  excitement  of  his  feelings  !  There 
is  a  person  of  the  name  of  Gamp,  sir — Mrs.  Gamp 
— ask  her.  She  saw  Mr.  Jonas  in  a  trying  time. 
Ask  lier,  sir.  She  is  respectable,  but  not  senti- 
mental, and  will  state  the  fact.  A  line  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Gamp,  at  the  Bird  Shop,  Kingsgate  Street, 
High  Holborn,  London,  will  meet  with  every  at- 
tention, I  have  no  doubt.  Let  her  be  examined, 
my  good  sir.  Strike,  but  hear !  leap,  Mr.  Chuz- 
zlewit, but  look  !  Forgive  me,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff  taking  both  his  hands,  "  if  I  am 
warm ;  but  I  am  honest,  and  must  state  the 
truth." 

In  proof  of  the  character  he  gave  himself,  Mr. 
Pecksniff  suffered  tears  of  honesty  to  ooze  out  of 
his  eyes. 

The  old  man  gazed  at  him  for  a  moment  with 
a  look  of  wonder,  repeating  to  himself',  "  Here 
now  !  In  tiiis  house  !"  But  he  mastered  his  sur- 
prise, and  said,  alter  a  pause: 

"  Let  me  sec  him." 

"  In  a  friendly  spirit,  I  hope  ?"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. "  Forgive  me,  sir,  but  he  is  in  the  receipt 
of  my  humble  hospitality." 

"  I  said,"  replied  the  old  man,  "let  me  see  him. 
If  I  were  disposed  to  regard  him  in  any  other 
than  a  friendly  spirit,  I  should  have  said,  keep  us 
apart." 

"Certainly,  my  dear  sir.  So  you  would.  You 
are  frankness  itself,  I  know.  I  will  break  tiiis 
happiness  to  him,''  said  Mr.  Pccksiiiff  as  he  left 
the  room,  "if  you  will  excuse  me  for  a  minute — 
fontly." 

He  paved  the  way  to  the   disclosure  so  very 


gently,  that  a  quarter  of  an  hour  elapsed  befor* 
he  returned  with  Mr.  Jonas.  In  the  mean  timt? 
the  young  ladies  had  made  tlieir  apnearance,  ana 
the  table  had  been  set  out  for  the  refreshment  of 
the  travellers. 

Now,  however  well  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  his  mo- 
rality, had  taught  Jonas  tiie  lesson  of  dutiful  be- 
haviour to  his  uncle,  and  however  perfectly  Jonas, 
in  the  cunning  of  his  nature,  had  learni  it,  that 
young  man's  bearing,  when  presented  to  his  fa- 
ther's brother,  was  anything  but  manly  and  en- 
gaging. Perhaps,  indeed,  so  singuliir  a  mixture 
of  defiance  and  obsequiousness,  of  fear  and  hardi- 
hood, of  dogged  sullenness  and  an  attempt  at 
cringing  and  propitiation,  never  was  expressed  in 
any  one  human  figure  as  in  that  of  Jonas,  when, 
having  raised  his  downcast  eyes  to  Martin's  face, 
he  let  them  fall  again,  and  uneasily  closing  and 
unclosing  his  hands  without  a  moment's  intermis- 
sion, stood  swinging  himself  from  side  to  side, 
waiting  to  be  addressed. 

"  Nephew,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You  have 
been  a  dutiful  son,  I  hear." 

"  As  dutiful  as  sons  in  general,  I  suppose,"  re 
turned  Jonas,  looking  up  and  down  once  more. 
"  I  don't  brag  to  have  been  any  better  than  other 
sons;  but  I  haven't  been  any  worse  I  dare  say." 
"  A  pattern  to  all  sons,  I  am  told,"  said  the  old 
man,  glancing  towards  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  Ecod  I"  said  Jonas,  looking  up  again  for  a 
moment,  and  shaking  his  head,  "I've  been  as 
good  a  son  as  ever  you  were  a  brother.  It 's  the 
pot  and  the  kettle,  if  you  come  to  that." 

"  You  speak  bitterly,  in  the  violence  of  your  re- 
gret," said  Martin,  after  a  pause.  "  Give  me  your 
hand." 

Jonas  did  so,  and  was  almost  at  his  ease.  "  Peck- 
sniff,"  he  whispered,  as  they  drew  tlieir  chairs 
about  the  table;  "I  gave  him  as  good  as  he 
brought,  eh  ?  He  had  better  look  at  home,  before 
he  looks  out  of  tiie  window,  I  think  ?" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  only  answered  by  a  nudge  of  the 
elbow,  which  niiglit  either  be  construed  into  an 
indignant  remonstrance  or  a  cordial  assent ;  but 
whicli,  in  any  case,  was  an  emphatic  admonition 
to  his  chosen  son-in-law  to  be  silent.  He  then 
proceeded  to  do  tJic  honours  of  the  house  with 
liis  accustomed  ease  and  ainiahiiity. 

But  not  even  Mr.  Pecksniff's  guileless  merri- 
ment could  set  such  a  party  at  their  ease,  or  re- 
concile materials  so  utterly  discordant  and  con- 
flicting as  those  with  wiiieli  he  had  to  deal.  The 
unspeakable  jealousy  and  hatred  which  that  night's 
explanation  had  sown  in  Charity's  breast,  was  not 
to  be  so  easily  kept  down  ;  and  more  than  once  it 
showed  itself  in  such  intensity,  as  seemed  to  ren- 
der a  full  disclosure  of  all  the  circumstances  then 
and  there,  impossible  to  be  avoided.  Tlie  beau> 
teous  Merry,  too,  with  all  the  glory  of  her  con- 
quest fresh  upon  her,  so  probed  and  lanced  the 
rankling  disappointment  of  her  sister  by  her  ca- 
pricious uirs  and  thousand  little  trials  of  Mr.  Jo- 
nas's  obedience,  that  she  almost  goadei]  iier  into 
a  fit  of  madness,  and  obliged  her  to  nlire  from 
talile  iti  a  burst  of  passitin,  hardly  less  vehement 
than  that  to  which  she  had  abandoned  herself  in 
the  first  tumult  of  her  wrath.  The  constraint 
imposed  upon  the  family  by  the  presence  among 
them  for  llie  first  titiie  of  Mary  Graham  (for  by 
that  name  old  Martin  Chuzzlewit  had  introduced 


MARVIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


159 


her)  did  not  at  all  improve  this  state  of  tiiinars : 
gentle  and  (juict  thougli  lier  manner  was.  Mr. 
Pocksnift''.s  situation  was  peculiarly  trying:  for, 
what  with  having  constantly  to  keep  the  peace 
between  liis  daughters  ;  to  maintain  a  reasonable 
show  of  affection  and  unity  in  his  houseiiold  ;  to 
cui-b  the  growing  ease  and  gaiety  of  Jonas,  wliicii 
vecited  itself  in  sundry  insolences  towards  Mr. 
Pinch,  and  an  indefinable  coarseness  of  manner  in 
reference  to  Mary  (they  being  the  two  depend. 
ants);  to  make  no  mention  at  all  of  his  having 
perpetually  to  conciliate  his  rich  old  relative,  and 
to  smooth  down,  or  explain  away,  some  of  the  ten 
thousand  bad  appearances  and  combinations  of 
bad  appearances,  by  which  they  were  surrounded 
on  that  unlucky  evening — what  with  having  to 
do  this,  and  it  wouid  be  difficult  to  sum  up  how 
much  more,  without  the  least  relief  or  assistance 
from  anybody,  it  may  be  easily  imagined  that  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  in  his  enjoyment  something  more 
than  that  usual  portion  of  alloy  which  is  mixed 
up  with  the  best  of  men's  delights.  Perhaps  he 
had  never  in  his  life  felt  such  relief  as  when  old 
Martin,  looking  at  his  watch,  announced  that  it 
was  time  to  go. 

"We  have  rooms,"  he  said,  "at  the  Dragon, 
for  the  present.  I  have  a  fancy  for  the  evening 
walk.  The  nights  are  dark  just  now :  perhaps 
Mr.  Pinch  would  not  object  to  light  us  home  ?" 

"My  dear  sir!"  cried  Pecksniff,  "/  shall  be 
delighted.     Merry,  my  child,  the  lantern." 

"The  lantern,  if  you  please,  my  dear,"  said 
Martin ,  "  but  I  couldn't  think  of  taking  your 
father  cut  of  door  to-night;  and,  to  be  brief,  I 
won't." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  already  had  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
but  it  was  so  emphatically  said  that  he  paused. 

"  I  take  Mr.  Pinch,  or  go  alone,"  said  Martin. 
"Which  shall  it  be?" 

"  It  shall  be  Thomas,  sir,"  cried  Pecksniff, 
"since  you  are  so  resolute  upon  it.  Thomas,  my 
friend,  be  very  careful,  if  you  please." 

Tom  was  in  some  need  of  this  injunction,  for 
he  felt  so  nervous,  and  trembled  to  such  a  degree, 
that  he  found  it  difficult  to  hold  the  lantern.  How 
much  more  difficult  when,  at  the  old  man's  bid- 
ding, she  drew  her  hand  through  his  —  Tom 
Pinch's  arm  ! 

"  And  so,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Martin,  on  the 
way,  "you  are  very  comfortably  situated  here; 
are  you  ?" 

Tom  answered,  with  even  more  than  his  usual 
enthusiasm,  that  he  was  under  obligations  to  Mr. 
Pccksnitf  which  the  devotion  of  a  lifetime  would 
but  imperfectly  repay. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  my  nephew  ?" 
asked  Martin. 

"  Your  nephew,  sir  !"  faltered  Tom. 

"  Mr.  Jonas  Chuzzlewit,"  said  Mary. 

"Oh  dear,  yes,"  critd  Tom,  greatly  relieved, 
for  his  mind  was  running  upon  Martin.  "Cer- 
vainly.    I  never  spoke  to  him  before  to-night  sir." 

"  Perhaps  half  a  lifetime  will  suffice  for  the 
acknowleclgment  of  his  kindness,"  observed  the 
old  man, 

Tom  felt  that  this  was  a  rebuff  for  him  and 
could  not  but  understand  it  as  a  left-handed  hit  ;it 
his  employer.  So  he  was  silent.  Mary  felt  that 
Mr.  Pinch  was  not  remarkable  for  presence  of 
mind,  and  that  he  could  not  say  too  little  under 


existing  circumstances.  So  she  was  silent.  The 
old  man,  disgusted  by  what  in  his  suspicious 
nature  he  considered  a  shameless  and  llilsome 
puff  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  which  was  a  part  of  Tom's 
iiired  service  and  in  which  he  was  deleniiined  to 
persevere,  set  him  down  at  once  lor  a  deceitful, 
servile,  miserable  fawner.  So  he  was  silent.  And 
though  they  were  all  sufficicnUy  uncomfortable, 
it  is  fair  to  say  that  Martin  was  perhaps  the  most 
so;  for  he  had  felt  kindly  towards  Tom  at  first, 
and  had  been  interested  by  liis  seeming  sim- 
plicity. 

"  You're  like  the  rest,"  he  thought,  glancing  at 
the  face  of  the  unconscious  Tom.  "  You  had 
nearly  imposed  upon  me,  but  you  have  lost  your 
labour.  You  're  too  zealous  a  toadeatcr,  and  be- 
tray yourself,  Mr.  Pinch." 

During  the  whole  remainder  of  the  walk,  not 
another  word  was  spoken.  First  among  "the  meet- 
ings to  which  Tom  had  long  looked  forward  with 
a  beating  heart,  it  was  memorable  for  nothing  but 
embarrassment  and  confusion.  They  parted  at 
the  Dragon  door  ;  and  sighing  as  he  cvtinguished 
the  candle  in  the  lantern,  Tom  turned  back  ^gain 
over  the  gloomy  fields. 

As  he  approached  the  first  stile,  which  was  in 
a  lonely  part,  made  very  dark  by  a  plantation  of 
young  firs,  a  man  slipped  past  him  and  went  on 
before.  Coming  to  the  stile  he  stopped,  and  took 
his  seat  upon  it.  Tom  was  rather  startled,  and 
for  a  moment  stood  still ;  but  he  stepped  forward 
again  immediately,  and  went  close  up  to  him. 

It  was  Jonas ;  swinging  his  legs  to  and  fro, 
sucking  the  head  of  a  stick,  and  looking  with  a 
sneer  at  Tom. 

"  Good  grac-ous  me!"  cried  Tom,  "  who  would 
have  thought  ^f  its  being  you  !  You  followed  us, 
then  ?" 

"What's  that  to  you?"  said  Jonas.  "Go  to 
the  devil !" 

"You  are  not  very  civil,  I  think,"  remarked 
Tom. 

" Civil  enough  for  you"  retorted  Jonas,  "  Who 
are  you  ?" 

"  One  who  has  bs  good  a  right  to  common  con- 
sideration as  another,"  said  Tom,  mildly. 

"You're  a  liar,"  said  Jonas.  "You  havn't  a 
right  to  any  consideration.  You  havu't  a  right  to 
anything.  You're  a  pretty  sort  of  fellow  to  talk 
about  your  rights,  upon  my  soul!  Ha,  ha!  — 
rights,  too !" 

"  If  you  proceed  in  this  way,"  returned  Tom, 
reddening,  "  you  will  oblige  me  to  talk  about  my 
wrongs.     But  I  hope  your  joke  is  over." 

"It's  the  way  with  you  curs,"  said  Mr.  Jonas, 
"that  when  you  know  a  man's  in  real  earnest, 
you  pretend  to  think  he's  joking,  so  that  you  may 
turn  it  off".  But  that  won't  do  with  me.  It's  too 
stale.  Now  just  attend  to  me  for  a  bit,  Mr.  Pitch, 
or  Witch,  or  Stich,  or  whatever  your  name  is." 

"  My  name  is  Pinch,"  observed  Tom.  "  Have 
the  goodness  to  call  me  by  it." 

"What!  You  mustn't  even  be  called  out  ol 
vour  name,  mustn't  you  !"  cried  Jonas.  "  Paupet 
'prentices  are  looking  up,  I  think.  Ecod,  wa 
manage  'em  a  little  better  in  the  city  !" 

"Never  mind  what  you  do  in  the  city,"  said 
Tom.     "  What  h  ive  you  got  to  say  to  me  ?" 

"Just  this.  Mister  Pinch,"  retorted  Jonas, 
thrusting    his   lace  so  close  to  Toiu'«>  vhat  I'oiif 


56 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


was  oblijpi'ea  to  retreat  a  step,  "  I  advise  yon  to  I 
keep  your  own  counsel,  and  Id  avoid  tittle-tattle, 
and  not  to  cut  in  where  you're  not  wanted.  I've  | 
heard  sometliing:  of  you,  my  friend,  and  your 
meek  ways;  and  I  recommend  you  to  forget  'em 
till  I'm  married  to  one  of  Peclisniff's  gals,  and 
not  to  currj'  favour  among  my  relations,  but  to 
leave  the  course  clear.  You  know,  when  curs 
won't  leave  the  course  clear,  the}' 're  whipped  off; 
BO  this  is  kind  advice.  Do  you  understand  ?  Eh? 
Damme,  who  are  you,"  cried  Jonas,  with  increased 
contempt,  "that  you  should  walk  home  with  them, 
unless  it  was  behind  'em,  like  any  other  servant 
out  of  livery  ?" 

"Come!"  cried  Tom,  "I  see  that  you  had 
Dctter  get  off  the  stile,  and  let  me  pursue  my  way 
home.    JVIake  room  for  me,  if  yc- i  please." 

"  Don't  think  it !"  said  Jonas,  spreading  out 
his  legs.  "  Not  till  I  choose.  And  I  don't  choose 
now.  What !  You  re  afraid  of  my  making  you 
split  upon  some  of  your  babbling  just  now,  are 
you.  Sneak  ?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  many  things,  I  hope,"  said 
Tom;  "and  certainly  not  of  anything  that  you 
will  do.  I  am  not  a  tale-bearer,  and  I  despise  all 
meanness.  You  quite  mistake  me.  Ah  !"  cried 
Tom,  indignantly.  "  Is  this  manly  from  one  in 
your  position  to  one  in  mine?  Please  to  make 
room  for  me  to  pass.    The  less  I  say,  the  better." 

"  The  less  you  say  I"  retorted  Jonas,  dangling 
his  legs  the  more,  and  taking  no  heed  of  this  re- 
quest. "  You  say  very  little,  don't  you  ?  Ecod,  I 
should  like  to  know  what  goes  on  between  you 
and  a  vagabond  member  of  my  family.  There  's 
very  little  in  that,  too,  I  dare  say  !" 

"  I  know  no  vagabond  meirber  of  your  family," 
cried  Tom,  stoutly. 

"  You  do  !"  said  Jonas, 

"  I  don't,"  said  Tom,  "  Your  uncle's  name- 
sake, if  you  mean  him,  is  no  vagabond.  Any 
comparison  between  you  and  him" — Tom  snapped 
his  fingers  at  him,  for  he  'vas  rising  fast  in  wrath 
— "  is  immeasurably  to  3'our  disadvantage." 

"  Oh  indeed  !"  sneered  Jonas,  "  And  what  do 
you  think  of  his  deary  —  his  beggarly  leavings, 
eh.  Mister  Pinch  ?" 

"  I  don't  mean  to  say  another  word,  or  stay 
here  another  instant,"  replied  Tom. 

"  As  I  told  you  before,  you  're  a  liar,"  said  Jo- 
nas, coolly,  ."  You  '11  stay  here  till  I  give  you 
leave  to  go.  Now  keep  where  you  are,  will 
you  ?" 

He  flourished  his  stick  over  Tom's  head ;  but 
in  a  moment,  it  was  spinning  harmlessly  in  the 
air,  and  Jonas  himself  lay  sprawling  in  tlie  ditch. 
In  the  momentary  struggle  for  the  stick,  Tom 
had  brought  it  into  violent  contact  with  his  oppo- 
nent's forehead  ;  and  the  blood  welled  out  pro- 
fusely from  a  deep  cut  on  the  ten)ple.  Tom  was 
first  apprised  of  this  by  seeing  that  he  pressed  his 
handkerchief  to  the  wounded  part,  and  staggered 
as  he  rose  :  being  stunned. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?"  said  Tom.  "  I  am  very  sorry. 
Lean  on  me  lor  a  moment.  You  can  do  that 
without  forgiving  me,  if  you  still  bear  me  malice. 
But  I  don't  know  wliy  ;  lor  I  never  offended  you 
before  we  met  on  this  spot," 

He  made  him  no  answer  :  not  appearing  at  first 
»•  understand  him,  or  even  to  know  that  he  was 
eturt,  tliough  he  several  times  took  his  handker- 


chief from  the  cut  to  look  vacantly  at  the  blood 
upon  it.  After  one  of  these  e.xaminations,  he 
looked  at  Tom,  and  then  there  was  an  expression 
in  his  features,  which  showed  that  he  understood 
what  had  taken  place,  and  would  remember  it 

Nothing  more  passed  between  them  as  they 
went  home.  Jonas  kept  a  little  in  advance,  and 
Tom  Pinch  sadly  followed  :  thinking  of  the  grief 
which  the  knowledge  of  this  quarrel  must  occa- 
sion his  excellent  benefactor.  When  Jonas  knock- 
ed at  the  door,  Tom's  heart  beat  high ;  higher 
when  Miss  Mercy  answered  it;  and,  seeing  her 
wounded  lover,  shrieked  aloud;  higher  when  he 
followed  them  into  the  family  parlour ;  higJier 
than  at  any  other  time  when  Jonas  spoke, 

"  Don't  make  a  noise  about  it,"  he  said,  "  It's 
nothing  worth  mentioning.  I  didn't  know  tlie 
road  ;  the  night 's  very  dark  ;  and  just  as  I  came 
up  with  Mr.  Pinch" — he  turned  his  face  towards 
Tom,  but  not  his  eyes  —  "I  ran  against  a  tree. 
It'  s  only  skin-deep." 

"  Cold  water.  Merry,  my  child !"  cried  Mr. 
Pecksniff.  "  Brown  paper  !  Scissors  !  A  piece 
of  old  linen  I  Charity,  my  dear,  make  a  bandage. 
Bless  me,  Mr.  Jonas  !" 

"  Oh,  bother  your  nonsense,"  returned  the  gra- 
cious son-in-law  elect,  "  Be  of  some  use  if  you 
can.     If  you  can't,  get  out  I" 

Miss  Cliarity,  though  called  upon  to  lend  her 
aii,  sat  uprigiit  in  one  corner,  witli  a  smile  upoc 
her  face,  and  didn't  move  a  finger.  Though 
Mercy  laved  the  wound  herself;  and  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff held  the  patient's  head  between  his  two 
hands,  as  if  without  that  assistance  it  must  inevi- 
tably come  in  half;  and  Tom  Pincli,  in  his  guilty 
agitation,  shook  a  bottle  of  Dutch  Drops  untii 
they  were  nothing  but  English  Froth,  and  in  hie 
other  hand  sustained  a  formidable  carving-knife, 
really  intended  to  reduce  the  swelling,  but  appa- 
rently designed  for  tlie  ruthless  infliction  of  ano- 
ther wound  as  soon  as  that  was  dressed;  Charity 
rendered  not  tlie  least  assistance,  nor  uttered  a 
word.  But  when  Mr.  Jonas's  head  was  bound  up, 
and  he  had  gone  to  bed,  and  everybody  else  had 
retired,  and  the  house  was  quiet,  Mr.  Pinch,  as 
he  sat  mournfully  on  his  bedstead,  ruminating, 
heard  a  gentle  tap  at  his  door  ;  and  opening  it, 
saw  her,  to  his  great  astonishment,  standing  bo- 
fore  him  with  her  finger  on  her  lip. 

"  Mr.  Pinch,"  she  whispered.  "  Dear  Mr 
Pinch  !  tell  me  the  truth  !  You  did  tliat  ?  There 
was  some  quarrel  between  you,  and  you  striti;k 
him  ?     I  am  .sure  of  it !" 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  spoken  kindly 
to  Tom,  in  all  the  many  years  they  liad  passed 
together.     He  was  stupefied  with  amazement. 

"  Was  it  so,  or  not  ?"  sbe  eagerly  demanded. 

"  I  was  very  much  provoked,"  said  Tom. 

"Then  it  was?"  cried  Charity,  with  sparkling 
eyes. 

"  Ye-ycs.  Wc  had  a  struggle  for  tiie  patli,  ' 
said  Tom.  "  But  I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  him  bc 
much." 

"  Not  so  much  !"  she  repeated,  clenching  her 
hand  and  stamj)ing  her  foot,  to  Tom's  great  won- 
der. "  Don't  say  that.  It  was  brave  of  you.  I 
honour  you  for  it.  If  you  should  ever  quarrel 
again,  dont  spare  him  for  the  world,  but  beat  him 
down  and  set  your  shoe  upon  him.  Not  a  word 
of  this  to  anA'body.     Dear  Mr.  Puich,   I  am  your 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


167 


'Viend  from  to-night.  I  am  always  youf  friend 
from  this  time." 

She  turned  her  flushed  face  upon  Tom  to  con- 
firm her  words  by  its  kindling  expression  ;  and 
seizing  his  right  liand,  pressed  it  to  her  breast, 
and  kissed  it.  And  there  was  notliing  personal  in 
this  to  render  it  at  all  embarrassing,  for  even  Tom, 
whose  power  of  observation  was  by  no  means  re- 
markable, knew  from  the  energy  with  which  she 
did  it  that  she  would  have  fondled  any  hand,  no 
matter  how  debauched  or  dyed,  that  had  broken 
the  head  of  Jonas  Chuzzlewit. 

Tom  went  into  his  room,  and  went  to  bed,  full 
of  uncomfortable  tiioughts.  That  there  should 
be  any  such  tremendous  division  in  the  family  as 
he  knew  must  have  taken  place  to  convert  Charity 
Pecksniff  into  his  friend,  for  any  reason ;  but, 
above  all,  for  that  which  was  clearly  the  real  one ; 
that  Jonas,  who  had  assailed  him  with  such  ex- 
ceeding coarseness,  should  have  been  sufficiently 
magnanimous  to  keep  the  secret  of  their  quarrel; 
and  that  any  train  of  circumstances  should  have 
led  to  the  commission  of  an  assault  and  battery 
by  Thomas  Pinch  upon  any  man  calling  himself 
the  friend  of  Set!)  Pecksniff;  were  matters  of  such 
deep  and  painful  cogitation,  that  he  could  not  close 
iiis  eyes.  His  own  violence,  in  particular,  so 
preyed  upon  the  generous  mind  of  Tom,  that 
Coupling  it  with  tlie  many  former  occasions  on 
which  he  had  given  Mr.  Pecksniff  pain  and 
anxiety  (occnsions  of  which  that  gentleman  often 
reminded  him),  he  really  began  to  regard  himself 
as  destined  by  a  mysterious  fate  to  be  the  evil 
genius  and  bad  angel  of  his  patron.  But  he  fell 
asleep  at  last,  and  dreamed — new  source  of  waking 
uneasiness — that  he  had  betrayed  his  trust,  and 
run  away  with  Mary  Graham. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that,  asleep  or  awake, 
Tom's  position  in  reference  to  this  young  lady 
was  full  of  uneasiness.  The  more  he  saw  of  her, 
the  more  lie  admired  her  beauty,  her  intelligence, 
the  amiable  qualities  that  even  won  on  the  divided 
house  of  Pecksniff,  and  in  a  few  days  restored  at 
all  events  the  semblance  of  harmony  and  kind- 
ness between  the  angry  sisters.  When  she  spoke, 
Tom  held  his  breath,  so  eagerly  he  listened ; 
when  she  sang,  he  sat  like  one  entranced.  She 
touched  his  organ,  and  from  that  bright  epoch 
even  it,  the  old  companion  of  his  happiest  hours, 
incapable  as  he  had  thought  of  elevation,  began  a 
new  and  deified  existence. 

God's  love  upon  thy  patience,  Tom !  Who  that 
had  beheld  thee,  for  tliree  summer  weeks,  poring 
through  half  the  deadlong  night  over  the  jingling 
anatomy  of  that  inscrutable  old  harpsichord  in 
the  back  parlour,  could  have  missed  the  entrance 
to  thy  secret  heart :  albeit  it  was  dimly  known  to 
thee !  Who  that  had  seen  the  glow  upon  thy 
cheek  when  leaning  down  to  listen,  after  hours 
of  labour,  for  the  sound  of  one  incorrigible  note, 
thou  foundst  that  it  had  a  voice  at  Ja.st,  and 
wheezedst  out  a  flat  something  distantly  akin  to 
what  it  ougiit  to  be, — would  not  have  known  that 
it  was  desiined  for  no  common  touch,  but  one 
that  smote,  though  gently  as  an  angel's  hand, 
upon  the  deepest  chord  within  thee  1  And  if  a 
friendly  glance — ay,  even  though  it  were  as  guile- 
less as  thine  own,  Dear  Tom  —  could  but  have 
pierced  the  twilight  of  that  evening,  when,  in  a 
wice  well  tempered  to  the  time, sad,sweet,and  low,  j 


yet  hopeful,  she  first  s?ng  to  the  altered  instru- 
ment, and  wondered  at  the  change;  ard  thou, 
sitting  apart  ul  he  open  window,  kcptst  a  glad 
silence  and  a  swelling  heart — must  not  that  glance 
have  read  perforce  the  dawning  of  a  story,  Tom, 
that  it  were  well  for  thee  had  never  been  begun  I 

Tom  Pinch's  siiuation  was  not  made  the  less 
dangerous  or  diffii^ult,  by  the  fact  of  no  one  word 
passing  between  them  in  reference  to  Martin. 
Honourably  mindful  of  his  promise,  Tom  gave  her 
opportunities  of  all  kmds.  Early  and  late  he 
was  in  the  church  ;  in  her  favourite  walks  ;  in  the 
village,  in  the  garden,  in  the  meadows ;  and  in 
any  or  all  of  these  places  she  might  have  spoken 
freely.  But  no:  at  all  such  times  she  carefully 
avoided  him,  or  never  came  in  his  way  unaccom- 
panied. It  could  not  be  that  she  disliked  or  dis- 
trusted  him ;  for  by  a  thousand  little  delicate 
means,  too  slight  for  any  notice  but  his  own,  she 
singled  him  out  when  others  were  present,  and 
showed  herself  the  very  soul  of  kindness.  Could 
it  be  that  siie  had  b'.oken  with  xilartin,  or  had 
never  returned  his  affection,  save  in  his  own  bold 
and  heightened  fancy  ?  Tom's  cheek  grew  red 
with  self-reproach,  as  he  dismissed  the  thought. 

All  this  time  old  Martin  came  and  went  in  his 
own  strange  manner,  or  sat  among  the  rest 
absorbed  within  himself,  and  holding  little  inter- 
course with  any  one.  Although  he  was  unsocial, 
he  was  not  wilful  in  other  things,  or  troublesome, 
or  morose :  being  never  better  pleased  than  when 
they  left  him  quite  unnoticed  at  his  book,  and 
pursued  their  own  amusements  in  his  presence, 
unreserved.  It  was  impossible  to  discern  in 
whom  he  took  an  interest,  or  whether  he  had  an 
interest  in  any  of  them.  Unless  they  spoke -to 
him  directly,  he  never  showed  that  he  had  ears  or 
eyes  for  anything  that  passed. 

One  day  the  lively  Merry,  sitting  with  down- 
cast eyes  under  a  shady  tree  in  the  churchyari, 
whither  she  had  retired  after  fatiguing  herself  by 
the  imposition  of  sundry  trials  on  the  temper  of 
Mr.  Jonas,  felt  that  a  new  shadow  came  between 
her  and  the  sun.  Raising  her  eyes  in  the  expecta- 
tion of  seeing  her  betrothed,  she  was  not  a  little 
surprised  to  see  old  Martin  instead.  Her  surprise 
was  not  diminished  when  he  took  his  seat  upon 
the  turf  beside  her,  and  opened  a  conversation 
thus  : 

"  When  are  you  to  be  married?" 

"Oh!  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  my  goodness  me! 
I  'm  sure  I  don't  know.    Not  yet  awhile,  I  hope.' 

"  You  hope  ?"  said  the  old  man. 

It  was  very  gravely  said ;  but  she  took  it  fm 
banter,  and  giggled  excessively. 

"Come!"  said  the  old  man,  with  unusual  kind 
ness,  "you  are  young,  good-looking,  and  I  think 
good-natured  !  Frivolous  you  are,  and  love  to  bo 
undoubtedly ;  but  you  must  have  some  hearU" 

"  I  have  not  given  it  all  away,  I  can  tell  you,' 
said  Merry,  nodding  her  head  shrewdly,  and 
plucking  up  the  grass. 

"  Have  you  parted  with  any  of  it '" 

She  threw  the  grass  about,  and  looked  anothei 
way,  but  said  nothing. 

Martin  repeated  his  question. 

"  Lor,  my  dear  Mr.  Chuz7.1ewit !  really  you 
must  excuse  me  !     How  very  odd  you  are." 

"  If  it  be  odd  in  me  to  desire  to  know  whether 
you  love  the  young  man  whom  I  understand  you 


158 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES  OP 


are  to  marry,  I  am  very  odd,"  said  Martin.   "  For 
that  is  certainly  my  wish." 

"  He  's  such  a  monster,  you  know,"  said  Merry, 
pouting. 

"  Tiien  you  don't  love  him  ?"  returned  the  old 
man.     •*  Is  that  your  meaning  ?" 

"Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  I'm  sure  1 
tell  him  a  hundred  times  a  day  that  I  hate  him. 
You  must  have  heard  me  tell  him  that." 
"Often,"  said  Martin. 

"And  so  I  do,"  cried  Merry,  "  I  do  positively." 
"Being   at  the   same  time  engaged  to  marry 
him,"  observed  the  old  man, 

"Oh  yes,"  said  Merry.  "But  I  told  the 
wretch — my  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  I  told  liim 
when  he  asked  me — that  if  I  ever  did  marry  him, 
it  should  only  be  that  I  might  hate  and  teaze  him 
all  my  life." 

She  had  a  suspicion  that  the  old  man  regarded 
Jonas  with  anything  but  favour,  and  intended  these 
remarks  to  be  extremely  captivating.  He  did  not 
appear,  however,  to  regard  them  in  that  light  by 
any  means ;  for  when  he  spoke  again,  it  was  in  a 
tone  of  severity. 

"Look  about  you,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the 
graves;  "and  remember  that  from  your  bridal 
hour  to  the  day  which  sees  you  brought  as  low  as 
these,  and  laid  in  such  a  bed,  there  will  be  no 
appeal  against  him.  Think,  and  speak,  and  act, 
for  once,  like  an  accountable  creature.  Is  any 
control  put  upon  your  inclination?  Are  you 
forced  into  ihis  matcii  ?  Are  you  insidiously 
advised  or  tempted  to  contract  it,  by  any  one  ?  I 
will  not  ask  by  whom  :  by  any  one  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Merry,  shrugging  her  shoulders. 
**  I  don't  know  tiiat  I  am." 

"  Don't  know  that  you  are !     Are  you  ?" 
"No,"  replied  Merry.    "Nobody  ever  said  any- 
thing to  me  about  it.      If  any  one  had  tried  to 
make  me  have  him,  I  would'nt  have  had  him  at 
all." 

"  I  am  told  that  he  was  at  first  supposed  to  be 
your  sister's  admirer,"  said  Martin. 

"  Oh,  good  gracious  !  My  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit, 
it  would  be  very  hard  to  make  him,  though  he  is 
a  monster,  accountable  for  jther  people's  vanity," 
Baid  Merry.  "  And  poor  dear  Cherry  is  the  vainest 
darling !" 

"  It  was  her  mistake  then  ?" 
"I  hope  if  was,"  cried  Merry;  "but,  all  along, 
the  dear  child  has  been  so  dreadfully  jealous  and 
•0  cross,  that,  upon  my  word  and  honour,  it's 
impossible  to  please  her,  and  it's  of  no  use  trying." 
"Not  forced,  persuaded,  or  controlled,"  said 
Martin,  thoughtfully.  "  And  that's  true,  I  see. 
There  is  one  chance  yet.  You  may  have  lapsed 
into  this  engagement  in  very  giddiness.  It  may 
have  been  the  wanton  act  of  a  light  head.  Is 
that  so  ?" 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  simpered  Merry, 
"as  to  light-hoadcdness,  there  never  was  such  a 
feather  of  a  head  as  mine.  It's  a  perfect  balloon, 
I  declare  !     You  never  did,  you  know  !" 

He  waited  quietly  till  she  had  finished,  and  then 
fcaid,  steadily  and  slowly,  and  in  a  softened  voice, 
OS  if  he  would  still  invite  her  confidence : 

"  Have  you  any  wish — or  is  there  anything 
within  your  breast  that  whiNpers  you  m;iy  form 
the  wish,  if  you  have  time  to  think — to  be  released 
ftotn  this  engagement '/" 


Again  Miss  Merry  pouted,  <t<td  loc/k.rsd  down 
and  plucked  the  grass,  and  shrugged  her  shoulderh 
No.  She  did'nt  know  that  she  had.  She  was 
pretty  sure  she  had'nt.  Quite  sure,  she  migh 
say.     She  "  didn't  mind  it." 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you,"  said  Martin, 
"  that  your  married  life  may  perhaps  be  miseratlb, 
full  of  bitterness,  and  most  unhappy  ?" 

Merry  looked  down  again ;  and  now  she  tore 
the  grass  up  by  the  roots. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  what  shocking 
words  !  Of  course,  I  shall  quarrel  with  him ;  I 
should  quarrel  with  any  husband.  Married 
people  always  quarrel,  I  believe.  But  as  to  being 
miserable,  and  bitter,  and  all  those  dreadful  things, 
you  know,  why  I  could'nt  be  absolutely  that, 
unless  he  always  had  the  best  of  it ;  and  I  mean 
to  have  the  best  of  it  myself.  I  always  do  now," 
cried  Merry,  nodding  her  head,  and  giggling  very 
much ;  "  for  I  make  a  perfect  slave  of  the  crea- 
ture." 

"  Let  it  go  on,"  said  Martin,  rising.  "  Let  it 
go  on  !  I  sought  to  know  your  mind,  my  dear, 
and  you  have  shown  it  me.  I  wish  you  joy. 
Joy  I"  he  repeated,  looking  full  upon  her,  and 
pointing  to  the  wicket-gate  where  Jonas  entered 
at  the  moment.  And  then,  without  waiting  for 
his  nephew,  he  passed  out  at  another  gate,  and 
went  away. 

"  Oh  you  terrible  old  man  !"  cried  the  facetious 
Merry  to  herself.  "  What  a  perfectly  hideous 
monster  to  be  wandering  about  churchyards  in 
the  broad  daylight,  frightening  people  out  of  their 
wits!  Don't  come  here.  Griffin,  or  I'll  go  away 
directly." 

Mr.  Jonas  was  the  Griffin.  He  sat  down  upon 
the  grass  at  her  side,  in  spite  of  this  warning,  and 
sulkily  inquired  : 

"  What's  my  uncle  been  a  talking  about  ?" 

"  About  you,"  rejoined  Merry.  "  He  says  you're 
not  half  good  enough  for  me." 

"  Oh  yes,  I  dare  say  !  We  all  know  that.  He 
means  to  give  you  some  present  worth  having,  i 
hope.     Did  he  say  anything  that  looked  like  it .'" 

"That  he  didn't !"  cried  Merry,  most  decisively. 

"  A  stingy  old  dog  he  is,"  said  Jonas.  "  Well :'" 

"  Griffin !"  cried  Miss  Merry,  in  counterleit 
amazement;  "  what  are  you  doing.  Griffin  ?" 

"  Only  giving  you  a  squeeze,"  said  the  discern 
fited  Jonas.  "  There's  no  harm  in  that,  I  sup 
pose  ?" 

"  But  there  is  a  great  deal  of  harm  in  it,  if  I 
don't  consider  it  agreeable,"  returned  his  cousin. 
"  Do  go  along,  will  you  ?  You  make  me  so  hot  I" 

Mr.  Jonas  withdrew  his  arm  ;  and  for  a  moment 
looked  at  her  more  like  a  murd.rer  than  a  lover. 
But  he  cleared  his  brow  by  d(  grees,  and  broke 
silence  with : 

"  I  say,  Mel !" 

"  What  do  you  say,  you  vulgar  thing — you  low 
savage?"  cried  his  fair  betrot'  ■:d. 

"  When  is  it  to  be  ?  I  can't  affiard  to  go  on 
dawdling  about  here  half  my  life,  I  needn't  tell 
you,  and  Pecksniff  says  that  latliei  s  being  so 
lately  dead  makes  very  little  odds ;  for  we  can  be 
married  as  quiet  as  we  please  down  here,  and  my 
being  lonely  is  a  good  reason  to  the  neighbours 
for  taking  a  wife  home  so  soon,  especially  one 
that  He  knew.  As  to  crossbones  (my  uncle,  1 
mean),  he  's  sure  not  to  put  a  spoke  in  t)ie  wheel 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


16 


wliatever  we  settle  or.  for  he  told  Pecksniff  only 
this  morning,  ttiat  if  you  liked  it,  lie  'd  nothing 
at  all  to  say  So,  Mel,"  said  Joii;is,  venturing  on 
another  squeeze  ;  "  when  shall  it  be  ?" 

"  Upon  my  word,"  cried  Merry. 

"  Upon  my  soul,  if  you  like,"  said  Jonas. 
"  What  do  you  say  to  next  week,  now  ?" 

"  To  next  week  !  If  you  had  said  next  quarter, 
I  should  have  wondered  at  your  impudence." 

"But  I  didn't  say  next  quarter,"  retorted  Jonas. 
"•  I  said  next  week." 

"Then,  Griffin,"  cried  Miss  Merry,  pushing 
him  off,  and  rising.  "  I  say  no !  not  next  week. 
It  shan't  be  till  I  choose — and  I  may  not  choose 
it  to  be  for  months.     There  !" 

He  glanced  up  at  her  from  the  ground,  almost 
as  darkly  as  he  had  looked  at  Tom  Pinch ;  but 
held  his  peace. 

"  No  friglit  of  a  Griffin  with  a  patch  over  his 
eye,  .s!:all  dictate  to  me,  or  have  a  voice  in  the 
matter,"  said  Merry.     "  There  !" 

Still  Mr.  Jonas  held  his  peace. 

"  If  it 's  next  month,  that  shall  be  the  very 
earliest;  but  I  wort't  say  when  it  shall  be  till  to- 


morrow; and  if  you  don't  like  that,  it  shall  never 
be  at  all,"  said  Merry;  "and  if  you  follow  me 
about  and  won't  leave  me  alone,  it  shall  never  ije 
at  all.  There  !  And  if  you  don't  do  everything 
I  order  you  to  do,  it  shall  never  be  at  all.  So 
don't  follow  me.     There,  Griffin  1" 

And  with  that,  she  skipped  away,  among  the 
trees. 

"  Ecod,  my  lady !"  said  Jonas,  looking  after 
her,  and  biting  a  piece  of  straw,  almost  to  pow- 
der; "you'll  catch  it  for  this,  when  you  are 
married  1  It's  all  very  well  now  —  it  keeps  one 
on,  somehow,  and  you  know  it — but  I  '11  pay  you 
off,  scot  and  lot,  by  and  by.  This  is  a  plaguy 
dull  sort  of  place  for  a  man  to  be  sitting  by  him- 
self in.  I  never  could  abide  a  mouldy  old  church- 
yard." 

As  he  turned  into  the  avenue  himself.  Miss 
Merry,  who  was  far  ahead,  happened  to  look  back. 

"  Ah!"  said  Jonas,  with  a  sullen  smile,  and  a 
nod  that  was  not  addressed  to  her ;  "  make  the 
most  of  it  while  it  lasts.  Get  in  your  hay  while 
the  sun  shines.  Take  your  own  way  as  long  as 
it 's  in  your  power,  my  lady !" 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


IS  IN  PART  PROFESSIONAL;  AND  FURNISHES  THE  READER  WITH  SOME 
VALUABLE  HINTS  IN  RELATION  TO  THE  MANAGEMENT  OF  A  SICK 
CHAMBER. 


Mr.  Mould  was  surrounded  by  his  household 
gods.  He  was. enjoying  the  sweets  of  domestic 
repose,  and  gazing  on  them  with  a  calm  delight. 
The  day  being  sultry,  and  the  window  open,  the 
legs  of  Mr.  Mould  were  on  the  window-seat,  and 
his  back  reclined  against  the  shutter.  Over  his 
shining  head  a  handkerchief  was  drawn,  to  guard 
his  baldness  from  the  flies.  The  room  was  fra- 
grant with  the  smell  of  punch,  a  tumbler  of  which 
grateful  compound  stood  upon  a  small  round 
table,  convenient  to  the  hand  of  Mr,  Mould ;  so 
deftly  mixed,  that  as  his  eye  looked  down  into 
the  cool  transparent  drink,  another  eye,  peering 
brightly  from  behind  the  crisp  lemon-peel,  looked 
up  at  him,  and  twinkled  like  a  star. 

Deep  in  the  city,  and  within  the  ward  of  Cheap, 
stood  Mr.  Mould's  establishment.  Mis  Harem, 
or,  in  other  words,  the  common  sitting-room  of 
Mrs.  Mould  and  family,  was  at  the  back,  over  the 
little  counting-house  behind  the  shop :  abutting 
on  a  churchyard,  small  and  shady.  In  this 
domestic  chamber  Mr.  Mould  now  sat;  gazing,  a 
placid  man,  upon  his  punch  and  home.  If,  for  a 
moment  at  a  time,  he  sought  a  wider  prospect, 
whence  he  might  return  with  freshened  zest  to 
these  enjoyments,  his  moist  glance  wandered  like 
a  sunbeam  through  a  rural  screen  of  scarlet  run- 
ners, trained  on  strings  before  the  window ;  and 
he  looked  tiown,  with  an  artist's  eye,  upon  the 
graves. 

The  partner  of  his  life,  and  daughters  twain, 
were  Mr.  Mould's  companions.  Plump  as  any 
partridge  was  each  Miss  Mould,  and  Mrs  M.  was 
plumper  than  the  two  together.  So  round  emd 
chubby  were   their   fair  prooortions.   that   they 


might  have  been  the  bodies  once  belonging  to  the 
angels'  faces  in  the  shop  below,  grown  up,  with 
other  heads  attached  to  make  them  mortal.  E'  cii 
their  peachy  cheeks  were  puffed  out  and  d'ttend- 
ed,  as  though  they  ought  of  right  to  be  perform- 
ing on  celestial  trumpets.  The  bodiless  cherubi? 
in  the  shop,  who  were  depicted  as  constantly 
blowing  those  instruments  for  ever  and  ever  wit!)- 
out  any  lungs,  played,  it  is  to  be  presumed, 
entirely  by  ear. 

Mr.  Mould  looked  lovingly  at  Mrs.  Mould,  who 
sat  hard  by,  and  was  a  helpmate  to  him  in  his 
punch  as  in  all  other  things.  Each  seraph  daugh- 
ter, too,  enjoyed  her  share  of  his  regards,  and 
smiled  upon  him  in  return.  So  bountiful  were 
Mr.  Mould's  possessions,  and  so  large  his  stock  in 
trade,  that  even  there,  within  his  household  sanc- 
tuary, stood  a  cumbrous  press,  whose  mahogany 
maw  was  filled  with  shrouds,  and  winding-sheets, 
and  other  furniture  of  funerals.  But,  though  the 
Misses  Mould  had  been  brought  up,  as  o.ie  may 
say,  beneath  its  eye,  it  had  cast  no  shadow  o!i 
their  timid  infancy  or  blooming  youth.  Sporting 
behind  the  scenes  of  death  and  burial  from  cradle- 
hood,  the  Misses  Mould  knew  better.  Hatbands, 
to  them,  were  but  so  many  yards  of  silk  or  cr.ipe; 
the  final  robe  but  such  a  quantity  of  linen,  T.'ie 
Misses  Mould  could  idealize  a  player's  hab^t,  or 
a  court-lady's  petticoat,  or  even  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment. But  the}'  were  not  to  be  taken  in  by  palls 
Ttiey  made  them  sometimes. 

The  premises  of  Mr.  Mould  were  hard  cf  hear 
ing  to  tne  boisterous  noises  in  the  great  mall. 
streets,  and  nestled  in  a  quiet  corner,  where  tlie 
city  strife  hecame  a  drowsy  hum,  that  soinetiioeg 


160 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


-o^e  and  sometimes  fell  and  sometimes  altogether 
ceased  :  sufj^esting  to  a  thoughtful  mind  a  stop- 
page in  Chcapside.  The  light  came  sparkling  in 
among  the  scarlet  runners,  as  if  the  churchyard 
winked  at  Mr.  Mould,  and  said,  "  We  understand 
each  other  ;''  and  from  the  distant  shop  a  pleasant 
Bound  arose  of  coffin-making  with  a  low  melodi- 
ous hammer,  rat,  tat,  tat,  tat,  alike  promoting 
slumher  and  digestion. 

"  Quite  the  buzz  of  insects,"  said  Mr.  Mould, 
closing  his  eyes  in  a  perfect  luxury.  "  It  puts 
one  in  mind  of  the  sound  of  animated  nature  in 
the  agricultural  districts.  It's  exactly  like  the 
woodpecker  tapping." 

"  The  woodpecker  tapping  the  hollow  elm  tree," 
observed  Mrs.  Mould,  adapting  the  words  of  the 
popular  melody  to  the  description  of  wood  com- 
monly used  in  the  trade. 

"Ha,  ha  I"  laughed  Mr,  Mould.  "Not  at  all 
bad,  my  dear.  We  shall  be  glad  to  hear  from  you 
again,  Mrs.  M.  Hollow  elm  tree,  eh  ?  Ha,  ha  ! 
Very  good,  indeed.  I  've  seen  worse  than  that  in 
the  Sunday  papers,  my  love." 

Mrs.  Mould,  thus  encouraged,  took  a  little  more 
of  the  punch,  and  handed  it  to  her  daughters,  who 
dutifully  followed  the  example  of  their  mother, 

"  Hollow  ehn  tree,  eh  ?"  said  Mr.  Mould,  mak- 
ing a  slight  motion  with  his  legs  in  his  enjoyment 
of  the  joke.  "  It's  beech  in  the  song.  Elm,  he? 
Yes,  to  be  »ure.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Upon  my  soul, 
that's  one  of  the  best  things  I  know  !"  He  was 
so  excessively  tickled  by  the  jest  that  he  couldn't 
forget  it,  but  repeated  twenty  times,  "  Elm,  eh  ? 
Yes,  to  be  sure.  Elm,  of  course.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Upon  my  life,  you  know,  that  ought  to  be  sent  to 
somebody  who  could  make  use  of  it.  It's  one  of 
the  smartest  things  that  ever  was  said.  Hollow 
elm  tree,  eh  ?  Of  course.  Very  hollow.  Ha, 
ha,  ha  I" 

Here  a  knock  was  heard  at  the  room  door. 

"That's  Tacker,  /  know,"  said  Mrs.  Mould, 
"by  the  wheezing  he  makes.  Who  that  hears 
him  now,  would  suppose  he  'd  ever  had  wind 
enough  to  carry  the  feathers  on  his  head  I  Come 
ill,  Tacker." 

"  ^^S  yo'""  pardon,  ma'am,"  said  Tacker,  look- 
ing in  a  little  way.  "  I  thought  our  Governor 
wa.s  here." 

"  Well!    So  he  is,"  cried  Mould. 

"  Oh  :  I  didn't  see  you,  I  'm  sure,"  said  Tack- 
er,  looking  in  a  little  farther.  "  You  wouldn't  be 
iiiojined  to  take  a  walking  one  of  two,  with  the 
plain  wood  and  a  tin  plate,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  Mr.  Mould,  "  much  too 
common.     Nothing  to  say  to  it." 

"  I  told  'em  it  was  precious  low,"  observed  Mr. 
Tacker. 

"  Tell  'em  to  go  somewhere  else.  We  don't  do 
tliat  style  of  business  here,"  said  Mr  Mould. 
"  I  ike  their  impudence  to  propose  it  Who  is 
it  ?" 

"  Why,"  returned  Tacker,  pausing,  "  that 's 
whftre  it  is,  you  see.  It's  the  beadle's  son-in- 
iuw." 

"  The  beadle's  son-in-law,  eh  ?"  said  Mould. 
•*  Well !  I  'II  do  it  if  the  beadle  follows  in  his 
cocked  hat;  not  else.  We  may  carry  it  off  that 
way,  by  looking  official,  but  it'll  be  low  enough 
Uien.     His  cocked  hat,  mind  !" 

'  I  '11  take  care,  sir,"  rejoined  Tacker,     "  Oh  ! 


Mrs.   Gamp 's   beli^w,    and    wants    to    speak    to 
you." 

"Tell  Mrs.  Gamp  to  come  up  stairs,"  said 
Mould.    "  Now,  Mrs.  Gamp,  what 's  your  news  ?" 

The  lady  in  question  was  by  tiiis  time  in  the 
doorway,  curtseying  to  Mrs.  Mould.  At  the  same 
moment  a  peculiar  fiagrance  was  borne  upon  tlie 
breeze,  as  if  a  passing  fairy  had  hiccoughed,  and 
had  previously  been  to  a  wine-vaults. 

Mrs.  Gamp  made  no  response  to  Mr.  Mould, 
but  curtseyed  to  .Mrs.  Mould  again,  and  held  up 
her  hands  and  eyes,  as  in  a  devout  thanksgiving 
that  she  looked  so  well.  She  was  neatly,  but  not 
gaudily  attired,  in  the  weeds  she  had  worn  when 
Mr.  Pecksniff  hud  the  pleasure  of  making  her  ac- 
quaintance; and  was  perhaps  the  turning  of  a 
scale  more  snuffy. 

"There  are  some  happy  creeturs,"  Mrs.  Gamp 
observed,  "as  time  runs  back'ards  with,  and  you 
are  one,  Mrs.  Mould ;  not  that  he  need  do  nothing 
except  use  you  in  his  most  owldacious  way  for 
years  to  come,  I  'm  sure  ;  for  yountr  you  are  and 
will  be.  I  says  to  Mrs.  Harris,"  Mrs.  Gamp  con- 
tinued, "only  t'other  day;  the  last  Monday  even- 
ing fortnight  as  ever  dawned  upon  this  Piljian's 
Projiss  of  a  mortal  wale;  I  says  to  Mrs,  Harris 
when  she  says  to  me,  '  Years  and  our  trials,  Mrs. 
Gamp,  sets  marks  upon  us  all'  —  'Say  not  the 
words,  Mrs.  Han  is,  il  you  and  me  is  to  continual 
friends,  for  sech  is  not  the  case.  Mrs.  Mould,' 
I  says,  making  so  free,  I  will  confess,  as  use  the 
name,"  (she  curtseyed  here),  "'is  one  of  them 
that  goes  agen  the  obserwation  straight ;  and 
never,  Mrs.  Harris,  whilst  I've  a  drop  of  breatli 
to  draw,  will  I  set  by,  and  not  stand  up,  don't 
think  it.' — '  I  ast  your  pardon,  ma'am,'  says  Mr.s. 
Harris, 'and  I  humbly  grant  your  grace;  for  if 
ever  a  woman  lived  as  would  see  her  feller  cree- 
turs into  fits  to  serve  her  friends,  well  do  I  know 
that  woman's  name  is  Sairey  Gamp.' " 

At  this  point  she  was  fain  to  stop  for  breath 
and  advantage  may  be  taken  of  the  circumstance 
to  state  that  a  fearful  mystery  surrounded  this 
lady  of  the  name  of  Harris,  whom  no  one  in  tha 
circle  of  Mrs.  Gam[)'s  acquaintance  had  ever  seen 
neither  did  any  human  being  know  her  place  of 
residence,  though  Mrs,  Gamp  appeared  on  her 
own  showing  to  be  in  constant  conimunicatiop 
with  her.  There  were  conflicting  rumours  on 
the  subject;  but  the  prevalt^nt  opinion  was  thai 
she  was  a  phantom  of  Mrs.  Gamp's  brain  —  as 
Messrs.  Doe  and  Roe  are  fictions  of  the  law  — 
created  for  the  express  purpose  of  holding  vision- 
ary dialogues  with  her  on  all  manner  of  subjects, 
and  invariably  winding  up  with  a  compliment  to 
the  excellence  of  lur  nature, 

"  And  likeways  what  a  pleasure,"  said  Mrs. 
Gamp,  turning  with  a  tearful  smile  towards  the 
daughters,  "  to  sec  them  two  young  ladies  as  I 
know'd  afore  a  tooth  in  their  pretty  heads  was 
cut,  and  have  many  a  day  seen  —  ah,  the  swcol 
creeturs! — playing  at  bcrryins  down  in  the  shop, 
and  follerin'  the  order-book  to  its  long  home  in 
the  iron  safe!  But  that's  all  past  and  over,  Mr. 
Mould,"  as  she  thus  got  in  a  carefully-regulated 
routine  to  that  gentleman,  she  shook  her  head 
waggishly;  "That's  all  past  and  over  now,  sir, 
an'tit?" 

"  Changes,  Mrs.  Gamp,  changes  I"  returned  the 
undertaker. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT. 


161 


"  More  changes  too,  to  come,  afore  we've  done 
AMth  changt's,  sir,"  s;iid  Mrs.  Gamp,  nodding  yet 
more  waggistily  than  beRire.  "  Young  ladies 
vvitli  such  tacts  thinks  of  something  else  besides 
bcrryins,  don't  they,  sir  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  Mrs.  Gamp,"  said 
Mould,  with  a  chuckle.  "Not  bad  in  Mrs. Gamp, 
my  dear  ?" 

"  Oh  yes,  you  do  know,  sir  !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp, 
"  and  so  does  Mrs.  Mould,  your  ansome  pardner, 
loo,  sir;  and  so  do  I,  although  the  blessing  of  a 
daughter  was  deniged  me;  which,  if  we  had  had 
one.  Gamp  would  certainly  have  drunk  its  little 
shoes  right  off  its  feet,  as  with  our  precious  boy 
he  did,  and  arterwards  send  the  child  a  errand  to 
sell  his  wooden  leg  for  any  money  it  would  fetch 
as  matches  in  the  rough,  and  bring  it  home  in 
liquor:  wliicli  was  truly  done  beyond  his  years, 
for  ev'ry  individgle  penny  that  child  lost  at  toss  or 
buy  for  kidney  ones  ;  and  come  home  arterwards 
quite  bold,  to  break  the  news,  and  otfering  to 
drown  himself  if  that  would  be  a  satisfaction  to 
his  parents. — Oh  yes,  you  do  know,  sir,"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  wiping  her  eye  with  her  shawl,  and 
resuming  the  thread  of  her  discourse.  "  i'here  's 
something  besides  births  and  berryins  in  the 
newspapers,  an't  there,  Mr.  Mould  ?" 

Mr.  Mould  winked  at  Mrs.  Mould,  whom  he 
had  by  this  time  taken  on  his  knee,  and  said  : 
"  No  doubt.  A  good  deal  more,  Mrs.  Gamp. 
Upon  my  life,  Mrs.  Gamp  is  very  far  from  bad, 
my  dear  1" 

"There's  marryings,  an't  there,  sir?"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  while  both  the  daughters  blushed 
and  tittered.  "  Bless  their  precious  hearts,  and 
well  they  knows  it !  Well  you  know'd  it  too,  and 
well  did  Mrs.  Mguld,  when  you  was  at  their  time 
of  life  !  But  my  opinion  is,  you're  all  of  one  age 
now.  For  as  to  you  and  Mrs.  Mould,  sir,  ever 
having  grandciiildren — " 

"  Oh  !  Fie,  fie  !  Nonsense,  Mrs.  Gamp,"  replied 
the  undertaker.  "  Devilish  smart,  though.  Ca-pi- 
tal  I"  — this  was  in  a  whisper.  "  My  dear — " 
aloud  again — "  Mrs.  Gamp  can  drink  a  glass  of 
rum,  I  dare  say.  Sit  down,  Mrs.  Gamp,  sit 
down." 

Mrs.  Gamp  took  the  chair  that  was  nearest  the 
door,  and  casting  up  her  eyes  towards  the  ceiling, 
feigned  to  be  wholly  insensible  to  the  fact  of  a 
glass  of  rum  being  in  preparation,  until  it  was 
placed  in  her  hand  by  one  of  the  young  ladies, 
when  she  exhibited  the  greatest  surprise. 

"  A  thing,"  she  said,  "  as  hardly  ever,  Mrs. 
Slould,  occurs  with  me  unless  it  is  when  I  am 
indispoged,  and  find  my  half-a-pint  of  porter  set- 
tling heavy  on  the  chest.  Mrs.  Harris  often  and 
often  says  to  me,  '  Sairey  Gamp,'  she  says,  '  you 
raly  do  amaze  me  !'  '  Mrs.  Harris,'  I  says  to  her, 
'  why  so?  Give  it  a  name,  I  beg.'  '  Telling  the 
truth  then, ma'am,' says  Mrs.  Harris, 'and  shaming 
him  as  shall  be  nameless  betwixt  you  and  me, 
never  did  I  think  till  I  knovsr'd  you,  as  any  woman 
could  sick-nurse  and  monthly  likeways,  on  the 
little  that  you  takes  to  drink.'  'Mrs.  Harris,'  I 
says  to  her,  '  none  on  us  knows  what  we  can  do 
till  we  tries  ;  and  wunst,  when  me  and  Gamp 
kept  ouse,  I  thought  so  too.  But  now,'  I  says, 
'  my  half-a-pint  of  porter  fully  satisfies;  perwisin', 
Mrs  Harris,  that  it  is  brought  reg'lar,  and  dravv'd 
raild.  Whether  I  sicks  or  monthlies,  ma'am,  I 
21 


hope  I  does  my  duty;  but  I  am  Out  a  poor  wo. 
man,  and  I  earns  my  living  hard  ;  thei-efore  1  do 
require  it,  which  I  makes  confession,  to  be  brou^nl 
reg'lar  and  draw'd  mild.'" 

'I'lie  precise  connexion  between  these  observa- 
tions and  the  glass  of  rum,  did  not  appear  ;  for 
Mrs.  Gamp  proposing  as  a  toast  "The  best  of 
lucks  to  all,"  took  off  the  dram  in  quite  a  scientific 
manner,  without  any  further  remarks. 

"And  whit's  your  news,  Mrs.  Gamp?"  asked 
Mould  again,  as  that  lady  wiped  her  lips  upon  her 
shawl,  and  nibbled  a  corner  off  a  soft  biscuit, 
which  she  appeared  to  carry  in  her  pocket  as  a 
provision  against  contingent  drams.  "  How  's 
Mr.  Chuffey?" 

"Mr.  ChutFey,  sir,"  she  replied,  "is  jest  as 
Usual ;  he  an't  no  better,  and  he  an't  no  worse.  I 
take  it  very  kind  in  the  gentleman  to  have  wrote 
up  to  you  and  said,  '  let  Mrs.  Gam[)  take  care  of 
him  till  I  come  home  ;'  but  ev'ry  think  he  does 
is  kind.  There  an't  a  many  like  him.  If  there 
was,  we  shouldn't  want  no  churches." 

"  What  do  you  want  to  speak  to  me  about,  Mrs. 
Gamp?"  said  Mould,  coming  to  the  point. 

"Jest  this,  sir,"  Mrs.  Gamp  returned,  "with 
thanks  to  you  for  asking.  There  is  a  gent  sir,  at 
the  Bull  in  Holborn,  as  has  been  took  ill  there, 
and  is  bad  abed.  They  have  a  day  nurse  as  was 
recommended  from  Bartholomew's;  and  well  1 
knows  her,  Mr.  Mould,  her  name  bcin'  Mrs.  Prig, 
the  best  of  creeturs.  But  she  is  otherways  en- 
gaged at  night,  and  they  are  in  wants  of  night- 
wate.hing;  consequent  she  says  to  them,  having 
reposed  the  greatest  friendliness  in  me  for  twenty 
year,  '  The  soberest  person  gomg,  and  the  best  of 
blessings  in  a  sick  room,  is  Mrs.  Gamp.  Send  a 
boy  to  Kingsgate  Street,'  she  says,  '  and  snap  her 
up  at  any  price,  for  Mrs.  Gamp  is  worth  her 
weiijht  and  more  in  goldian  guineas.'  My  land- 
lord brings  the  message  down  to  me,  and  says, 
*  bein'  in  a  light  place  where  you  are,  and  this 
job  promising  so  well,  why  not  unite  the  two  ?" 
'  No,  sir,'  I  says,  '  not  unbeknown  to  Mr.  Mould, 
and  therefore  do  not  think  it.  But  I  will  go  to 
Mr.  Mould,'  I  says,  'and  ast  him,  if  you  like.'" 
Here  she  looked  sideways  at  the  undertaker,  and 
came  to  a  stop. 

"Night-watching,  eh?"  said  Mould,  rubbing 
his  chin. 

"  From  eight  o'clock  till  eight,  sir  :  I  will  not 
deceive  you,"  Mrs,  Gamp  rejoined. 

"  And  tlien  go  back,  eh  ?"  said  Mould. 

"  Quite  free,  then,  sir,  to  attend  to  Mr.  Chuffey. 
His  ways  bein'  quiet,  and  his  hours  early,  he  'd 
be  abed,  sir,  nearly  all  the  time.  I  will  not  deny," 
said  Mrs.  Gamp,  with  meekness,  "  that  I  am  but 
a  poor  woman,  and  that  the  money  is  a  object 
but  do  not  let  that  act  upon  you,  Mr.  Mould. 
Rich  folks  may  ride  on  camels;  but  it  an't  so 
easy  for  'em  to  see  out  of  a  needle's  eye.  That 
is  my  comfort,  and  I  hope  I  knows  it." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Gamp,"  observed  Mould,  "  T  don't 
see  any  particular  objection  to  your  earning  an 
honest  penny  under  such  circumstances.  I  should 
keep  it  quiet,  I  think,  Mrs.  Gamp.  I  wouldn't 
mention  it  to  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  on  his  return,  'oi 
instance,  unless  it  were  necessary,  or  he  askeil 
you  point-blank." 

" 'I'he  very  words  was  on  my  ..ps,  sir,"  Mrs. 
Gamp  rejoined.     "  Supposing  that  the  gent  should 


162 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


die,  I  hope  T  mig-ht  take  the  liberty  of  saying-  as 
I  know'd  some  one  in  the  undertaking  hue,  and 
yet  g-ive  no  offence  to  you,  sir  ?" 

"Certainly,  Mrs.  Gamp,"  said  Mould,  with 
much  condescension.  "  You  may  casually  re- 
mark, in  such  a  case,  that  we  do  the  thing  plea- 
santly and  in  a  great  variety  of  styles,  and  are 
generally  considered  to  make  it  as  agreeable  as 
possible  to  the  feelings  of  the  survivors.  But 
don't  obtrude  it — don't  obtrude  it.  Easy,  easy  ! 
My  dear,  you  may  as  well  give  Mrs.  Gamp  a  card 
or  two,  if  you  please." 

Mrs.  Gamp  received  them, and  scenting  no  more 
rum  in  the  wind,  (for  the  bottle  was  locked  up 
again),  rose  to  take  her  departure. 

"  Wishing  ev'ry  happiness  to  this  happy  fami- 
ly," said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  with  all  my  heart.  Good 
arternoon,  Mrs.  Mould  !  If  I  was  Mr.  Mould,  I 
should  be  jealous  of  you,  ma'am  ;  and  I  'm  sure, 
if  I  was  you,  I  should  be  jealous  of  Mr.  Mould." 

"  Tut,  tut !  Bah,  bah  !  Go  along,  Mrs.  Gamp!" 
cried  the  delighted  undertaker. 

"  As  to  the  young  ladies,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp, 
dropping  a  curtsey,  "  bless  their  sweet  looks — how 
they  can  ever  reconsize  it  with  their  duties  to  be 
so  grown  up  with  such  young  parents,  it  an't  for 
sech  as  me  to  give  a  guess  at." 

"  Nonsense,  nonsense.  Be  oS^  Mrs.  Gamp  !" 
cried  Mould.  But  in  the  height  of  his  gratifica- 
tion, lie  actually  pinched  Mrs.  Mould  as  he  said  it. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  dear,"  he  observed,  when 
Mrs.  Gamp  had  at  last  withdrawn,  and  shut  the 
door,  "  that 's  a  ve-ry  shrewd  woman.  That 's  a 
woman  whose  intellect  is  immensely  superior  to 
her  station  in  life.  That 's  a  woman  who  observes 
and  reflects  in  an  uncommon  inannir.  She  's  the 
sort  of  woman  now,"  said  Mould,  drawing  his 
silk  handkerchief  over  his  head  again,  and  com- 
posing himself  for  a  nap,  "one  would  almost  feel 
disposed  to  bury  for  nothing ;  and  do  it  neatly, 
too  !" 

Mrs.  Mould  and  her  daughters  fully  concurred 
in  these  remarks;  the  subject  of  which  had  by 
this  time  reached  the  street,  where  she  experienced 
so  much  inconvenience  from  the  air,  that  she  was 
obliged  to  stand  under  an  archway  for  a  short 
time,  to  recover  herself,  fiven  after  this  precau- 
tion, she  walked  so  unsteadily  as  to  attract  the 
compassionate  regards  of  divers  kind-hearted  boys, 
who  took  the  liveliest  interest  in  her  disorder,  and, 
in  their  simple  language,  bade  her  be  of  good 
cheer,  for  she  was  "  only  a  little  screwed." 

Whatever  she  was,  or  whatever  name  the  voca- 
bulary of  medical  science  would  have  bestowed 
upon  her  malady,  Mrs.  Gamp  was  perfectly  ac- 
quainted with  the  way  home  again  ;  and  arriving 
at  the  house  of  Anthony  Chuzzlewit  &  Son,  lay 
down  to  rest.  Remaining  there  until  seven  o'clock 
in  the  evening,  and  then  persuading  poor  old 
I'hulfey  to  betake  himself  to  bed,  she  sallied  forth 
upon  lier  new  engagement.  First  she  went  to  her 
jwivalc  lodgings  in  Kingsgate  street,  (or  a  bundle 
of  robes  and  wr.ippings  comfortable  in  the  night 
season ;  and  then  repaired  to  the  Bull  in  Holborn, 
which  she  reached  as  the  clocks  were  striking 
eight. 

As  she  turned  into  the  yard,  she  stopped  ;  for 
the  landlord,  landlady,  and  head  chambermaid, 
were  all  on  the  threshold  together,  talk  nig  ear- 
aesllv  with  a  young  gentleman    who  seemed  to 


have  just  come,  or  to  be  just  going  away.  The 
tirst  words  that  struck  upon  Mrs.  Gamp's  ear 
obviously  bore  reference  to  the  patient;  and  it 
being  expedient  that  all  good  attendants  should 
know  as  much  as  possible  about  the  case  on  which 
their  skill  is  brought  to  bear,  Mrs.  Gamp  listened 
as  a  matter  of  duty. 

"  No  better,  then  ?"  observed  the  gentleman. 

"  Worse  I"  said  the  landlord. 

"Much  worse!"  added  the  landlady. 

"Oh  !  a  deal  badder  I"  cried  the  chambermaid 
from  the  hack-ground,  opening  her  eyes  very  wide 
and  shaking  her  head. 

"  Poor  fellow !"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  am 
sorry  to  hear  it.  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  I  have 
no  idea  what  friends  or  relations  he  has,  or  where 
they  live,  except  that  it  certainly  is  not  in 
London." 

The  landlord  looked  at  the  landlady  ;  the  land- 
lady looked  at  the  landlord  ;  and  the  chambermaid 
remarked,  hysterically,  that  of  all  the  many  vvague 
directions  she  had  ever  seen  or  heerd  of  (and  they 
wasn't  iew  in  an  hotel),  that  was  the  w  .guest." 

"  The  fact  is,  you  see,"  pursued  the  gentleman, 
"  as  I  told  j'ou  yesterday  when  you  sent  to  me,  I 
really  know  very  little  about  him.  We  were 
schoolfellows  together,  but  since  that  time  1  have 
only  met  him  twice.  On  both  occasions  I  was  in 
London  for  a  boy's  holiday,  (having  come  up  for 
a  week  or  so  from  Wiltshire),  and  lost  sight  of 
him  again  directly.  The  letter  bearing  my  name 
and  address,  which  you  found  upon  his  table,  and 
which  led  to  your  applying  to  me,  is  in  answer, 
you  will  observe,  to  one  he  wrote  from  this  house 
the  very  day  he  was  taken  ill,  making  an  appoint- 
ment with  hiin  at  his  request.  Here  is  his  letter 
if  you  wish  to  see  it." 

The  landlord  read  it ;  the  landlady  looked  over 
him.  The  chambermaid,  in  the  buck-ground, 
made  out  as  much  of  it  as  she  could,  and  inventetl 
the  rest,  believing  it  all  from  that  time  forth  as  a 
positive  piece  of  evidence. 

"  He  has  very  little  luggage,  you  say  ?"  ob- 
served  the  gentleman,  who  was  no  other  than  our 
old  friend,  John  Westlock, 

"  Nothing  but  a  portmanteau,"  said  the  land- 
lord  ;  "  and  very  little  in  it." 

"  A  few  pounds  in  his  purse,  though  ?" 

"  Yes.  It's  sealed  up,  and  in  the  cash-bos.  I 
made  a  memorandum  of  the  amount,  which  you're 
welcome  to  see." 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "as  the  medical  gentleman 
says  the  fever  must  take  its  course,  and  nothing 
can  be  done  just  now  beyond  giving  him  his  drinks 
regularly,  and  having  him  carefully  attended  to, 
nothing  more  can  be  said  that  I  know  ot;  until  he 
is  in  a  condition  to  give  us  some  information. 
Can  you  suggest  anything  else  ?" 

"N-no,"  replied  the  landlord,  "except — " 

"  Except,  who 's  to  pay,  I  suppose  ?"  said 
John. 

"  Why,"  hesitated  the  landlord,  "  it  would  ou 
as  well." 

"Quite  as  well,"  said  the  landlady. 

"  Not  (brgt'tting  to  remember  the  servants,"  5aid 
the  chambermaid  in  a  bland  whisper. 

"  It  is  but  reasonable,  I  fully  admit,"  said  John 
Westlock.  "  At  all  events,  you  have  the  stock  in 
hand  to  go  upon  tor  the  present;  and  1  will  re.idi- 
ly  undertake  to  pay  the  doctor  and  the  nnrjcs- '' 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


163 


"  Ah  !"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp.  "  A  rayal  gentle- 
man !" 

She  groaned  her  admiration  so  audibly,  that 
they  all  turned  round.  Mrs.  Gamp  felt  the  ncces- 
Bity  of  advancing-,  bundle  in  hand,  and  introducing 
herself. 

"  The  night-nurse,"  she  observed,  "  from  Kings- 
gate-street,  well  beknown  to  Mrs.  Prig  the  day- 
nurse,  and  the  best  of  creeturs.  How  is  the  poor 
dear  gentleman,  to-night?  If  he  an't  no  better 
yet,  still  that  is  what  must  be  expected  and  pre- 
pared  for.  It  an't  the  fust  time  by  a  many  score, 
ma'am,"  dropping  a  curtesy  to  the  landlady, 
"that  Mrs.  Prig  and  rne  has  nussed  together,  turn 
and  turn  about,  one  off,  one  on.  We  knows  each 
other's  ways,  and  often  gives  relief  when  others 
fail.  Our  charges  is  but  low,  sir" — Mrs.  Gamp 
addressed  herself  to  John  on  this  head  — "  consi- 
derin'  the  nater  of  our  painful  dooty.  If  tiiey  wos 
made  accordin'  to  our  wishes,  they  would  be  easy 
paid." 

Regarding  herself  as  having  now  delivered  her 
inauguration  address,  Mrs.  Gamp  curtseyed  all 
round,  and  signified  her  wish  to  be  conducted  to 
the  scene  of  her  official  duties.  The  chamber- 
maid led  her,  tiirough  a  variety  of  intricate  pas- 
sages, to  the  top  of  the  house  ;  and  pointing  at 
length  to  a  solitary  door  at  the  end  of  a  gallery, 
informed  her  that  yonder  was  the  chamber  where 
the  patient  lay.  That  done,  she  hurried  off  with 
all  tlie  speed  she  could  make. 

Mrs.  Gamp  traversed  the  gallery  in  a  great  heat 
from  having  carried  her  large  bundle  up  so  many 
stairs,  and  tapped  at  the  door,  which  was  imme- 
diately opened  by  Mrs.  Prig,  bonneted  and  shawled 
and  all  impatience  to  be  gone.  Mrs.  Prig  was  of 
the  Gamp  build,  but  not  so  fat ;  and  her  voice  was 
deeper  and  more  like  a  man's.  She  had  also  a 
beard. 

"  I  began  to  think  you  warn't  a  coming  !"  Mrs. 
Prig  observed,  in  some  displeasure. 

"  It  shall  be  made  good  to-morrow  night,"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  "  honorable.  I  had  to  go  and  fetch  my 
things."  She  had  begun  to  make  signs  of  inquiry 
in  reference  to  the  position  of  the  patient  and  his 
overhearing  them — for  there  was  a  screen  before 
the  door  —  when  Mrs.  Prig  settled  that  point 
easily. 

"Oh  !"  she  said  aloud,  "  he's  quiet,  but  his  wits 
is  gone.     It  an't  no  matter  what  you  say." 

"  Anythin'  to  tell  afore  you  goes,  my  dear  ?" 
asked  Mrs.  Gamp,  setting  her  bundle  down  inside 
the  door,  and  looking  affectionately  at  her  partner. 
"  The  pickled  salmon,"  Mrs.  Prig  replied,  "  is 
quite  delicious.     I  can  partick'ler  recommend  it. 
Don't  have  nothink  to  say  to  the  cold  meat,  for  it 
tastes  of  the  stable.     The  drinks  is  all  good." 
Mrs.  Gamp  expressed  herself  much  gratified. 
"The  physic  and  them  things  is  on  the  drawers 
and  mankleshelf,"  said  Mrs.  Prig,  cursorily.    "  He 
took  his  last  slime  draught  at  seven.     The  easy- 
chair  an't  soft  enough.    You'll  want  his  piller." 

Mrs.  Gamp  thanked  her  for  these  hints,  and 
giving  her  a  friendly  good  night,  held  the  door 
open  until  she  had  disappeared  at  the  other  end 
of  the  gallery.  Having  thus  jierformed  the  hos- 
pitahle  duty  of  seeing  her  safely  off,  she  shut  it, 
Jncked  it  on  the  inside,  took  up  her  bundle,  walked 
round  the  screen,  and  entered  on  her  occupation 
Cit  the  sick  chamber. 


I  "A  little  dull,  but  not  so  bad  as  might  bci" 
Mrs.  Gamp  remarked.  "  I  'm  glad  to  see  a  para- 
pidgc,  in  case  of  fire,  and  lots  of  roofs  and  chim- 
ley-pots  to  walk  upon." 

It  will  be  seen  from  these  remarks  that  Mrs. 
Gamp  was  looking  out  of  window.  When  she 
had  exhausted  the  prospect,  she  tried  the  easy, 
chair,  which  she  indignantly  declared  was  "harder 
than  a  brickbadge."  Next  she  pursued  her  re- 
searches among  the  physic-bottles,  glasses,  jugs, 
and  tea-cups;  and  when  she  had  entirely  satisfied 
her  curiosity  on  all  these  subjects  of  investigation, 
she  untied  her  bonnet-strings  and  strolled  up  the 
bedside  to  take  a  look  at  the  patient. 

A  young  man — dark  and  not  ill-looking — with 
long  black  hair,  that  seemed  the  blacker  for  the 
whiteness  of  the  bed-clothes.  His  eyes  were  part- 
ly open,  and  he  never  ceased  to  roll  his  head  from 
side  to  side  upon  the  pillow,  keeping  his  body  al- 
most quiet.  He  did  not  utter  words ;  but  every 
now  and  then  gave  vent  to  an  expression  of  im- 
patience or  fatigue,  sometimes  of  surprise;  and 
still  his  restless  head — oh,  weary,  weary  hour  ! — 
went  to  and  fro  without  a  moment's  intermission. 
Mrs.  Gamp  solaced  herself  with  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  and  stood  looking  at  him  with  her  head  in- 
clined a  little  sideways,  as  a  connoisseur  might 
gaze  upon  a  doubtful  work  of  art.  By  degrees,  a 
horrible  remembrance  of  one  branch  of  her  call- 
ing took  possession  of  the  woman  ;  and  stooping 
down,  she  pinned  his  wandering  arms  against  his 
sides,  to  see  how  he  would  look  if  laid  out  as  a 
dead  man.  Hideous  as  it  may  appear,  her  fingers 
itched  to  compose  his  limbs  in  that  last  marble 
attitude. 

"  Ah !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  walking  away  from 
the  bed,  "  he  'd  make  a  lovely  corpse  !" 

She  now  proceeded  to  unpack  her  bundle ; 
lighted  a  candle  with  the  aid  of  a  fire-box  on  the 
drawers ;  filled  a  small  kettle,  as  a  preliminary  to 
refreshing  herself  with  a  cup  of  tea  in  the  course 
of  the  night;  laid  what  she  called  "  a  little  bit  of 
fire,"  for  the  same  philanthropic  purpose;  and 
also  set  forth  a  small  teaboard,  that  nothing  might 
be  wanting  for  her  comfortable  enjoyment.  These 
preparations  occupied  so  long,  that  when  they 
were  brought  to  a  conclusion  it  was  high  time  to 
think  about  supper;  so  she  rang  the  bell  and  or- 
dered it. 

"  I  think,  young  woman,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp  to 
the  assistant  chambermaid,  in  a  tone  expressive 
of  weakness,  "  that  I  could  pick  a  little  bit  of 
pickled  salmon,  with  a  nice  little  sprig  of  fennel, 
and  a  sprinkling  of  white  pepper.  I  takes  new 
bread,  my  dear,  with  jest  a  little  pat  of  fresh  but- 
ter, and  a  mossel  of  cheese.  In  case  there  should 
be  such  a  thing  as  a  cowcumber  in  the  'ouse, 
will  you  be  so  kind  as  bring  it,  for  I'm  rather 
partial  to  'em,  and  they  does  a  world  of  good  in  a 
sick  room.  If  they  draws  the  Brighton  Tipper 
here,  I  takes  that  ale  at  night,  my  love ;  it  bein' 
considered  wakeful  by  the  doctors.  And  what- 
ever  you  do,  young  woman,  don't  bring  more  than 
a  shilling's-worth  of  gin  and  water  warm  when  I 
rings  the  bell  a  second  time  :  for  that  is  always  my 
allowance,  and  I  never  takes  a  drop  beyond  I" 

Having  preferred  these  moderate  requests,  Mii». 
G^mp  observed  that  she  would  stand  at  the  door 
until  the  order  was  executed,  to  the  end  that  Ihu 
patient  might  not  be  disturbed  by  her  opening  »• 


1G4 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


•  s«?cond  time ;  and  therefore  she  would  thank  the 
"nur.g  woman  to  "  look  sharp." 

A  tray  was  brought  with  everything  upon  it, 
»ven  to  the  cucumber;  and  Mrs.  Gamp  accord- 
■.ng''-  sat  down  to  eat  and  drink  in  high  good 
hunour.  The  extent  to  which  slie  availed  herself 
of  fne  vinegar,  and  supped  up  that  refreshing  fluid 
V.  ith  the  bkde  of  her  knife,  can  scarcely  be  ex- 
pressed in  narrative. 

"  Ah !"  sighed  Mrs.  Gamp,  as  she  meditated 
oveT  the  warm  shillings-worth,  "  what  a  blessed 
thing  it  is  —  living  in  a  wale  —  to  be  contented  ! 
What  a  blessed  thing  it  is  to  make  sick  people 
liappv  in  their  beds,  and  never  mind  one's  self  as 
long  as  one  can  do  a  service !  I  don't  believe  a 
finer  cowcumber  was  ever  grow'd.  I'm  sure  I 
never  see  one !" 

She  moralised  in  the  same  vein  until  her  glass 
was  empty,  and  then  administered  the  patient's 
medicine,  by  the  simple  process  of  clutching  his 
windpipe  to  make  him  gasp,  and  immediately 
pouring  it  down  his  throat. 

"  I  a'most  forgot  the  piller,  I  declare !"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  drawing  it  away.  "There!  Now 
he's  as  comfortable  as  he  can  be,  I'm  sure!  I 
must  try  to  make  myself  as  much  so  as  I  can." 

With  this  view,  she  went  about  the  construction 
of  an  extemporaneous  bed  in  the  easy-chair,  with 
tlie  addition  of  the  next  easy  one  for  her  feet. 
Having  formed  the  best  couch  that  the  circum- 
stances admitted  of,  she  took  out  of  her  bundle  a 
yellow  nightcap,  of  prodigious  size,  in  shape  re- 
Bembling  a  cabbage ;  which  article  of  dress  she 
fixed  and  tied  on  with  the  utmost  care,  previously 
divesting  herself  of  a  row  of  bald  old  curls  that 
could  scarcely  be  called  false,  they  were  so  very 
innocent  of  anything  approaching  to  deception. 
From  the  same  repository  she  brought  forth  a 
night-jacked,  in  which  she  also  attired  herself. 
Finally,  she  produced  a  watchman's  coat,  which 
she  tied  round  her  neck  by  the  sleeves,  so  that 
she  became  two  people  ;  and  looked,  behind,  as  if 
she  were  in  the  act  of  being  embraced  by  one  of 
the  old  patrol. 

All  these  arrangements  made,  she  lighted  the 
rushlight,  coiled  herself  up  on  her  couch,  and 
went  to  sleep.  Ghostly  and  dark  the  room  be- 
came, and  full  of  lowering  shadows.  The  distant 
noises  in  the  streets  were  gradually  hushed  ;  the 
house  was  quiet  as  a  sepulchre ;  the  dead  of  night 
was  coffined  in  the  silent  city. 

Oh,  weary,  weary  hour !  Oh,  haggard  mind, 
groping  darkly  through  the  past;  incapable  of 
detaching  itself  from  the  miserable  present; 
dragging  its  heavy  chain  of  care  through  ima- 
ginary feasts  and  revels,  and  scenes  of  awful 
pomp ;  seeking  but  a  moment's  rest  among  the 
long-forgotten  haunts  of  childhood,  and  the  resorts 
of  yesterday;  and  dimly  finding  fear  and  horror 
o'erywhcre !  Oh,  weary,  weary  hour  I  What 
were  trie  wanderings  of  Cain,  to  these! 

Still,  without  a  moment's  interval,  the  burning 
liead  tossed  to  and  fro.  Still,  from  time  to  time, 
fitigue,  impatience,  suffering,  and  surprise,  found 
Utterance  upon  that  rack,  and  plainly  too,  though 
never  once  in  words.  At  length,  in  the  solemn 
hour  of  midnight,  he  began  to  tiilk  ;  waiting  aw- 
fully for  answers  sometimes  ;  as  though  invisible 
irompiinions  were  about  his  bed;  and  so  replying 
Oi  their  speech  and  questioning  again. 


Mrs.  Gamp  awoke,  and  sat  up  in  her  bed  pre- 
senting on  the  wall  the  shadow  of  a  gigantic  night 
constable,  straggling  with  a  prisoner. 

"Come!  Hold  your  tongue!"  she  cried,  in 
sharp  reproof.  "  Don't  make  none  of  that  noise 
here," 

There  was  no  alteration  in  the  face,  or  in  the 
incessant  motion  of  the  head,  but  he  talked  on 
wildly. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  coming  out  of  the 
chair  with  an  impatient  shiver;  "  1  thought  I  was 
a  sleepin'  too  pleasant  to  last!  The  devil's  in  the 
night,  I  think,  it's  turned  so  chilly." 

"Don't  drink  so  much  I"  cried  the  sick  man. 
"You'll  ruin  us  all.  Don't  you  see  how  the 
fountain  sinks  ?  Look  at  the  mark  where  the 
sparkling  water  was  just  now  !" 

"  Sparkling  water  indeed!"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp. 
"  I'll  have  a  sparkling  cup  o'  tea,  I  think.  I  wish 
you'd  hold  your  noise!" 

He  burst  into  a  laugh,  which,  being  prolonged, 
fell  off"  into  a  dismal  wail.  Checking  himself, 
with  fierce  inconstancy  he  began  to  count  —  fast. 

"One — two — three — four — five — six." 

" '  One,  two,  buckle  my  shoe,' "  said  Mrs, 
Gamp,  who  was  now  on  her  knees,  lighting  the 
fire,  "'  three,  four,  shut  the  door' — I  wish  you'd 
shut  your  mouth,  young  man — '  five,  six,  picking 
up  sticks.'  If  I  'd  got  a  few  handy,  I  should  have 
the  kettle  biling  all  the  sooner." 

Awaiting  this  desirable  consummation,  she  sat 
down  so  close  to  the  fender  (which  was  a  high 
one)  that  her  nose  rested  upon  it ;  and  for  some 
time  she  drowsily  amused  herself  by  sliding  that 
feature  backwards  and  forwards  along  the  brass 
top,  as  far  as  she  could,  without  chimgijig  her 
position  to  do  it.  She  maintained,  all  the  while, 
a  running  commentary  upon  the  wanderings  of 
the  man  in  the  bed. 

"  That  makes  five  hundred  and  twenty-one 
men,  all  dressed  alike,  and  with  the  same  distor- 
tion on  their  faces,  that  have  passed  in  at  the 
window,  and  out  at  the  door,"  he  cried,  anxiously, 
"  Look  there !  Five  hundred  and  twenty-two — ■ 
twenty-three — twenty-four.     Do  you  see  them  !" 

"Ah!  /  see  'm,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp;  "all  the 
whole  kit  of  'em  numbered  like  hackey-coaches 
— an't  they  ?" 

"  Touch  me  !  Let  me  be  sure  of  this.  Touch 
me !" 

"  You  'II  take  your  next  draught  when  I  've 
made  the  kettle  bile,"  retorted  Mrs.  Gamp,  com- 
posedly, "and  you'll  be  touched  then.  You'll 
be  touched  up,  too,  if  you  don't  t.ike  it  quiet." 

"  Five  hundred  and  twenty-eight,  five  hundred 
and  twenty-nine,  five  hundred  and  thirty. — Look 
here !" 

"  What 's  the  matter  now  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  They  're  coming  four  abreast,  each  man  with 
his  arm  entwined  in  the  next  man's,  and  his  hand 
upon  his  shoulder.  What's  that  upon  the  aim 
of  every  man,  and  on  the  flag?" 

"Spiders,  p'raps,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"Crape!  Black  crape!  Good  God!  why  do 
they  wear  it  outside  ?" 

"  Would  you  have  'em  carry  black  crape  in 
their  insides  ?"  Mrs.  Gamp  retorted.  "  Hold  your 
noise,  hold  your  noise." 

The  fire  beginning  by  this  time  to  imparl  a 
grateful  warmth,  Mrs.  Gamp  be'iamo  silent;  gra- 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


163 


dually  lubbed  her  nose  more  and  more  slowly 
along'  the  top  of  the  fender;  and  fell  into  a  heavy 
doze.  She  was  awakened  by  the  room  ringing 
(as  she  fancied)  with  a  name  she  knew  : 

"  Chuzzlcwit !" 

The  sound  was  so  distinct  and  real,  and  so  full 
of  agonised  entreaty,  that  Mrs.  Gamp  jumped  up 
in  terror,  and  ran  to  the  door.  She  expected  to 
find  ttie  passage  filled  with  people,  come  to  tell 
her  that  the  house  in  the  city  had  taken  fire.  But 
the  place  was  empty:  not  a  soul  was  there.  She 
opened  the  window,  and  looked  out.  Dark,  dull, 
dingy,  and  desolate  house-tops.  As  she  passed  to 
her  seat  again,  she  glanced  at  the  patient.  Just 
the  same;  but  silent.  Mrs.  Gamp  was  so  warm 
now,  that  she  threw  off  the  watchman's  coat,  and 
fanned  herself. 

"  It  seemed  to  make  the  wery  bottles  ring," 
she  said.  "  What  could  I  have  been  a-dreaming 
of?     That  dratted  Chuffey,  I  '11  be  bound." 

The  supposition  was  probable  enough.  At  any 
rate,  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  the  song  of  the  steam- 
ing kettle,  quite  restored  the  tone  of  Mrs.  Gamp's 
nerves,  which  were  none  of  the  weakest.  She_ 
brewed  her  tea ;  made  some  buttered  to;ist ;  and 
sat  down  at  the  tea-board,  with  her  face  to  the 
fire. 

When  once  again,  in  a  tone  more  terrible  than 
that  which  had  vibrated  in  her  slumbering  ear, 
these  words  were  shrieked  out: 

"Chuzzlewit!    Jonas  I    No!" 

Mrs.  Gamp  dropped  the  cup  she  was  in  the  act 
of  raising  to  her  lips,  and  turned  round  with  a 
start  that  made  the  little  teaboard  leap.  The  cry 
bad  come  from  the  bed. 

It  was  bright  morning  the  next  time  Mrs. 
Garnp  looked  out  of  window,  and  the  sun  was 


rising  cheerfully.  Lighter  and  lighter  g-cw  ihp 
sky,  and  noisier  the  streets;  and  high  into  the 
summer  air  uprose  the  smoke  of  newly  kindled 
fires,  until  the  busy  day  was  broad  awake. 

Mrs.  Prig  relieved  punctually,  having  passed  a 
good  night  at  her  other  patient's.  .  Mr.  Westlock 
came  at  the  same  time,  but  he  was  not  admitted, 
the  disorder  being  infectious.  The  doctor  came 
too.  The  doctor  shook  his  head.  It  was  all  he 
could  do,  under  the  circumstances,  and  he  did  it 
well. 

"  What  sort  of  a  night,  nurse?" 

"  Restless,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

*'  Talk  much  ?" 

"  Middling,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  Nothing  to  the  purpose,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Oh  bless  you  no,  sir.     Only  jargon  '' 

"  Well  I"  said  the  doctor,  "  we  must  fceepTiiin 
quiet;  keep  the  room  cool ;  give  him  his  draughts 
regularly ;  and  see  that  he 's  carefully  looked  to. 
That 's  all !" 

"  And  as  long  as  Mrs.  Prig  and  me  waits  upon 
him,  sir,  no  tear  of  that,"  said  .Mrs,  Gamp. 

"  I  suppose,"  observed  Mrs.  Prig,  when  they 
had  curtsied  the  doctor  out :  "  there  's  nothin' 
new  ?" 

"Nothin'  at  all,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 
"  He  's  rather  wearin'  in  his  talk  from  making  up 
a  lot  of  names;  elseways  you  needn't  mind 
him." 

"Oh,  I  shan't  mind  him,"  Mrs.  Prig  returned. 
"  I  have  somethin'  else  to  think  of" 

"  I  pays  my  debts  to-night,  you  know,  my  dear, 
and  comes  afore  my  time,"  said  Mrs,  Gamp.  "  But 
Betsey  Prig" — speaking  with  great  feeling,  and 
laying  her  hand  upon  her  arm  —  "try  the  cow 
cumbers,  God  bless  you  !" 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


AN  UNEXPECTED  MEETING,  AND  A  PROMISING  PROSPECT. 


The  laws  of  sympathy  between  beards  and 
birds,  and  the  secret  source  of  that  attraction 
which  frequently  impels  a  shaver  of  the  one  to  be 
a  dealer  in  the  other,  are  questions  for  the  subtle 
reasoning  of  scientific  bodies  :  not  the  less  so,  be- 
cause their  investigation  would  seem  calculated  to 
lead  to  no  particular  result.  It  is  enough  to  know 
that  the  artist  who  had  the  honour  of  entertaining 
Mrs.  Gamp  as  his  first-floor  lodger,  united  the 
two  pursuits  of  barbering  and  bird-fancying;  and 
that  it  was  not  an  original  idea  of  his,  but  one  in 
which  he  had,  dispersed  about  the  bye-streets  and 
suburbs  of  the  town,  a  host  of  rivals. 

The  name  of  this  householder  was  Paul  Swee- 
dlepipe.  But  he  was  commonly  called  Poll  Swee- 
dlepipe ;  and  was  not  uncommonly  believed  to 
have  been  so  christened,  among  his  friends  and 
neighbours. 

Wilh  the  exception  of  the  staircase,  and  his 
lodger's  private  apartment,  Poll  Sweedlepipe's 
house  was  one  great  bird's  nest.  Game-cocks 
"■esided  in  the  kitchen ;  pheasants  wasted  the 
brightness  of  tlieir  golden  plumage  on  the  garret; 
ttantams  roosted  in  the  cellar ;  owls  had  possession 


of  the  bed-room  ;  and  specimens  of  all  the  smaller 
fry  of  birds  chirruped  and  twittered  in  the  shop 
The  staircase  was  sacred  to  rabbits.  There,  in 
hutches  of  all  shapes  and  kinds,  made  from  old 
packing-cases,  boxes,  drawers,  and  tea-chests, 
they  increased  in  a  prodigious  degree,  and  con- 
tributed their  share  towards  that  complicated 
whiff  which,  quite  impartially,  and  without  dis- 
tinction of  persons,  saluted  every  nosv  that  was 
put  into  Sweedlepipe's  easy  shaving-shop. 

Many  noses  found  their  way  there,  for  all  that, 
especially  on  a  Sunday  morning,  before  chuicli- 
time.  Even  Archbishops  shave,  or  must  be  shav. 
ed,  on  a  Sunday,  and  beards  loill  grow  after  twelve 
o'clock  on  Saturday  night,  though  it  be  upon  the 
chins  of  base  mechanics  :  who,  not  being  able  to 
engage  their  valets  by  the  quarter,  hire  them  by 
the  job,  and  pay  them — oh,  the  wickedness  of  cop 
per  coin  ! — in  dirty  pence.  Poll  Sweedlcpipe,  tlio 
sinner,  shaved  all  comers  at  a  penny  each,  and 
cut  the  hair  of  any  customer  lOr  twopence;  and 
being  a  lone,  unmarried  man,  and  having  some 
connection  in  the  bird  line,  Poll  got  on  tolerabN 
well. 


160 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


He  was  a  little,  elderly  man,  with  a  clammy  I 
colli  right  hand,  from  wiiich  even  rabbits  and  birds 
oould  not  remove  the  smell  of  shaving-soap.  Poll 
ii;id  something  of  the  bird  in  his  nature;  not  of 
the  hawk  or  eagle,  but  of  the  sparrow,  that  builds 
in  chimney-stacks,  and  inclines  to  human  com- 
pany. He  was  not  quarrelsome,  though,  like  the 
sparrow  ;  but  peaceful,  like  the  dove.  In  his  walk 
he  strutted  ;  and,  in  this  respect,  he  bore  a  faint 
resemblance  to  the  pigeon,  as  well  as  in  a  certain 
prosiness  of  speech,  which  might,  in  its  monoto- 
ny, be  likened  to  the  cooing  of  that  bird.  He 
was  very  inquisitive ;  and  when  he  stood  at  his 
shop-door  in  the  evening-tide,  watching  the  neigh- 
bours, with  his  head  on  one  side,  and  his  eye  cock- 
ed knowingly,  there  was  a  dash  of  the  raven  in 
him.  Yet,  there  was  no  more  wickedness  in  Poll 
tlian  in  a  robin.  Happily,  too,  when  any  of  his 
ornithological  properties  were  on  the  verge  of  go- 
ing  too  far,  they  were  quenched,  dissolved,  melt- 
ed down,  and  neutralised  in  the  barber;  just  as 
his  bald  head — otherwise,  rs  the  head  of  a  shaved 
magpie — lost  itself  in  a  wig  of  curly  black  ring- 
lets, parted  on  one  side,  and  cut  away  almost  to 
the  crown,  to  indicate  immense  capacity  of  intel- 
lect. 

Poll  had  a  very  small,  shrill,  treble  voice,  which 
might  have  led  the  wags  of  Kingsgate  Street  to 
insist  the  more  upon  his  ieminine  designation. 
He  had  a  tender  heart,  too  ;  for,  when  he  had  d 
good  commission  to  provide  three  or  four  score 
sparrows  for  a  shooting-match,  he  would  observe, 
in  a  compassionate  tone,  how  singular  it  was  that 
sparrows  should  have  been  made  expressly  for 
such  purposes.  The  question,  whether  men  were 
made  to  shoot  them,  never  entered  into  Poll's  phi- 
losophy. 

Poll  wore,  in  his  sporting  character,  a  velveteen 
coat,  a  great  deal  of  blue  slocking,  ankle  boots,  a 
neckerchief  of  some  bright  colour,  and  a  very  tall 
hat.  Pursuing  his  more  quiet  occupation  of  bar- 
ber, he  generally  subsided  into  an  apron  not  over- 
clean,  a  flannel  jacket,  and  corduroy  knee-shorts. 
It  was  in  this  latter  costume,  but  witii  his  apron 
girded  round  his  waist,  as  a  token  of  his  having 
shut  up  shop  for  the  ni.fht,  that  he  closed  the  door 
one  evening,  some  weeks  after  the  occurrences 
detailed  in  the  last  chapter,  and  stood  upon  the 
steps,  in  Kingsgate  Street,  listening  until  the  lit- 
tle cracked  bell  within  should  leave  off  ringing. 
For,  until  it  did — this  was  Mr.  Sweedlepipe's  re- 
flection— the  place  never  seemed  quiet  enough  to 
be  left  to  itself, 

"  It 's  the  greediest  little  bell  to  ring,"  said  Poll, 
"  that  ever  was.     But  it's  quiet  at  last." 

He  rolled  his  apron  up  a  little  tighter  as  he  said 
these  words,  and  hastened  down  the  street.  Just 
as  he  was  turning  into  Holborn,  he  ran  against  a 
young  gentleman  in  a  livery.  This  youth  was 
bold,  though  small,  and,  with  several  lively  ex- 
pressions of  displeasure,  turned  upon  him  in- 
stantly. 

"  Now,  Stoo-PiD !"  cried  the  young  gentleman. 
"Can't  you  look  where  you're  a  going  to — eh? 
Can't  you  mina  where  you  're  coming  to — eh  ? 
What  do  you  think  your  eyes  was  made  for — eh  ? 
Ah  !  Yes.     Oh  !  Now  then  !" 

The  young  gentleman  pronounced  the  two  last 
words  in  a  very  loud  tone  and  with  frightful  em- 
pna^^is,  as   though  they  contained   within  them- 


selves the  essence  of  the  direst  iggravation.  But 
he  had  scarcely  done  so,  when  his  anger  yielded 
to  surprise,  and  he  cried,  in  a  milder  tone : 

"What!  Polly!" 

"  Why  it  an't  you,  sure  !"  cried  Poll,  "  It  can't 
be  you  I" 

"  No.  It  an't  me,"  returned  the  youth.  "  It  '9 
my  son  :  my  oldest  one.  He  's  a  credit  to  his  fa- 
ther ;  an't  he,  Polly  ?"  With  this  delicate  little 
piece  of  banter,  he  halted  on  the  pavement,  and 
went  round  and  round  in  circles,  for  the  better 
exhibition  of  his  figure ;  rather  to  the  inconve- 
nience of  the  passengers  generally,  who  A'ere  not 
in  an  equal  state  of  spirits  with  himself. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,"  said  Poll.  "What! 
You  've  left  your  old  place,  then  ?   Have  you  ?" 

"  Have  I  ?"  returned  his  young  friend,  who  had 
by  this  time  stuck  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of 
his  white  cord  breeches,  and  was  swaggering 
along  at  the  barber's  side.  "D'ye  know  a  pair 
of  top-boots  when  you  see  'em,  Polly  ?  —  look 
here !" 

"  Beau-ti-ful !"  cried  Mr.  Sweedlepipe. 

"  D'ye  know  a  slap-up  sort  of  button,  when 
you  see  it  ?"  said  the  youth,  "  Don't  look  at 
mine,  if  you  ain't  a  judge,  because  these  lions' 
heads  was  made  for  men  of  taste :  not  snobs." 

"  Beau-ti-ful !"  cried  the  barber  again.  "  A 
grass-green  frock-coat,  too,  bound  with  gold  1  and 
a  cockade  in  your  hat." 

"  /  should  hope  so,"  replied  the  youth.  "  Blow 
the  cockade,  though  ;  for,  except  that  it  don't  turn 
round,  it 's  like  the  wentilator  that  used  to  be  in 
the  kitchen  winder  atTodgers's.  You  ain't  seen 
the  old  lady's  name  in  the  Gazette,  have  you  ?" 

"  No,"  returned  the  barber.  "  Is  she  a  bank, 
rupt  ?" 

"  If  she  ain't,  she  will  be,"  retorted  Bailey. 
"  That  bis'ncss  never  can  be  carried  on  without 
me.     Well  I     How  are  you  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  'm  pretty  well,"  said  Poll,  "  Are  you 
living  at  tliis  end  of  the  town,  or  were  you  com- 
ing  to  see  me  ?  Was  that  the  bis'ness  that 
brought  you  to  Holborn  ?" 

"  I  haven't  got  no  bis'ness  in  Holborn  "  return, 
ed  Bailey,  with  some  displeasure.  "  All  my  bis'- 
ness lays  at  the  West  End.  I  've  got  the  right 
sort  of  Governor  now.  You  can't  see  his  face  for 
his  whiskers,  and  can't  see  his  whiskers  for  the 
dye  upon  'em.  That 's  a  gentleman,  a'nt  it  ?  You 
wouldn't  like  a  ride  in  a  cab,  would  you?  Why, 
it  wouldn't  be  safe  to  offer  it.  You  'd  faint  away, 
only  to  see  me  a  comin'  at  a  mild  trot  round  the 
corner." 

To  convey  a  slight  idea  of  the  effect  of  this 
approach,  Mr.  Bailey  counterfeited  in  his  own  per- 
son the  pction  of  a  higli-trotting-horsc,  and  threw 
up  his  head  so  high,  in  backing  against  a  pump, 
that  he  shook  his  hat  off. 

"  Why,  he's  own  uncle  to  Capricorn,"  said 
Bailey,  "  and  brotiier  to  Cauliflower,  He's  beea 
through  the  winders  of  two  chaney  shopf  since 
we've  had  him,  and  wos  sold  lor  killin'  his  missis. 
That's  a  horse,  I  hope  ?" 

"  Ah  !  you'll  never  want  to  buy  any  more  red- 
polls, now,"  observed  Poll,  loiiking  on  his  young 
friend  with  an  air  of  melanclioly.  "  You'll  never 
want  to  buy  any  more  red-polls  now,  to  hang  up 
over  the  sink,  will  you?" 

"  1  should  think  not,"  replied  Bailey,  "  ReytheJ 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


167 


so.  I  wouldn't  Iiave  nothin'  to  say  to  any  bird 
below  a  Peacock;  and  he'd  be  wuljrar.  Well, 
how  are  you  ?" 

"  Oh !  I'm  pretty  well,"  said  Poll.  He  answered 
the  question  a^ain  because  Mr.  Bailey  asked  it 
ag-ain ;  Mr.  B.iiley  asked  it  again,  because — 
accompanied  with  a  straddling  action  of  the 
white  cords,  a  bend  of  the  knees,  and  a  striking- 
forth  of  tiie  top-boots — it  was  an  easy,  horse- 
fieshy,  turfy  st)rt  of  tiling  to  do. 

"Wot  pre  you  up  to,  old  feller?"  asked  Mr. 
Bailey,  with  the  same  graceful  rakishness.  He 
vvas  quite  the  man-about-town  of  the  conversation, 
wliije  the  easy-shaver  was  the  child, 

"  Why,  I  am  going  to  fetch  my  lodger  home," 
said  Paul. 

"  A  woman  !"  cried  Mr.  Bailey,  "  for  a  twenty, 
pun'  note  I" 

The  little  barber  hastened  to  explain  that  she 
was  neither  a  young  woman,  nor  a  handsome 
woman,  but  a  nurse,  who  had  been  acting  as  a 
kind  of  house-keeper  to  a  gentleman  for  some 
weeks  past,  and  left  her  place  that  night,  in  con- 
sequence ot  being  superseded  by  another  and  a 
more  legitimate  housekeeper  :  to  wit,  the  gentle- 
man's bride. 

"  He's  newly-married,  and  he  brings  his  young 
wife  home  to-night,"  said  the  barber.  "So  I'rn 
going  to  fetch  my  lodger  away — Mr.  Chuzzlewit's, 
close  behind  the  Post-office — and  carry  her  box 
for  her." 

"Jonas  Chuzzlewit's?"  said  Bailey. 

"  Ah  I"  returned  Paul :  "  that's  the  man,  sure 
enough.     Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Mr.  Bailey;  "not  at  all.  And 
I  don't  know  her  ?  Not  neither  ?  VVliy,  they 
first  kepi  company  tnrough  me,  a'most." 

"  All  ?"  said  Paul. 

"  Ah  !"  said  Mr.  Bailey,  with  a  wink ;  "  and 
gi>e  ain't  bad-looking,  mind  you.  But  her  sister 
was  the  best.  She  was  the  merry  one.  I  often 
used  to  have  a  bit  of  fun  with  her,  in  the  hold 
times  !" 

Mr.  Bailey  spoke  as  if  he  already  had  a  leg  and 
three-quarters  in  the  grave,  and  this  had  happened 
twenty  or  thirty  years  ago.  Paul  Sweedlepipe, 
the  meek,  was  so  perfectly  confounded  by  his  pre- 
cocious self-possession,  and  his  patronising  man- 
ner, as  v.'ell  as  by  his  boots,  cockade,  and  livery, 
tiiat  a  mist  swam  before  his  eyes,  and  he  saw  — 
not  the  Bailey  of  acknowledged  juvenility,  from 
Todgers's  Conimercial  Boarding-House,  who  had 
made  his  acquaintance  within  a  twelvemonth,  by 
purchasing,  at  sundry  times,  small  birds  at  two- 
pence each — but  a  liighly-condensed  embodiment 
of  all  tlic  sporting  grooms  in  London  ;  an  abstract 
of  all  the  stable-knowledge  of  the  time;  a  some- 
thing at  a  high-pressure  that  must  have  had 
e\i-itencc  many  years,  and  was  fraught  with  ter- 
rible experiences.  And  truly,  though  in  the 
cloudy  atmosphere  of  Todgers's  Mr.  Bailey's  ge- 
nius had  ever  shone  out  brightly  in  this  particular 
respect,  it  now  eclipsed  both  time  and  space, 
cheated  beliolders  of  their  senses,  and  worked  on 
their  belief  in  defiance  of  all  natural  laws.  He 
walked  along  the  tangible  and  real  stones  of  Hol- 
born-hill,  an  under-sized  boy  ;  and  yet  he  winked 
the  winks,  and  thougiit  the  thoughts,  and  did  tiie 
deeds,  and  said  the  sayings,  of  an  ancient  man. 
There  was    an  old  principle  within    him,  and  a 


young  aurface  without.  He  became  an  incxplu 
cable  creature;  a  breeched  and  booted  Sphinx, 
There  was  no  course  open  to  the  barber  but  to  go 
distracted  himself,  or  to  take  Bailey  for  granted  : 
and  he  wisely  ciiose  the  latter. 

Mr.  Bailey  was  good  enough  to  continue  (o 
bear  hitn  company  and  to  entertain  hini,  as  tin-y 
went,  with  easy  conversation  on  various  sportii  g 
topics  ;  especially  on  the  conipiirative  merits,  as  a 
general  principle,  of  horses  with  white  stockings, 
and  horses  without.  In  regard  to  the  style  oi 
tail  to  be  preferred,  Mr.  Bailey  had  opinions  of 
his  own,  wiiich  he  explained,  but  begged  they 
might  by  no  means  induence  his  friend,  as  here 
he  knew  he  had  the  misfortune  to  differ  from 
some  excellent  authorities.  He  treated  Mr.  Swee- 
dlepipe  to  a  dram,  compounded  agieeably  to  his 
own  directions,  which  he  informed  him  liad  been 
invented  by  a  member  of  the  Jockey  ('lub;  and, 
as  they  were  by  this  time  near  the  barber's  des- 
tination, he  observed  that,  as  he  had  an  hour  to 
spare,  and  knew  the  parties,  he  would  if  quite 
agreeable,  be  introduced  to  Mrs.  Gamp. 

Paul  knocked  at  Jonas  Chuzzlewit's ;  and,  on 
the  door  being  opened  by  that  lady,  made  the  two 
distinguished  persons  known  to  one  another,  li 
was  a  happy  feature  in  Mrs.  Gamp's  twofold  pro- 
fession, that  it  gave  her  an  interest  in  everything 
that  was  young  as  well  as  in  everything  that  was 
old.  She  received  Mr.  Bailey  with  much  kind- 
ness. 

"  It 's  very  good,  I  'm  sure,  of  you,  to  come," 

she  said  to  her  landlord,  "as  well  as  bring  so  nice 

a  friend.     But  I'm  afraid  that  I  must  trouble  you 

so  far  as  to  step  in,  for  the  young  couple  has  not 

I  yet  made  appearance." 

"They're  late,  ain't  they  ?"  inquired  her  land- 
I  lord,  when  she  had  conducted  them  down  stairs 
!  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Well,  sir,  considerin'  the  Wings  of  Love,  they 
I  are,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

Mr.  Bailey  inquired  whether  the  Wings  of  Love 
had  ever  won  a  plate,  or  could  be  b.icked  to  do 
anything  remarkable;  and  being  informed  that  it 
was  not  a  horse,  but  merely  a  poetical  or  figura- 
tive expression,  evinced  considerable  disgust. 
Mrs.  Gamp  was  so  very  much  astonished  by  his 
affable  manners  and  great  ease,  that  she  was 
about  to  propound  to  her  landlord  in  a  whisper 
the  staggering  inquiry,  whether  he  was  a  man  or 
a  boy,  when  Mr.  Sweedlepipe,  anticipating  her 
design,  made  a  timely  diversion. 

"  He  knows  Mrs.  Chuzzlewit,"  said  Paul  aloud. 

"  There  's  nothin'  he  don't  know  ;  that 's  my 
opinion,"  observed  Mrs.  Gamp.  "  All  the  wick 
edness  of  the  world  is  Print  to  him." 

Mr,  Bailey  received  this  as  a  compliment,  and 
said,  adjusting  his  cravat,  "  reether  so." 

"As  you  knows  Mrs.  Chuzzlewit,  you  knows, 
p'raps,  what  her  chris'en  name  is?"  Mrs.  Gamp 
observed. 

"Charity,"  said  Bailey. 

"  That  it  ain't  I"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  Cherry,  then,"  said  Bailey,  "  Cherry's  shon 
for  it.     It 's  all  the  same. 

"  It  don't  begin  with  a  C  at  all,"  retorted  Mrs. 
Gamp,  shaking  her  head.     "  It  begins  with  a  .M." 

"  Whew  1"  cried  M.-.  Bailey,  slappii'.g  a  little 
cloud  of  pipeclay  out  of  his  left  leg,  "  tlien  he's 
been  and  married  the  merry  one !" 


108 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTUKES   OF 


As  th^^se  words  were  mysterious,  Mrs.  Giimp 
CiiUed  upon  hirn  to  expliiiii,  which  Mr.  Bailey 
proceeded  to  do:  that  lady  listening  greedily  to 
i:verylhing  he  said.  He  was  yet  in  the  fulness 
ot"  his  narrative  when  the  sound  of  wheels,  and  a 
double  knock  at  the  street  door,  announced  the 
arrival  of  the  newly-married  couple.  Begging 
i.iin  to  reserve  what  more  he  had  to  say,  for  her 
hearing  on  the  way  home,  Mrs.  Gamp  took  up  the 
candle,  and  hurried  away  to  receive  and  welcome 
the  young  mistress  of  the  house. 

"  Wishing  you  ajjpiness  and  joy  with  all  my 
art,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  dropping  a  curtsey  as  Ihey 
entered  the  hall ;  "  and  you  too,  sir.  Your  lady 
Ic.oks  a  little  tired  with  the  journey,  Mr.  Chuzzle- 
wit,  a  pretty  dear  !" 

"  She  has  bothered  enough  about  it,"  grumbled 
Mr.  Jonas.     "Now,  show  a  light,  will  you  I" 

"  This  way,  ma'am,  if  you  please,"  said  Mrs. 
Gamp,  going  up-stairs  before  them.  "  Things 
has  been  made  as  comfortable  as  they  could  be ; 
but  there  's  many  things  you  Ml  have  to  alter  your 
own  self  when  you  gets  time  to  look  about  you. 
Ah!  sweet  thing!  I3ut  you  don't,"  added  Mrs. 
Gamp,  internally,  "you  don't  look  much  like  a 
merry  one,  I  must  say  I" 

It  was  true ;  she  did  not.  The  death  that  had 
gone  before  the  bridal  seemed  to  have  lelt  its 
shade  upon  the  house.  The  air  was  heavy  and 
oppressive;  the  rooms  were  dark;  a  deep  gloom 
filled  up  every  chink  and  corner.  Upon  the 
hearthstone,  like  a  creature  of  ill  omen,  sat  the 
aged  clerk,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  some  withered 
branches  in  the  stove.  He  rose  and  looked  at 
her. 

"So  there  you  arc,  Mr.  Chuff,"  said  Jonas, 
carelessly,  as  he  dusted  his  boots;  "still  in  the 
land  of  the  living,  eh  ?" 

•'Still  in  the  land  of  the  living,  sir,"  retorted 
Mrs.  Gamp.  "  And  Mr.  ChufFey  may  thank  you 
for  it,  as  many  and   many  a  time  1  've  told  him." 

Mr.  Jonas  was  not  in  the  best  of  humours,  for 
he  merely  said,  as  he  looked  round,  "  We  don't 
want  you  any  more,  you  know,  Mrs.  Gamp." 

"I'm  a  going  iiiiiiicdiate,  sir,"  returned  the 
nurse;  "  unless  there  's  nothink  I  can  do  for  you, 
ma'am.  Ain't  there,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  with  a 
look  of  great  sweetness,  and  rummaging  all  the 
lime  in  lier  pocket;  "ain't  there  nothink  I  can 
do  for  you,  my  little  bird  ?" 

"No,"  said  Merry,  almost  crying.  "You  had 
better  go  away,  please  !" 

With  a  leer  of  mingled  sweetness  and  slyness; 
with  one  eye  on  the  future,  one  on  the  bride ;  and 
an  arch  expression  in  her  face,  partly  spiritual, 
partly  spirituous,  and  wholly  professional  and 
peculiar  to  her  art ;  Mrs.  Gamp  rummaged  in  her 
p'icket  again,  and  took  from  it  a  printed  card, 
whereon  was  an  inscription  copied  from  her  sign- 
b..»ard. 

"  Would  you  be  so  good,  my  darling  dovey  of 
u  dear  young  married  l*idy,"  Mrs.  (Jamp  observ- 
ed ill  a.  low  voice,  "  as  i)'jt  that  somewheres  where 


you  can  keep  it  in  your  mind  ?  I  'm  well  beknown 
to  many  ladies,  and  it's  my  card.  Gamp  is  my 
name,  and  Gamp  my  nater.  Livin'  quite  handy, 
1  will  make  so  bold  as  call  in  now  and  then,  and 
make  inquiry  how  your  health  and  spirits  is,  my 
precious  chick  1" 

And  with  innumerable  leers,  winks,  coughs, 
noiis,  siniles,  and  curtsies,  all  leading  to  the 
establishment  of  a  mysterious  and  confidentiul 
understanding  between  herself  and  the  bride, 
Mrs.  Gamp,  invoking  a  blessing  upon  the  house, 
leered,  winked,  coughed,  nodded,  smiled,  and 
curtsied  herself  out  of  the  room. 

"  But  I  will  say,  and  I  would  if  I  was  led  a 
Martha  to  the  Stakes  for  it,"  Mrs.  Gamp  renjark- 
ed,  below-staif  s,  in  a  whisper,  "  that  she  don't 
look  much  like  a  merry  one  at  this  present  mo- 
ment of  time." 

"  Ah !  wait  till  you  hear  her  laugh  !"  said 
Bailey. 

"  Hem!"  cried  Mrs. Gamp,  in  a  kind  of  groan. 
"  I  will,  child." 

They  said  no  more  in  the  house,  for  Mrs.  Gamp 
put  on  her  bonnet,  Mr.  Sweedlepipe  took  up  her 
bo-x,  and  Mr.  Bailey  accompanied  them  towards 
Kingsgate  Street;  recounting  to  Mrs.  Gamp,  as 
they  went  along,  the  origin  and  progress  of  his 
acquaintance  with  Mrs.  Chuzzlewit  and  her  sister. 
It  was  a  pleasant  instance  of  this  youth's  pre- 
co^'ity,  that  he  fancied  Mrs.  Gamp  had  conceived 
a  tenderness  for  him,  and  was  much  tickled  bj' 
her  misplaced  attachment. 

As  the  door  closed  heavily  behind  them,  Mrs. 
Jonas  sat  down  in  a  chair,  and  felt  a  strange  chill 
creep  upon  her,  whilst  she  looked  about  the  room. 
It  was  pretty  much  as  she  had  known  it,  but  ap- 
peared more  dreary.  She  had  thought  to  see  it 
brightened  to  receive  her. 

"  It  ain't  good  enough  for  you,  I  suppose  ?" 
said  Jonas,  watching  her  looks. 

"  Why,  it  is  dull,"  said  Merry,  trying  to  be 
more  herself. 

"It'll  be  duller  before  you're  done  with  it," 
retorted  Jonas,  "if  you  give  me  any  of  your  airs 
You  're  a  nice  article,  to  turn  sulky  on  first  com- 
ing home !  'Ecod,  you  used  to  have  life  enough, 
when  you  could  plague  me  with  it.  The  gal's 
down  stairs.  Ring  the  bell  for  supper,  while  I 
take  my  boots  off  I" 

She  roused  herself  from  looking  afler  hirn  as 
he  left  the  room,  to  do  what  he  had  desired  :  when 
the  old  man  Chuffey  laid  his  hand  softly  on  her 
arm. 

"  You  are  not  married  ?"  he  said,  eagerly. 
"  Not  married  ?" 

"  Yes.  A  month  ago.  Good  Heaven,  what  is 
the  matter  ?" 

He  answered,  nothing  was  the  matter;  and 
turned  from  her.  But  in  her  fear  and  wonder, 
turning  also,  she  saw  him  raise  his  trembling 
hands  above  his  head,  and  heard  him  say  : 

"  Oh  !  woe,  woe,  woe,  upon  this  wicked  house  '.* 

It  was  her  welcome, — Home. 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT, 


169 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SHOWING  THAT  OLD  FRIENDS  MAY  NOT  ONLY  APPEAR  WITH  NEW 
FACES,  BUT  IN  FALSE  COLOURS.  THAT  PEOPLE  ARE  PRONE  TO  BITE; 
AND    THAT   BITERS    MAY    SOMETIMES   BE    BITTEN. 


Mr.  Bailey,  Junior — fur  the  sporting  character, 
whilom  of  general  utility  at  To^j^ers's,  hud  now 
regularly  set  up  in  life  under  that  name,  without 
troubling  himself  to  obtain  from  the  legislature  a 
direct  licence  in  the  form  of  a  Private  Bill,  which 
of  all  kinds  and  classes  of  bills  is  without  excep- 
tion the  most  unreasonable  in  its  charges — Mr. 
Bailey,  Junior,  just  tall  enough  to  be  seen  by  an 
inquiring  eye,  gazing  indolently  at  society  from 
beneath  the  apron  of  hi.=  master's  cab,  drove  slowly 
up  and  down  Pall  Mall  about  the  hour  of  noon,  in 
waiting  for  his  "  Govt  rnor."  The  horse  of  dis- 
tinguished family,  who  had  Capricorn  for  his 
nephew,  and  Cauliflower  for  his  brother,  showed 
liimself  worthy  of  his  high  relations  by  champing 
at  the  bit  until  his  chest  was  white  with  foam, 
and  rearing  like  a  hoise  in  heraldry;  the  plated 
harness  and  the  patent  leather  glittered  in  the  sun; 
pedestrians  admired  ;  Mr.  Bailey  was  complacent, 
but  unmoved.  He  seemed  to  say,  "  A  barrow, 
good  people,  a  mere  harrow  ;  nothing  to  what  we 
could  do,  if  vv'e  chose  ;"  and  on  he  went,  squaring 
his  short  green  arms^  outside  the  apron,  as  if  he 
were  hooked  on  to  il  by  his  armpits. 

Mr.  Bailey  had  a  great  opinion  of  Brother  to 
Cauliflower,  and  eslimated  his  powers  highly. 
But  he  never  told  him  so.  On  the  contrary,  it 
was  his  practice,  in  driving  that  animal,  to  assail 
I  ;m  with  disrespectful,  if  not  injurious,  expres- 
sions,  as,  "  Ah  I  would  you  1"  "  Did  you  think  it 
then?"  "  Where  are  you  going  to  now  ?"  "No 
you  won't,  my  lail  !"  and  similar  fragmentary 
remarks.  These  being  usually  accompanied  by  a 
jerk  of  the  rein,  or  a  crack  of  the  whip,  led  to 
many  trials  of  st length  between  them,  and  to 
many  contentions  for  the  upper  hand,  terminat- 
ing, now  and  then,  in  china-shops,  and  other 
inusual  goals,  as  Mr.  Bailey  had  already  hinted 
to  his  friend  Poll  Sweedlepipe. 

On  the  present  occasion  Mr.  Bailey,  being  in 
spirits,  was  more  than  commonly  hard  upon  his 
ciiarge ;  in  conse.[uence  of  which  that  fiery  ani- 
mal confined  himself  almost  entirely  to  his  hind 
legs  in  displaying  his  paces,  and  constantly  got 
himself  into  positions  with  reference  to  the  cabrio- 
let that  very  much  amazed  the  passengers  in  the 
street.  But  Mr.  Bailey,  not  at  all  disturbed,  had 
still  a  shower  ol"  pleasantries  to  bestow  on  any 
one  who  crossed  his  path:  as  calling  to  a  full- 
grown  coalheaver  in  a  wagon,  who  for  a  moment 
blocked  the  way,  "Now,  young  'un,  who  trusted 
irou  with  <t  tiirt  ?"  inquiring  of  elderly  ladies  who 
wanted  to  i.-u^s,  and  ran  buck  again,  "  Why  they 
didn't  go  to  the  workhouse  and  get  an  order  to  be 
buried  ;"  tempting  boys,  with  friendly  words,  to 
get  up  behind,  and  immediately  afterwards  cutting 
them  down:  and  the  like  flashes  of  a  cheerful 
humour,  which  he  would  occasionally  relieve  by 
going  round  Si.  James's  Square  at  a  hand  gallop, 
and  coming  s'.owly  into  Pall  Mall  by  another 
entry,  as  if,  in  the  interval,  his  pace  had  been  a 
perfect  crawl. 

It  was  not  until  these  amusements  had  been 
82 


very  often  repeated,  and  the  apple. stall  at  the 
corner  had  sustained  so  many  miraculous  escapes 
as  to  appear  impregnable,  that  Mr.  Biiley  was 
summoned  to  the  door  of  a  certain  house  in  Pall 
Mall,  and  turning  short,  obeyed  the  call  and 
jumped  out.  It  was  not  until  he  had  held  the 
bridle  for  some  minutes  longer,  every  jerk  of 
Cauliflower's  brother's  head,  and  every  twitch  of 
Cauliflower's  brother's  nostril,  taking  him  off  his 
legs  in  the  meanwhile,  that  two  persons  entered 
the  vehicle,  one  of  whom  took  the  reins  and  drove 
rapidly  off.  Nor  was  it  until  Mr.  Bailey  had  run 
after  it  some  hundreds  of  yards  in  vain,  that  he 
managed  to  lift  his  short  leg  into  the  iron  step, 
and  finally  to  get  his  boots  upon  the  little  foot- 
board  behind.  Then,  indeed,  he  became  a  sight 
to  see :  and — standing  now  on  one  foot  and  now 
upon  the  other  ;  now  trying  to  look  round  the  cab 
on  this  side,  now  on  that ;  and  now  endeavouring 
to  peep  over  the  top  of  it,  as  it  went  dashing  in 
among  the  carts  and  coaches — was  from  head  to 
heel  Newmarket. 

The  appearance  of  Mr.  Bailey's  governor  as  he 
drove  along,  fully  justified  that  enthusiastic  youth's 
description  of  him  to  the  wondering  Poll.  He  had 
a  world  of  jet-black  shining  hair  upon  his  head, 
upon  his  cheeks,  upon  his  chin,  upon  his  upjicr 
lip.  His  clothes,  symmetrically  made,  were  of 
the  newest  fashion  and  the  costliest  kind.  Flo«er8 
of  gold  and  blue,  and  green  and  blushing  red, 
were  on  his  waistcoat ;  precious  chains  and  jswels 
sparkled  on  his  breast;  his  fingers,  clogged  with 
brilliant  rings,  were  as  unwieldy  as  summer  flies 
but  newly  rescued  from  a  honey-[)ot.  The  day- 
light mantled  in  his  gleaming  hat  and  boots  as  in 
a  polished  glass.  And  yet,  though  changed  his 
name,  and  changed  his  outward  surface,  it  waa 
Tigg.  Though  turned  and  twisted  upside  down, 
and  inside  out,  as  great  men  have  been  sometimes 
known  to  be ;  though  no  longer  Montague  Tigg, 
but  Tigg  Montague;  still  it  was  Tigg:  the  sa?<ie 
Satanic,  gallant,  military  Tigg.  The  brass  was 
burnished,  lacquered,  newly-stamped;  yet  it  was 
the  true  Tigg  metal  notwithstanding. 

Beside  him  sat  a  smiling  gentleman,  of  less 
pretensions  and  of  business  looks,  whom  he  ad- 
dressed as  David.  Surely  not  the  David  of  the — 
how  shall  it  be  phrased?  —  the  triumvirate  of 
golden  balls  ?  Not  David,  tapster  at  the  Lom- 
bards' Arms  ?    Yes.     The  very  man. 

"  The  secretary's  salary,  David,"  said  Mr. 
Montague,  "  the  oflSce  being  now  established,  is 
eight  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  with  his 
house-rent,  coals,  and  candles  free.  His  five- 
and-twenty  shares  he  holds,  of  course.  Is  that 
enough  ?" 

David  smiled  and  nodded,  and  coughed  behind 
a  little  locked  portfolio  which  he  carried  ;  with  an 
air  that  proclaimed  him  to  be  the  secretary  in 
question. 

"If  that's  enough,"  said  Montague,  "I  wiF. 
propose  it  at  the  Board  to-day,  in  ray  capacity  «• 
chairman." 


170 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


The  sccrctnry  smiled  ag-ain  ;  laughed,  indeed, 
this  time  ;  and  said,  rubbing  his  nose  slyly  with 
one  end  of  llie  portfolio: 

"It  was  a  capital  thought,  wasn't  it?" 

"  What  was  a  capital  thought,  David  ?"  Mr. 
Montague  inquired. 

"The  Anglo-Bengalee,"  tittered  the  secretary. 

"  The  Anglo-Bengalee  Disinterested  Loan  and 
Life  Insurance  Company,  is  rather  a  capital  con- 
cern, 1  hope,  David,"  said  Montague. 

"Capital,  indeed!'  cried  the  secretary,  with 
another  laugh — "  in  one  sense." 

"In  the  only  important  one,"  observed  the  chair- 
man ;  "  which  is  number  one,  David." 

"  What,"  asked  the  secretary,  bursting  into 
another  "augh,  "what  will  be  the  paid  up  capital 
according  to  the  next  prospectus  ?" 

"  A  figure  of  two,  and  as  many  oughts  after  it 
as  the  printer  can  get  into  the  same  line,"  replied 
his  friend.     "  Ha,  ha  !" 

At  this  they  both  laughed ;  the  secretary  so 
vehemently,  that  in  kicking  up  his  feet,  he  kicked 
the  apron  open,  and  nearly  started  Cauliflower's 
brother  into  an  oyster-shop;  not  to  mention  Mr. 
Bailey's  receiving  such  a  sudden  swing,  that  he 
held  on  for  the  moment,  quite  a  young  Fame,  by 
one  strap  and  no  legs. 

"  What  a  chap  you  are !"  exclaimed  David  ad- 
miringly, when  this  little  alarm  had  subsided. 

"  Say  genius,  David,  genius." 

"  Weil,  upon  my  soul,  you  are  a  genius  then," 
said  David.  "I  always  knew  you  had  the  gift, 
of  the  gab,  of  course;  but  I  never  believed  you 
were  half  the  man  you  are.     How  could  I  ?" 

"  I  rise  with  circumstances,  David.  That's  a 
point  of  genius  in  itself,"  said  Tigg.  "  If  you 
were  to  lege  a  hundred  pound  wager  to  me  at  this 
minute,  David, and  were  to  pay  it  (which  is  most 
confoundedly  improbable),  I  should  rise,  in  a 
mental  point  of  view,  directly." 

It  is  due  to  Mr.  Tigg  to  say  that  he  had  really 
risen  with  his  opportunities  ;  and  peculating  on  a 
grander  scale,  had  become  a  grander  man,  alto- 
gether. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  cried  the  secretary,  laying  his  hand, 
with  growing  familiarity,  upon  the  chairman's 
arm.  "  When  I  look  at  you,  and  think  of  your 
property  in  Bengal  being — ha,  ha,  ha! — " 

The  half-expressed  idea  seemed  no  less  ludic- 
rous to  Mr.  Tigg  than  to  his  friend,  for  he  laughed 
too,  heartily. 

" — Being,"  resumed  David,  "being  amenable 
—  your  propert}'  in  Bengal  being  amenable  —  to 
all  claims  upon  the  company  :  when  I  look  at  you 
and  think  of  that,  you  might  tickle  me  into  fits 
by  waving  the  feather  of  a  pen  at  me.  Upon  my 
soul  you  might !" 

"  It's  a  devilish  fine  property,"  said  Tigg  Mon- 
lague,  "to  be  amenable  to  any  claims.  The  pre- 
serve of  tigers  alone  is  worth  a  mint  of  money, 
baviH  " 

David  could  only  reply  in  the  intervals  of  his 
laughter,  "Oh,  what  a  chap  you  are!"  and  so 
continued  to  laugh,  and  hold  his  sides,  and  wipe 
his  eyes,  for  some  time,  without  offering  any  other 
observation. 

"A  capital  idea?"  said  Tigg,  returning  after  a 
lime  to  his  companion's  first  remark  :  "  no  doubt 
it  was  a  capital  idea.     It  was  my  idea." 

"  No,  no.    It  was  hiy  idea,"  said  Ddvid.   "  Hang 


it,  let  a  man  have  some  credit.     Didn't  I  say  t* 
you  that  I  'd  saved  a  few  pounds  ? — " 

"  You  said  I  Didn't  I  say  to  you,"  interposeH 
Tigg,  "that  /had  come  into  a  few  pounds  ?" 

"Certainly  you  did,"  returned  David,  warmh, 
"but  that's  not  the  idea.  Who  said,  that  if  we 
put  the  money  together  we  could  furnish  an  offici, 
and  make  a  show  ?" 

"  And  who  said,"  retorted  Mr.  Tigg,  "  that,  pr  v 
viding  we  did  it  on  a  sufficiently  large  scale,  we 
could  furnish  an  office  and  make  a  show,  without 
any  money  at  all?  Be  rational,  and  just,  a' id 
Cdlm,  and  tell  me  whose  idea  was  that." 

"  Why  there,"  David  was  obliged  to  confess, 
"  you  had  the  advantage  of  me,  I  admit.  But  I 
don't  put  myself  on  a  level  with  you.  I  only 
want  a  little  credit  in  the  business." 

"All  the  credit  you  deserve,  you  have,"  siid 
Tigg.  "The  plain  work  of  the  company,  David 
—  figures,  books,  circulars,  advertisements,  j^en, 
ink  and  paper,  sealing-wax  and  wafers  —  is  ad- 
mirably done  by  you.  You  are  a  first-rate  gro- 
veller.  I  don't  dispute  it.  But  the  ornameatal 
department,  David ;  the  inventive  and  poetical  de- 
partment — " 

"  Is  entirely  yours,"  said  his  friend.  "  No  •  ues- 
tion  of  it.  But  with  suL'h  a  swell  turn-out  as  this, 
and  all  the  handsome  things  you  've  got  t  bout 
you,  and  the  life  you  lead,  I  mean  to  say  ii  's  a 
'j/recious  comfortable  department  too." 

"  Does  it  gain  the  purpose  ?  Is  it  Anglo  Ben- 
galee?" asked  Tigg. 

"Yes,"  said  David. 

•'  Could  you  undertake  it  yourself?"  dem  inded 
Tigg. 

"  No,"  said  David. 

"  Ha,  ha  !"  laughed  Tigg.  "  Then  be  cortenteC 
with  your  station  and  your  profits,  David,  my  fine 
fellow,  and  bless  the  day  thiit  made  us  acqiainted 
across  the  counter  of  our  common  uncle,  for  it 
was  a  golden  day  to  you." 

It  will  have  been  already  gathered  frim  the 
conversation  of  these  worthies,  that  they  were 
embarked  in  an  enterprise  of  some  magnitude,  in 
which  they  addressed  the  public  in  gener  il  from 
the  strong  position  of  having  everything  to  gain, 
and  nothing  at  all  to  lose;  and  which,  based  upon 
this  great  principle,  was  thriving  pretty  ;oinfbrt- 
ably. 

The  Anglo-Bengalee  Disinterested  L.)an  ana 
Life  Insurance  Company,  started  into  (xistcnce 
one  morning,  not  an  Infmt  Iti'^litutioii,  but  a 
Grown-up  Company  running  alone  at  a  great 
pace,  and  doing  business  right  and  lef( :  with  a 
"  branch"  in  a  first  floor  over  a  tailor's  at  the  west- 
end  of  the  town,  and  main  offices  in  a  new  street 
in  the  city,  comprising  the  upper  part  of  a  spa- 
cious house,  rcs()lend(nt  in  stneeo  and  plate-gl.iss, 
with  wire  blinds  in  all  the  windows,  and  "Anglo- 
Bengalee"  worked  into  the  pattern  of  every  one 
of  them.  On  th<^  door-post  was  painted  again  in 
large  letters,  "Offices  of  the  Anglo-Bengalee  Dis- 
interested lioan  and  Lite  Insurance  ('ompany," 
and  on  the  door  was  a  large  brass  [>late  with  the 
same  inscription :  always  kept  very  bright,  as 
courting  inquiry;  staring  the  city  out  of  counte- 
nance aller  otlice-hours  on  working  d.iys,  and  ail 
day  long  on  Sundays  ;  and  looking  bolder  than  the 
Bank.  Within,  the  offices  were  newly  plastered, 
newly  painted,  newly  papered,  newly  counter«rf 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


171 


newly  floor-clothcd,  newly  tabled,  newly  cliaircd, 
newly  Httt'd-up  in  every  way,  with  g^oods  that 
were  suhstantial  and  expensive,  and  designed  (like 
the  comp;iny)  to  last.  Business!  Look  at  the 
green  ledgers  with  red  backs,  like  strong  cricket- 
balls  beaten  flat ;  the  court-guides,  directories,  day- 
books, almanacks,  letter  boxes,  weighing-machines 
for  letters,  rows  of  fire-buckets  for  dashing  out  a 
confl:igration  in  its  first  spark,  and  saving  the 
immense  wealth  in  notes  and  bonds  belonging  to 
the  company  ;  look  at  the  iron  safes,  the  clock,  the 
office  seal — in  its  capacious  self,  security  for  any- 
thing. Solidity  !  Look  at  the  massive  blocks  of 
marble  in  the  chimney-pieces,  and  the  gorgeous 
parapet  on  the  top  of  the  house  !  Publicity  !  VVhy, 
Anglo-Bengalee  Disinterested  Loan  and  Life  In- 
surance Company,  is  painted  on  the  very  coal- 
scuttles. It  is  repeated  at  every  turn  until  the 
eyes  are  dazzled  with  it,  and  the  head  is  giddy. 
It  is  engraved  upon  the  top  of  all  the  letter-paper, 
and  it  makes  a  scroll-work  round  the  seal,  and  it 
shines  out  of  the  porter's  buttons,  and  it  is  repeat- 
ed twenty  times  in  every  circular  and  public  no- 
tice wherein  one  David  Crimple,  Esquire,  Secre- 
tary and  resident  Director,  takes  the  liberty  of 
inviting  your  attention  to  the  accompanying  state- 
ment of  the  advantages  oiFered  by  the  Anglo- 
Bengalee  Disinterested  Loan  and  Life  Insurance 
(/ompany :  and  fully  proves  to  you  that  any  con- 
nection on  your  part  with  that  establishment  must 
result  in  a  perpetual  Christmas  Box  and  constant- 
ly increa-King  Bonus  to  yourself,  and  that  nobody 
can  run  any  risk  by  the  transaction  except  the 
office,  which,  in  its  great  liberality,  is  pretty  sure 
to  lose.  And  this,  David  Crimple,  Esquire,  sub- 
mits to  you  (and  the  odds  are  heavy  you  believe 
him),  is  the  best  guarantee  that  can  reasonably  be 
suggested  by  the  Board  of  Management  for  its 
permanence  and  stability. 

This  gentleman's  name,  by  the  way,  had  been 
originally  Crimp;  but  as  the  word  was  suscepti- 
ble of  an  awkward  construction  and  might  be 
ruisrepresented,  he  had  altered  it  to  Crimple. 

Lest  with  all  these  proofs  and  confirmations, 
any  man  should  be  suspicious  of  the  Anglo-Ben- 
galee Disinterested  Loan  and  Life  Insurance 
Company  ;  should  doubt  in  tiger,  cab,  or  person, 
Tigg  Montague  Esquire  (of  Pall  Mall  and  Ben- 
gal) or  any  other  name  in  the  imaginative  List 
of  Directors ;  there  was  a  porter  on  the  premises 
--a  wonderful  creature,  in  a  vast  red  waistcoat 
and  a  short-tailed  pepper-and-salt  coat — who  car- 
ried  more  conviction  to  the  minds  of  sceptics  than 
tlie  whole  establishment  without  him.  No  confi- 
dences existed  between  him  and  the  Directorship; 
nobody  knew  where  he  had  served  last;  no  cha- 
racter or  explanation  had  been  given  or  required. 
No  questions  had  been  asked  on  either  side.  This 
rrysterious  being,  relying  solely  on  his  figure,  had 
a,  plied  for  the  situation,  and  had  been  instantly 
J]  gaged  on  his  own  terms.  They  were  high  ; 
b  t  he  knew,  doubtless,  that  no  man  could  carry 
such  an  extent  of  waistcoat  as  himself,  and  felt 
tl>e  fuli  value  of  his  capacity  to  such  an  institu- 
ti  n.  When  he  sat  upon  a  seat  erected  for  him 
ir  a  corner  of  the  otfice,  with  his  glazed  hat  hang- 
iniT  on  a  peg  over  his  head,  it  was  impossible  to 
doibt  the  resiicctabiiity  of  the  concern.  It  went 
on  doubling  itself  with  every  square  inch  of  his 
e    waistcoat  until,  like  the  problem  of  tlie  nails 


in  the  horse's  shoes,  the  total  became  enormous. 
People  had  been  known  to  apply  to  cffi^'Ct  an  in- 
suraiice  on  their  lives  for  a  thousand  pounds,  and 
looking  at  him,  to  beg,  lielorc  the  form  of  propo- 
sal was  filled  up,  that  it  might  he  made  two.  And 
yet  he  was  not  a  giants  His  co..*  was  rather 
small  than  otherwise.  The  whole  charm  was  in 
his  waistcoat.  Respectability,  competence,  pro- 
perty in  Bengal  or  anywhere  else,  responsibility 
to  any  amount  on  the  part  of  the  con)pai;y  that 
employed  him,  were  all  expressed  in  that  one  gar- 
ment. 

Rival  offices  had  endeavoured  to  lure  him 
away  ;  Lombard-street  itself  had  beckoned  to  him; 
rich  companies  had  whispered,  "Bo  a  Beadle  1" 
but  he  still  continued  faithful  to  the  Anglo-Benga- 
lee.  Whether  he  was  a  deep  rogue,  or  a  stately 
simpleton,  it  was  impossible  to  make  out,  but  he 
appeared  to  believe  in  the  Anglo-Bengalee.  He 
was  grave  with  imaginary  cares  of  office ;  and 
having  nothing  whatever  to  do,  and  something 
less  to  (ake  care  of,  would  look  as  if  the  pressure 
of  his  numerous  duties,  and  a  sense  of  the  treasure 
in  the  company's  strong-room,  made  him  a  solemn 
and  a  thouglitlul  man. 

As  the  cabriolet  drove  up  to  the  door,  this  offi- 
cer appeared  bare-headed  on  the  pavement,  crying 
aloud  "Room  for  the  chairman,  room  for  the 
chairman,  if  you  please  I"  much  to  the  admira- 
tion of  the  by-standers,  who,  it  is  needless  to  say, 
had  their  attention  directed  to  the  Anglo- Bengalee 
Company  thenceforth,  by  that  means.  Mr.  Tigg 
leaped  gracefully  out,  followed  by  the  Managing 
Director  (who  was  by  this  time  very  distant  and 
respectful),  and  ascended  the  stairs,  still  preceded 
by  the  porter  :  who  cried  as  he  went,  "  By  your 
leave  there  !  by  your  leave  I  The  chairman  of  the 
Board,  Gentle — men  1"  In  like  manner,  but  in  a 
still  more  stentorian  voice,  he  ushered  the  chair- 
man through  the  public  office,  where  some  hum- 
ble clients  were  transacting  business,  into  an 
awful  chamber,  labelled  Board-room  :  the  door  of 
which  sanctuary  immediatoly  closed,  and  screened 
the  great  capitalist  from  vulgar  eyes. 

The  board-room  had  a  Turkey  carpet  in  it,  a 
sideboard,  a  portrait  of  Tigg  Montague  Esquire 
as  chairman  ;  a  very  imposing  chair  of  office, 
garnished  with  an  ivory  hammer  and  a  little 
hand-bell;  and  a  long  table,  set  ut  at  intervals 
with  sheets  of  blotting-paper,  foolscap,  clean  pens, 
and  inkstands.  The  chiiirman  having  taken  his 
seat  with  great  solemnity,  the  secretary  supported 
him  on  his  right  hand,  and  the  porter  stood  bolt 
upright  behind  them,  forming  a  warm  back 
ground  of  waistcoat.  This  was  the  board:  every 
thing  else  being  a  light-hearted  little  fiction. 

"  Bullamy  !"  said  Mr.  Tigg. 

"Sir!"  replied  the  Porter. 

"Let  the  Medical  Officer  know,  with  my  con« 
pliments,  that  I  wish  to  see  him." 

Bullamy  cleared  his  throat,  and  bustled  out  into 
the  office,  crying  "The  Chairman  of  the  Board 
wishes  to  see  tlie  Medical  OtHcer.  By  your  leave 
there  !  by  your  leave !"  He  soon  returned  with 
the  gentleman  in  question;  and  at  both  openings 
of  the  board-room  door — at  his  coming  in  and  at 
his  going  out — simple  clients  were  seen  to  olretch 
their  necks  and  stand  upon  their  toes,  thirsting  to 
catch  the  slightest  glimpse  of  that  myste'iout 
chaml  er. 


1 72 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


"  Jobling;,  tny  dear  friend !"  said  Mr.  Tigg, 
"  how  are  you  ?  Bullarny,  wait  outside,  Crimple, 
don't  leave  us.  JoLling,  my  good  fellow,  I  am 
glad  to  see  you." 

"And  how  are  you,  Mr.  Montague,  eh  ?"  said 
the  Medical  Officer,  throwing  himself  luxuriously 
into  an  easy  chair  (they  were  all  easy  chairs  in 
the  board-room),  and  taking  a  handsome  gold 
snuffbox  from  the  pocket  of  his  black  satin  waist, 
coat.  "  How  are  you  ?  A  little  worn  with  busi- 
ness, eh  ?  If  so,  rest,  A  little  feverish  from 
wine,  humph?  If  so,  water.  Nothing  at  all  the 
matter,  and  quite  comfortable  ?  Then  take  some 
lunch.  A  very  wholesome  thing  at  this  time  of 
day  to  strengthen  the  gastric  juii;es  with  lunch, 
Mr.  Montague." 

The  medical  officer  (he  was  the  same  medical 
officer  who  had  followed  poor  old  Antliony  Clmz- 
zlewit  to  the  grave,  and  who  had  attended  Mrs. 
Gamp's  patient  at  the  Bull)  smiled  in  saying  these 
words ;  and  casually  added,  as  he  brushed  some 
grains  of  snuff  from  his  dhirt-frill,  "  I  always  take 
it  myself  about  this  time  of  day,  do  you  know  !" 

"  Bullaaiy  I"  said  the  chairman,  ringing  the 
little  bell. 

"  Sir !" 

"  Lunch." 

"  Not  on  my  account,  I  hope  ?"  said  the  doctor. 
'*You  are  very  good.  Thank  you.  I'm  quite 
ishamed.  Ha,  ha  !  if  I  had  been  a  sharp  practi- 
tioner, Mr.  Montague,  I  shouldn't  have  mentioned 
it  without  a  fee ;  for  you  may  depend  upon  it,  my 
dear  sk,  that  if  you  don't  make  a  point  of  taking 
lunch,  you  '11  very  soon  come  under  my  hands. 
Allow  me  to  illustrate  this.  In  Mr.  Crimple's 
leg—" 

The  resident  Director  gave  an  involuntary 
start,  for  the  Doctor,  in  the  heat  of  his  demonstra- 
tion, caught  it  up  and  laid  it  across  his  own,  as 
if  he  were  going  to  take  it  off,  then  and  there. 

"  In  Mr.  Crimple's  leg,  you  '11  observe,"  pur- 
sued the  Doctor,  turning  back  his  cuffs  and  span- 
ning the  limb  with  both  hands,  "where  Mr. 
Crimple's  knee  fits  into  the  socket,  here,  there  is 
— that  is  to  say,  between  the  bone  and  the  socket 
--a  certain  quantity  of  animal  oil." 

"  What  do  you  pick  my  leg  out  for?"  said  Mr. 
Crimple,  looking  with  something  of  an  anxious 
expression  at  his  limb,  "It's  the  same  with 
other  legs,  ain't  it  ?'' 

"  Never  you  mind,  my  good  sir,"  returned  the 
Doctor,  sliakingr  his  head,  "  whether  it  is  the 
same  with  other  legs,  or  not  the  same." 

"  But  I  do  mind,"  said  David. 

"I  take  a  particular  case,  Mr.  Montague,"  re- 
turned the  Doctor,  "  as  illustrating  my  remark, 
you  observe.  In  this  portion  of  Mr.  Crimple's 
leg,  sir,  there  is  a  certain  amount  of  animal  oil. 
In  every  one  of  Mr.  Crimple's  joints,  sir,  there  is 
more  or  less  of  the  same  deposit.  Very  good.  If 
Mr.  Crimple  neglects  his  meals,  or  fails  to  take 
his  proper  quantity  of  rest,  that  oil  wanes,  and 
becomes  exhausted.  What  is  the  consequence" 
Mr.  <^-'mplc's  bones  sink  down  into  their  sockets, 
Bii,  and  Mr. 'Crimple  becomes  a  weazen,  puny, 
stunted,  miserable  man  !" 

The  Doctor  let  Mr.  ("rimple's  leg  fall  suddenly, 
as  if  he  were  already  in  that  agreeable  condition: 
turned  down  hi.--  wristbands  again,  and  looked 
triumuhantly  at  the  chairman. 


"  We  know  a  few  secrets  of  nature  in  our  p.«*. 
fession,  sir,"  said  the  Doctor.  "Of  course  we  do 
We  study  for  that;  we  pass  the  Hall  and  the 
College  for  that;  and  we  take  our  station  in  so- 
ciety  by  that.  It 's  extraordinary  how  little  is 
known  on  these  subjects  generally.  Where  do 
you  suppose,  now" — the  doctor  closed  one  eye,  as 
he  leaned  back  smilingly  in  his  chair,  and  formed 
a  triangle  with  his  hands,  of  which  his  two  ttiumbs 
composed  the  base — "  where  do  you  suppose  Mr. 
Crimple's  stomach  is  ?" 

Mr.  Crimple,  more  agitated  than  before,  clapped 
his  hand  immediately  helow  his  waistcoat. 

"Not  at  all,"  cried  the  Doctor;  "not  at  all. 
Quite  a  popular  mistake  !  My  good  sir,  you  're 
altogether  deceived." 

"  I  feel  it  there,  when  it 's  out  of  order ;  that  'a 
all  I  know,"  said  Crimple. 

"  You  think  you  do,"  replied  the  Doctor ;  "  but 
science  knows  better.  There  was  a  patient  of 
mine  once,"  touching  one  of  the  many  mourning 
rings  upon  his  fingers,  and  slightly  bowing  his 
head,  "  a  gentleman  who  did  me  the  honour  to 
make  a  very  handsome  mention  of  me  in  his  will 
— '  in  testimony,'  as  he  was  pleased  to  say,  '  of  the 
unremitted  zeal,  talent,  and  attention  of  my  friend 
and  medical  attendant,  John  Jobling,  Esquire, 
M.R.C.S.' — who  was  so  overcome  by  the  idea  of 
having  all  his  life  laboured  under  an  erroneous 
view  o*"  the  locality  of  this  important  organ,  that 
when  I  assured  him,  on  my  professional  reputa- 
tion,  he  was  mistaken,  he  burst  into  tears,  put  out 
his  hand,  and  said,  'Jobling,  God  bless  you!' 
Immediately  afterwards  he  became  speechless, 
and  was  ultimately  buried  at  Brixton." 

"  By  your  leave  there  !"  cried  Bullamy,  without. 
"  By  your  leave !  refreshment  for  the  Board-room !" 

"  Ha  I"  said  the  doctor,  jocularly,  as  he  rubbed 
his  hands,  and  drew  his  chair  nearer  to  the  table. 
"The  true  Life  Insurance,  Mr.  Montague.  The 
best  Policy  in  the  world,  my  dear  sir.  We  should 
be  provident,  and  eat  and  drink  whenever  we  can. 
Eh,  Mr.  Crimple  ?" 

The  resident  Director  acquiesced  rather  sulkily, 
as  if  the  gratification  of  replenisiiing  his  stomach 
had  been  impaired  by  the  unsettlerncnt  of  his 
preconceived  opinions  in  reference  to  its  situa- 
tion. But  the  appearance  of  the  porter  and  under 
porter  with  a  tray  covered  with  a  snow-while 
cloth,  which,  being  thrown  back,  displayed  a  pair 
of  Cold  roast  fowls,  flanked  by  some  potted  meats 
and  a  cool  salad,  quickly  restored  hi.i  good  hu- 
mour. It  was  enhanced  still  further  by  the  arrival 
of  a  bottle  of  excellent  Madeira,  and  another  of 
champagne;  and  he  soon  attacked  the  repast  with 
an  appetite  scarcely  inferior  to  that  of  the  medical 
officer. 

The  lunch  was  handsomely  served,  with  a  pro- 
fusion of  ricii  glass,  plate,  and  china ;  which 
seemed  to  denote  that  eating  and  drinking  on  a 
showy  scale  formed  no  unimportant  item  in  the 
business  of  the  Anglo- Bengalee  Directorship.  As 
it  proceeded,  the  medical  officer  grew  more  and 
more  joyous  and  red-faced,  insomuch  that  evcrj 
mouthful  he  ate,  and  every  drop  of  wine  be  swiU 
lovve<i,  seemed  to  impart  new  lustre  to  his  eyes, 
and  to  light  up  new  sparks  in  his  nose  and  fo-e- 
head. 

Ill  certain  quarters  of  tlie  city  and  its  neigh, 
bourhood,   Mr.  Jobling  was,   as  we  have  already 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


178 


«een  in  some  meastire,  a  very  popular  character. 
He  hnd  a  portentously  sagacious  chin,  and  a 
^joinpous  voice,  vvitii  a  rich  huskiness  in  some  of 
its  tones  that  went  directly  to  the  heart,  like  a 
ray  of  ligiit  sliitiing-  throujofh  the  ruddy  medium 
of  choice  old  burgundy.  His  neck-kerchief  and 
shirt-frill  were  ever  of  the  whitest,  his  clothes  of 
the  blackest  and  sleekest,  his  gold  watch-chain 
of  the  heaviest,  and  his  seals  of  the  largest.  His 
boots,  which  were  always  of  the  brightest,  creaked 
IS  he  walked.  Perhaps  he  could  shake  his  head, 
rub  his  hands,  or  warm  liimself  before  a  fire,  better 
than  any  man  alive ;  and  he  had  a  peculiar  way 
»f  smacking  liis  lips  and  saying,  "  Ah  !"  at  inter- 
Vils  while  patients  detailed  their  symptoms, 
fhich  inspired  great  confidence.  It  seemed  to 
jxpress,  "  I  know  what  you  're  going  to  say  better 
than  you  do ;  but  go  on,  go  on."  As  he  talked  on 
all  occasions  whether  he  had  anything  to  say  or 
not,  it  was  unanimously  observed  of  him  that  he 
was  "full  of  anecdote  ;"  and  his  experience  and 
profit  from  it  were  considered,  for  the  same  rea- 
son, to  be  something  much  too  extensive  for  de- 
scription. His  female  patients  could  never  praise 
him  too  highly ;  and  the  coldest  of  his  male  ad- 
mirers would  always  say  this  for  him  to  their 
friends,  "  that  whatever  Jobling's  professional 
skill  might  be  (and  it  could  not  be  denied  that  he 
had  a  very  high  reputation),  he  was  one  of  the 
most  Comfortable  fellows  you  ever  saw  in  your 
life !" 

Jobling  was  for  many  reasons,  and  not  last  in 
the  list  because  his  connection  lay  principally 
among  tradesmen  and  their  families,  exactly  the 
sort  of  person  whom  the  Anglo-Bengalee  company 
wanted  for  a  medical  ofiicer.  But  Jobling  was 
far  too  knowing  to  connect  himself  with  the  com- 
pany in  any  closer  ties  than  as  a  paid  (and  well- 
paid)  functionary,  or  to  allow  his  connection  to 
be  misunderstood  abroad,  if  he  could  help  it. 
Hence  he  always  stated  the  case  to  an  inquiring 
patient,  after  this  manner : 

"  Wiiy,  my  dear  sir,  with  regard  to  the  Anglo- 
Bengalee,  my  information,  you  see,  is  limited: 
very  limited.  I  am  the  medical  officer,  in  consid. 
eration  of  a  certain  monthly  payment.  The  la- 
bourer is  worthy  of  his  hire  ;  Bis  dot  qui  citb  dat" 
— ("classical  scholar  Jobling.-''  thinks  the  pa- 
tient, "  Well  read  man  !") — "  and  I  receive  it  reg- 
ularly. Therefore  I  am  bound,  as  far  as  my 
knowledge  goes,  to  speak  well  of  the  establish- 
ment." ("  Nothing  can  be  fairer  than  Jobling's 
conduct,"  thinks  the  patient,  who  has  just  paid 
Joblmg's  bill  himself.)  "  If  you  put  any  question 
to  me,  my  dear  friend,"  says  the  doctor,  "  touch- 
mg  the  responsibility  or  capital  of  the  company, 
there  I  am  at  fault ;  for  I  have  no  head  for  figures, 
ttnd  not  being  a  shareholder,  am  delicate  of  show- 
ing any  curiosity  whatever  on  the  subject.  Deli- 
cacy — your  amiable  lady  will  agree  with  me  I  am 
sure — should  be  one  of  the  first  characteristics  of 
a  medical  man."  ("  Nothing  can  be  finer  or  more 
gentlemanly  than  Jobling's  feeling,"  thinks  the 
patient.)  "  Very  good,  my  dear  sir,  so  the  matter 
standfi.  YoTi  don't  know  Mr.  Montague  ?  I  'm 
sorry  for  it.  A  remarkably  handsome  man,  and 
quite  the  gentleman  in  every  respect.  Property, 
1  am  told,  in  India.  House,  and  everything  l>e- 
Innging  to  him,  beautiful.  Costly  furniture  on  the 
luost  elegant   and   lavish   scale.     And   pictures, 


which,  even  in  an  anatomical  point  of  view,  are 
per — fection.  In  case  you  should  ever  think  of 
doing  anything  with  the  company,  I  'II  p^iss  you, 
you  may  depend  upon  it.  I  can  conscientiously 
report  you  a  healthy  subject.  If  I  understand 
any  man's  constitution,  it  is  yours;  and  this  little 
indisposition  has  done  him  more  good  ma'am,' 
says  the  doctor,  turning  to  the  puticnt's  wife, 
"than  if  he  had  swallowed  the  contents  of  half 
the  nonsensical  bottles  in  my  surgery.  For  they 
are  nonsense — to  tell  the  iionest  truth,  one  half 
of  them  are  nonsense — compared  with  such  a  con- 
stitution as  his  !" — ("  Jobling  is  the  most  friendly 
creature  I  ever  met  with  in  my  life,"  thinks  the 
patient ;  "  and  upon  ray  word  and  honour,  I  '11 
consider  of  it!") 

"Commission  to  you.  Doctor,  on  four  new  poli- 
cies, and  a  loan  this  morning,  eh  ?"  said  Crimpl€ 
looking,  when  they  had  finished  lunch,  over  some 
papers  brought  in  by  the  porter.     "  Well  done  !" 

"  Jobling,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Tigg,  "  long 
life  to  you." 

"  No,  no.  Nonsense.  Upon  my  word  I  've  no 
right  to  draw  the  commission,"  said  the  doctor, 
"  I  haven't  really.  It 's  picking  your  pocket.  I 
don't  recommend  anybody  here.  I  only  say  what 
I  know.  My  patients  ask  me  what  I  know,  and 
I  tell  'em  what  I  know.  Nothing  else.  Caution 
is  my  weak  side,  that's  the  truth;  and  always 
was  from  a  boy.  That  is,"  said  the  doctor,  filling 
his  glass,  "caution  in  behalf  of  other  people. 
Whether  I  would  repose  confidence  in  this  com- 
pany myself,  if  I  had  not  been  paying  money 
elsewhere  for  many  years — that's  quite  another 
question." 

He  tried  to  look  as  if  there  were  no  doubt  about 
it ;  but  feeling  that  he  did  it  but  indifferently, 
changed  the  theme,  and  praised  the  wine. 

"  Talking  of  wine,"  said  the  doctor,  "  reminds 
me  of  one  of  the  finest  glasses  of  old  light  port  I 
ever  drank  in  my  life ;  and  that  was  at  a  funeral. 
You  have  not  seen  anythiug  of — of  that  party, 
Mr.  Montague,  have  you  '/"  handing  him  a  card. 

"  He  is  not  buried,  I  hope  ?"  said  Tigg,  as  he 
took  it,  "  The  honour  of  hrs  company  is  not  re- 
quested  if  he  is." 

"Ha,  ha!"  laughed  the  doctor.  "No;  not 
quite.  He  was  honourably  connected  with  that 
very  occasion  though." 

"  Oh !"  said  Tigg,  smoothing  his  moustache, 
as  he  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  name.  "  I  recollect. 
No.     He  has  not  been  here." 

The  words  were  on  his  lips,  when  Bullamy  en- 
tered, and  presented  a  card  to  the  Medical  Offi- 
cer. 

"  Talk  of  the  what 's  his  name — "  observed  tlw 
doctor,  rising. 

"  And  he  's  sure  to  appear,  eh  ?"  said  Tigg. 

"  Why,  no,  Mr.  Montague,  no,"  returned  the 
Doctor.  "  We  will  not  say  tliat  in  the  presen* 
case,  for  this  gentleman  is  very  far  from  it." 

"So  much  the  better,"  retorted  Tigg.  "So 
much  the  more  adaptable  to  the  Anglo-Bengalee. 
Bullamy,  clear  the  table  and  take  the  things  out 
by  the  other  door.     Mr.  Crimple,  business." 

"  Shall  I  introduce  him  ?"  asked  Jobling. 

"  I  shall  be  eternally  delighted,"  answered  Tigg, 
kissing  his  hand  and  smiling  sweetly. 

The  doctor  disap[)pared  into  the  outer  office, 
and  immediately  returned  with  Jonas  (/huulewiu 


174 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


•*  Mr.  Montag-ue,"  said  Jobling.  "  Allow  me. 
My  friend  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  My  dear  friend — our 
chairman.  Now  do  yon  know,"  he  added,  check. 
Ii\g  himself  with  infinite  policy,  and  looking 
round  with  a  smile  :  "that's  a  very  singular  in- 
Btance  of  the  force  of  example.  It  really  is  a 
very  remarkable  instance  of  tiie  force  of  example. 
I  say  our  chairman.  Why  do  I  say  our  chair- 
man ?  Because  he  is  not  my  chairman,  you  know. 
I  have  no  connection  with  the  company,  farther 
than  giving  them,  for  a  certain  fee  and  reward, 
my  poor  opinion  as  a  medical  man,  precisely  as  I 
may  give  it  any  day  to  Jack  Noakes  or  Tom 
Styles.  Then  why  do  I  say  our  chairman  ?  Sim- 
ply because  I  hear  the  phrase  constantly  repeated 
about  me.  Such  is  the  involuntary  operation  of 
the  mental  faculty  in  the  imitative  biped  man. 
Mr.  Crimple,  I  believe  you  never  take  snuff?  In- 
judicious.    You  should." 

Pending  these  remarks  on  the  part  of  the  doc- 
tor, and  the  lengthened  and  sonorous  pinch  with 
which  he  followed  them  up,  Jonas  took  a  seat  at 
the  board  :  as  ungainly  a  man  as  ever  he  has  been 
within  the  reader's  knowledge.  It  is  too  common 
with  all  of  us,  but  it  is  especially  in  the  nature  of 
a  mean  mind,  to  be  overawed  by  fine  clothes  and 
fine  furniture.  They  had  a  very  decided  intiu- 
ence  on  Jonas. 

"  Now  you  two  gentlemen  have  business  to  dis 
cuss,  I  know,"  said  the  doctor,  "and  your  time 
is  precious.  So  is  mine;  for  several  li"ves  are 
waiting  for  me  in  the  next  room,  and  I  have  a 
round  of  visits  to  make  after — after  I  have  taken 
'em.  Having  had  the  happiness  to  introduce  you 
to  each  other,  I  may  go  about  my  business.  Good 
bye.  But  allow  me,  Mr.  Montague,  before  I  go, 
to  say  this  of  my  friend  who  sits  beside  you  : — 
That  gentleman  has  done  more,  sir,"  rapping  his 
snuff-box  solemnly,  '•to  reconcile  me  to  human 
nature,  than  any  man  alive  or  dead.     Good  bye  I" 

With  these  words  Jobling  bolted  abruptly  out 
of  the  room,  and  proceeded,  in  his  own  official 
department,  to  impress  the  lives  in  waiting  with 
a  sense  of  his  keen  conscientiousness  in  the  dis- 
charge of  his  duty,  and  the  great  difficulty  of  get- 
ting into  the  Anglo-Bengalee;  by  feeling  their 
pulses,  looking  at  their  tongues,  listening  at  their 
ribs,  poking  them  in  the  chest,  and  so  fortli ; 
though,  if  he  didn't  well  know  beforehand  that 
whatever  kind  of  lives  they  were,  the  Anglo-Ben- 
galee would  accept  them  readily,  he  was  far  from 
being  the  Jobling  that  his  friends  considered  liim, 
and  was  not  the  original  Jobling,  but  a  spurious 
imitation. 

Mr.  Crimple  also  departed  on  the  business  of 
the  morning,  and  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  and  Tigg 
were  left  alone. 

"  I  learn  from  our  friend,"  said  Tigg,  drawing 
his  chair  towards  Jonas  with  a  winning  ease  of 
manner,  "  that  you  have  been  thinking " 

''  Oh  !  Ecod  then  he  'd  no  right  to  say  so," 
cried  Jonas,  interrupting.  "I  didn't  tell  him  my 
thoughts.  If  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  I  was 
coming  here  Ibr  such  or  such  a  purpose,  why, 
that 's  his  look-out.  I  don't  stand  committed  by 
that." 

Jonas  said  this  offensively  enough,  forever  and 
above  the  hiilutual  distrust  of  his  chn meter,  it  was 
in  his  nature  to  seek  to  revenge  himself  mi  the 
fine  clothes  and  the  fine  furniture,  in  exact  pro- 


portion as  he  had  beeq  unable  to  withstand  their 

influence 

"  If  I  fome  here  to  ask  a  question  or  two,  and 
get  a  document  or  two  to  consider  of,  I  don't  bind 
myself  to  anything.  Let's  understand  that,  you, 
know,"  said  Jonas. 

"  My  dear  fellow  I"  cried  Tigg,  clapping  him  on 
the  shoulder,  "I  applaud  your  frankness.  If  men 
like  you  and  I  speak  openly  at  first,  all  possible 
misunderstanding  is  avoided.  Why  should  I  dis- 
guise what  you  know  so  well,  but  whut  the  crowd 
never  dream  of?  We  companies  are  all  birds  of 
prey — mere  birds  of  prey.  The  only  question  is, 
whether  in  serving  our  own  turn,  we  can  serve 
yours  too  ;  whether  in  double-lining  our  own  nest, 
we  can  put  a  single  lining  into  yours.  Oh,  you're 
in  our  secret.  You're  behind  the  scenes.  We'll 
make  a  merit  of  dealing  plainly  witli  you,  when 
we  know  we  can't  help  it." 

It  was  remarked,  on  the  first  introduction  of 
Mr.  Jonas  into  these  pages,  that  theie  is  a  simpli- 
city of  cunning,  no  less  than  a  simplicity  of  inno- 
cence, and  that  in  all  matters  involving  a  faith  in 
knavery,  he  was  the  most  credulous  of  men.  If 
Mr.  Tigg  had  preferred  any  claim  to  high  and 
honourable  dealing,  Jonas  would  have  suspected 
him  though  he  had  been  a  very  model  of  probity ; 
but  when  he  gave  utterance  to  Jonas's  own 
thoughts  of  everything  and  everybody,  Jonas  be- 
gan to  feel  that  he  was  a  pleasant  fellow,  and  one 
to  be  talked  to  freely. 

He  changed  his  position  in  the  chair,  not  for  a 
less  awkward,  but  for  a  more  boastful  attitude ; 
and,  smiling  in  his  miserable  conceit,  rejoined  : 

"  You  an't  a  bad  man  of  business,  Mr.  Monta- 
gue.    You  know  how  to  set  about  it,  I  will  say." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Tigg,  n»dding  confidentially, 
and  showing  his  white  teeth  ;  "we  are  not  chil- 
dren, Mr.  Chuzzlewit;  we  are  grown  men,  I 
hope." 

Jonas  assented,  and  said,  after  a  short  silence, 
first  spreading  out  his  legs,  and  sticking  one  arm 
a-kimbo  to  show  how  perfectly  at  home  he  was, 

"  The  truth  is " 

"  Don't  say  the  truth,"  interposed  Tigg,  with 
another  grin.  "  It's  so  like  humbug." 

Greatly  charmed  by  this,  Jonas  began  again. 

"  The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is — " 

"  Better,"  muttered  Tigg.     "  Much  better  '." 

"  — That  I  didn't  consider  myself  very  well 
used  by  one  or  two  of  the  old  companicd  in  some 
negotiations  I  have  had  with  'em — once  had,  I 
mean.  They  started  objections  they  had  no  right 
to  start,  and  put  questions  they  had  no  right  to 
put,  and  carried  things  much  too  high  for  niy 
taste." 

As  he  made  these  observations,  he  cast  down 
his  eyes,  and  looked  curiously  at  the  carpet.  Mr 
Tigg  looked  curiously  at  him. 

He  made  so  long  a  pause,  that  Tigg  came  t« 
the  rescue,  and  said  in  his  pleasantest  itiaiiner : 

"Take  a  glass  of  wine?" 

"  No,  no,"  returned  Jonas,  with  a  cunning  shake 
of  the  head;  "none  of  that,  thankee.  No  wine 
over  business.  All  very  well  for  you,  but  it 
wouldn't  do  for  me." 

"What  an  old  hand  you  are,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  I" 
said  Tigs',  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  leering 
at  him  through  his  half-shut  eyes. 

Jonas  shook  his  head  again,  as  much  as  to  m; 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


175 


"You're   right  there;"   and   then   resumed  jo- 
cosely : 

"Not  such  an  old  hand,  either,  but  that  I've 
been  and  got  married.  That 's  ratlier  green, you'll 
say.  Perhaps  it  is,  especially  as  she  's  young. 
But  one  never  knows  what  may  happen  to  these 
women,  so  I  'm  thinking  of  insuring  her  life.  It 
is  but  fair,  you  know,  that  a  man  should  secure 
some  consolation  in  case  of  meeting  with  such  a 
loss." 

"  If  any  tiling  can  console  him  under  such  heart- 
breaking circumstances,"  murmured  Tigg,  with 
his  eyes  shut  up  as  before. 

"  Exactly,"  returned  Jonas ;  "  if  anything  can. 
Now,  supposing  I  did  it  here,  I  should  do  it  cheap, 
I  know,  and  easy,  without  bothering  her  about  it; 
which  I'd  much  rather  not  do,  for  it's  just  in  a 
woman's  way  to  take  it  into  her  head,  if  you  talk 
to  her  about  such  things,  that  she 's  going  to  die 
directly." 

"So  it  is,"  cried  Tigg,  kissing  his  hand  in 
honour  of  the  sex.  "You're  quite  right.  Sweet, 
silly,  fluttering  little  simpletons  I" 

"  Well,"  said  Jonas,  "  on  that  account,  you 
know,  and  because  offence  has  been  given  me  in 
other  quarters,  I  wouldn't  mind  patronising  this 
Company.  But  I  want  to  know  what  sort  of 
security  there  is  for  the  Company's  going  on. 
That 's  the—" 

"Not  the  truth  ?"  cried  Tigg,  holding  up  his 
jewelled  hand.  "  Don't  use  that  Sunday  School 
expression,  please !" 

"The  long  and  the  short  of  it,"  said  Jonas. 
"The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  what's  the 
security  ?" 

"  The  paid-up  capital,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Tigg, 
referring  to  some  papers  on  the  table,  "  is,  at  this 
present  moment — " 

"  O !  I  understand  all  about  paid-up  capitals, 
you  know,"  said  Jonas. 

"  You  do  ?"  cried  Tigg,  stopping  short. 
"  I  should  hope  so." 

He  turned  the  papers  down  again,  and  moving 
nearer  to  him,  said  in  his  ear : 

"  I  know  you  do.  I  know  you  do.  Look  at 
me!" 

It  was  not  much  in  Jonas's  way  to  look  straight 
at  anybody  ;  but  thus  requested,  he  made  shift  to 
take  a  tolerable  survey  of  the  chairman's  features. 
The  chairman  fell  back  a  little,  to  give  him  the 
better  opportunity. 

"  You  know  me  ?"  he  inquired,  elevating  his 
eyebrows.  "  You  recollect  ?  You  've  seen  me 
before  ?" 

"  Why,  I  thought  I  remembered  your  face 
when  I  first  came  in,"  said  Jonas,  gazing  at  it ; 
"  but  I  couldn't  call  to  mind  where  I  had  seen  it. 
No.  I  don't  remember,  even  now.  Was  it  in 
the  street  ?" 

"  Was  it  in  Pecksniff's  parlour?"  said  Tigg. 
"  In  Pecksniff's  parlour  I"  echoed  Jonas,  fetch. 
ing  a  long  breath.     "  You  don't  mean  when — " 

"  Yes,"  cried  Tigg,  "  when  there  was  a  very 
cliarming  and  delightful  little  family  party,  at 
which  yourself  and  your  respected  father  as- 
sisted." 

"  Well,  never  mind  him,"  said  Jonas.  "  He  's 
dead,  and  there 's  no  help  for  it." 

"  Dead,  is  he  1"  cried  Tigg.  "  Venerable  old 
gentleman,  is  he  dead  ;     You  're  very  like  him  " 


Jonas  received  this  compliment  with  anything 
but  a  good  grace:  perhaps  because  of  his  own 
private  sentiments  in  reference  to  tlie  personal 
appearance  of  his  deceased  parent;  perhaps 
because  he  was  not  best  pleased  to  find  that  Mon 
tague  and  Tigg  were  one.  That  gentleman  per 
ceived  it,  and  tapping  hirn  familiarly  on  tlie 
sleeve,  beckoned  him  to  the  window.  From  tliis 
moment,  Mr.  Montague's  jocularity  and  flow  of 
spirits  were  remarkable. 

"  Do  you  find  me  at  all  changed  since  thav 
time  ?"  he  asked.     "  Speak  plainly." 

Jonas  looked  hard  at  his  waistcoat  and  jewels, 
and  said,  "  Rather,  ecod  !" 

"  Was  I  at  all  seedy  in  those  days  ?"  asked 
Montague, 
"  Precious  seedy,"  said  Jonas. 
Mr.  Montague  pointed   down  into  the   street, 
where  Bailey  and  the  cab  were  in  attendance. 

"  Neat :  perhaps  dashing.    Do  you  know  whose 
it  is?" 
"  No." 

"  Mine,  Do  you  like  this  room  ?" 
"  It  must  have  cost  a  lot  of  money,"  said  Jonas. 
"You're  right.  Mine  too.  Wliy  don't  you" 
— he  whispered  this,  and  nudged  him  in  the  side 
with  his  elbow — "  why  don't  you  take  premiums, 
instead  of  paying  'em.  That 's  what  a  man  like 
you  should  do.     Join  us!" 

Jonas  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 
"  Is  that  a   crowded  street  ?"  asked  Montague, 
calling  his  attention  to  the  multitude  without. 

"  Very,"  said  Jonas,  only  glancing  at  it,  and 
immediately  afterwards  looking  at  him  again. 

"  There  are  printed  calculations,"  said  his  com- 
panion,  "which  will  tell  you  pretty  nearly  how 
many  people  will  pass  up  and  down  that  thorough- 
fare in  the  course  of  a  day.  /  can  tell  you  how 
many  of  'em  will  come  in  here,  merely  because 
they  find  this  office  here ;  knowing  no  more  abou 
it  than  they  do  of  the  Pyramids.  Ha,  ha  !  Joiu 
us.  You  shall  come  in  cheap." 
Jonas  looked  at  him  harder  and  harder. 
"  I  can  tell  you,"  said  Tigg  in  his  ear,  "  how 
many  of 'em  will  buy  annuities,  effect  insurances, 
bring  us  their  money  in  a  hundred  shapes  anc 
ways,  force  it  upon  us,  trust  us  as  if  we  were  th( 
Mint;  yet  know  no  more  about  us  than  you  di 
of  that  crossing-sweeper,  at  the  corner.  Not  s( 
much.     Ha,  ha !" 

Jonas  gradually  broke  into  a  smile. 
"  Yah  !"  said  Montague,  giving  him  a  pleasant 
thrust  in  the  breast ;  "  you  're  too  deep  for  us,  yoi. 
dog,  or  I  wouldn't  have  told  you.     Dine  with  me 
to-morrow,  in  Pall  Mall !" 
"  I  will,"  said  Jonas. 

"  Done  !"  cried  Montague.    "  Wait  a  bit.    Take 
these  papers  with  you,  and  look  'em  over.     See, 
he  said,  snatching   some   printed  forms  from  th» 
table.     "  B   is   a   little  tradesman,  clerk,  parson, 
artist,  author;  any  common  thing  you  like." 

"  Yes,"  said  Jonas,  looking  greedily  over  his 
shoulder.    "  Well !" 

"  B  wants  a  loan.  Say  fifty  or  a  hundred 
pound;  perhaps  more;  no  matter.  B  proposos 
self  and  two  securities.  B  is  accepted.  T-au 
securities  give  a  bend.  B  insures  his  --nn  life  iiyj 
double  the  amor.nt.  a-d  hrings  two  frit./i'! ;'  li''?» 
also  —  just  to  patronise  the  office.  Ha,  ha,  U«,' 
Is  that  a  good  notion?"  * 


nn 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"Ecod,  that's  a  capital  notion  !"  cried  Jonas. 
"  But  does  lie  really  do  it  ?" 

"  Do  it !"  repeated  the  chairman,  "  B  's  hard- 
up,  my  good  fellow,  and  will  do  anything.  Don't 
you  see  ?     It 's  my  idea." 

"  It  does  you  honour.  I  'm  blest  if  it  don't," 
said  Jonas. 

"  I  think  it  does,"  replied  the  chairman,  "  and 
I  'in  proud  to  hear  you  say  so.  B  pays  the  high- 
est lav'ful  interest — " 

"  That  an't  much,"  interrupted  Jonas. 

"Right!  quite  right!"  retorted  Tigg.  "And 
hard  it  is  upon  the  part  of  the  law  that  it  should 
be  so  confoundedly  down  upon  us  unfortunate 
victims;  when  it  takes  such  amazing  good  inter- 
est for  itself  from  all  its  clients.  But  charity 
begins  at  home,  and  justice  begins  next  door. 
Well !  The  law  being  hard  upon  us,  we  're  not 
exactly  soft  upon  B ;  for  besides  charging  B  the 
regular  interest,  we  get  B's  premium,  and  B's 
friends'  premiums,  and  we  cliarge  B  for  the  bond, 
and,  whetlier  we  accept  iiim  or  not,  we  ciiarge  B 
for  "inquiries"  (we  keep  a  man,  at  a  pound  a 
week,  to  make  'em),  and  we  charge  B  a  trifle  for 
the  secretary  ;  and,  in  shoit,  my  good  fellow,  we 
stick  it  into  B  up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  make 
a  devilish  comfortable  little  property  out  of  him. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  I  I  drive  B,  in  point  of  fact,"  said 
Tigg,  pointing  to  the  cabriolet,  "  and  a  thorough- 
bred horse  he  is.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

Jonas  enjoyed  this  joke  very  much,  indeed.  It 
was  quite  in  his  peculiar  vein  of  humour. 

"  Then,"  said  Tigg  Montague,  "  we  grant  an- 
nuities on  the  very  lowest  and  most  advantageous 
terms,  known  in  the  money  market;  and  the  old 
ladies  and  gentlemen  down  in  tiie  country,  buy 
'em.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  And  we  pay  'em  too — perhaps. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  I" 

"  But  there  's  responsibility  in  that,"  said  Jonas, 
looking  doubtful. 

"  I  take  it  all  myself,"  said  Tigg  Montague. 
"  Here  I  am,  responsible  for  everything.  The 
only  responsible  person  in  the  establishment ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha  I  Then  there  are  the  Life  Insurances 
without  loans :  the  common  policies.  Very  pro- 
fitable, very  comfortable.  Money  down,  you 
know  ;  repeated  every  year  ,  capital  fun  !" 

"  But  wiien  they  begin  to  lall  in,"  observed 
Jonas.  "It's  all  very  well,  while  the  office  is 
young,  but  when  the  policies  begin  to  die — that's 
what  I  am  thinking  of." 

"  At  the  first  start,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Mon- 
tague, "to  show  you  how  correct  your  judgment 
is,  we  had  a  couple  of  unlucky  deaths  that  brought 
us  down  to  a  grand  piano." 

"  Brought  you  down  where?"  cried  Jonas. 

"  I  give  you  my  sacred  word  of  honour,"  said 
Tigg  Montague,  "  that  I  raised  money  on  every 
other  individual  piece  of  property,  and  was  letl 
alone  in  the  world  with  a  grand  piano.  And  it 
was  an  upright-grand  too,  so  that  I  couldn't  even 
sit  upon  it.  But  my  dear  fellow  we  got  over  it. 
We  granted  a  great  many  new  policies  that  week 
(liberal  allowance  to  solicitors,  by  the  bye),  and 
got  over  it  in  no  time.  Whenever  they  should 
chance  to  fall  in  heavily,  as  you  very  justly  ob- 
■erve  they  may,  one  of  these  days  ;  then  — "  lie 
finished  the  sentence  in  so  low  a  whisper,  that 
Bnly  one  disconnected  word  was  audible,  and  that 
nnwrfectly.     But  it  sounded  like  "  Bolt." 


"  Why,  yo'i 're  ?,?  |-.ri!(i  as  brass  I"  fi?.'\d  J ria. 
in  the  utmost  admin. '.;on. 

"  A  man  can  well  afford  to  be  as  bold  as  brass 
my  good  fellow,  when  he  gets  gold  in  exchange  I" 
cried  the  Chairman,  with  a  laugh  that  shook  him 
from  head  to  loot.  "You'll  dine  with  me  to- 
morrow ?" 

"  At  what  time  V  asked  Jonas. 

"Seven.  Here's  my  card.  Take  the  docu- 
ments.    I  see  you'll  join  us  I" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  Jonas. 
"  There  's  a  good  deal  to  be  looked  into  first." 

"  You  shall  look,"  said  Montngue,  slapping  him 
on  the  back,  "into  anything  and  everything  you 
please.  But  you'll  join  us,  I  am  convinced 
You  were  made  fir  it.     Bullamy  I" 

Obedient  to  the  summons  and  the  little  bell, 
the  waistcoat  appeared.  Being  charged  to  show 
Jonas  out,  it  went  before;  and  the  voice  within 
it  cried,  as  usual,  "  By  your  leave  there,  by  your 
leave  !  Gentleman  from  the  board-room,  by  your 
leave  !" 

Mr.  Montague  being  left  alone,  pondered  fbr 
some  moments,  and  then  said,  raising  his  voice, 

"  Is  Nadgett  ill  the  office  there  ?" 

"  Here  he  is,  sir."  And  he  promptly  entered  : 
shutting  the  board-room  door  after  him,  as  care- 
fully as  if  he  w<.:re  about  to  plot  a  murder. 

He  was  the  man  at  a  pound  a  week  who  made 
the  inquiries,  [t  was  no  viitue  or  merit  in  Nad- 
gett that  he  transacted  all  his  Anglo-Bengalee 
business  secretly  and  in  the  closest  confidence ; 
for  he  was  born  to  be  a  secret.  He  was  a  short, 
dried-up,  withered,  old  man,  who  seemed  to  have 
secreted  his  very  blood  ;  for  nobody  would  have 
given  him  credit  for  the  possession  of  six  ounc<T> 
of  it  in  his  whole  body.  How  he  lived  was  n 
secret;  where  he  lived  was  a  secret;  and  even 
what  he  was,  was  a  secret.  In  his  musty  old 
pocket-book  he  carried  contradictory  cards,  in 
some  of  which  he  called  himself  a  coal-merchant, 
in  others  a  wine-merchant,  in  others  a  commis- 
sion-agent, in  others  a  collector,  in  others  an  ac- 
countant: as  if  he  really  didn't  know  the  secret 
himself  He  was  always  keeping  appointments 
in  the  city,  and  the  other  man  never  seemed  to 
come.  He  would  sit  on  'Change  for  hours,  look, 
ing  at  everybody  who  walked  in  and  out,  and 
would  do  the  like  at  Garraway's,  and  in  other 
business  coftee-rooms,  in  some  of  which  he  would 
be  occasionally  seen  drying  a  very  damp  pockel- 
handkerchirf  before  the  fire,  and  still  looking 
over  his  sh  julder  for  the  man  who  never  appe  ir- 
ed.  He  was  mildewed,  threadbare,  shabby  ;  al- 
ways had  flue  upon  his  legs  and  back  ;  and  k(  |)t 
his  linen  so  secret  by  buttoning  up  and  wrapping 
over,  that  he  might  have  had  none — perhaps  he 
hadn't.  He  carried  one  stained  beaver  glc  ve, 
which  he  dangled  before  him  by  the  fbrcfingei  as 
he  walked  or  sat ;  but  even  its  fellow  was  a  secret. 
Some  people  said  he  had  been  ,i  bankrupt,  others 
that  he  had  gone  an  infint  into  an  ancient  Chaiv 
eery  suit  which  was  still  depending,  but  it  was 
all  a  8ecn:t.  He  curried  bits  of  sealing-wax  and 
a  hieroglyphical  old  copper  seal  in  his  pocket,  and 
often  secretly  indited  letters  in  corner  boxes  of 
the  trysting-places  before  mentioned;  but  they 
never  appeared  to  go  to  anybody,  for  he  would 
put  them  into  a  secret  place  in  his  coat,  and 
deliver  them  to  himself  weeks  aflerwnrda,  ve'f 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


177 


uch  fo  his  own  s'lrprise,  quile  yellow.  He  was 
tli;<t  scirt  of' man  that  it  he  had  Hi«><l  n'nrih  a  mi!- 
li'iii  of  monev,  or  had  died  worth  twopence  haH- 
fXTiMV,  everyhody  would  have  be^n  perfectly 
Bfitisfivcl,  and  would  have  said  it  was  just  as  tiioy 
PXi'eclf-d.  And  yet  he  helonged  'o  a  class;  a  race 
ptculi  ir  to  the  city  ;  who  are  secrets  as  profound 
til  line  another,  as  they  are  to  the  rest  of  man- 
kind. 

"  Mr.  Nadjrett,"  said  Montague,  copving  Jonas 
riiuzzk' wit's  address  upon  a  piece  of  paper,  from 
tlie  Ciird  which  was  still  lying  on  the  table,  "any 
information  about  this  name  I  shall  be  glad  to 
hive  myself  Don't  you  mind  what  it  is.  Any 
you  can  scrape  toijether,  bring  me.  Bring  it  to 
tne,  Mr.  Nadg.'tt." 

Nadgett  put  on  his  spectacles,  and  read  the 
name  attentively  ;  llien  looked  at  the  chairman 
over  his  glasses,  and  bowed  ;  then  took  them  oti", 


and  put  them  in  their  case;  and  thtn  put  the  cn'i* 
in  his  pcrkct.  When  he  had  dune  so,  h«  looked 
— itbout  iiis  spectacles,  at  the  paper  as  it  lay  ti--. 
for?  him,  and  at  the  same  time  produced  his 
(>ocketL-ook  tVom  somewhere  about  the  middle  of 
his  spine.  Large  as  it  was,  it  was  very  full  ot 
documents;  but  ho  found  a  |)l.H-e  for  this  on", 
and,  having  clasped  it  carefully,  passed  it  by  h 
kind  of  solemn  legerdemain  into  the  same  region 
as  before. 

He  withdrew  with  another  bow,  and  without  a 
word  ;  opening  the  door  no  wider  than  was  sutti- 
cient  for  his  passage  out,  and  shutting  it  as  care- 
fully as  before.  The  chairman  of  the  bo,ird 
employed  the  rest  of  the  morning  in  affixino-  his 
sign-manual  of  gracious  acceptance  to  Viirioua 
new  proposals  of  annuity-purchase  and  insiiranee.. 
The  Company  was  looking-up,  for  they  flowed  in 
gaily. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


MR.  MONTAGUE  AT  HOME.    AND  MR.  JONAS  CHUZZLEWIT  AT  HLME. 


There  were  many  powerful  reasons  for  Jonas 
Chuzzlewit  being  strong!}'  prepossessed  in  favour 
of  the  scheme  which  its  great  originator  had  so 
b<jldly  laid  open  to  him;  but  three  among  them 
stood  jjromiiiently  forward.  Firstly,  there  was 
money  to  be  made  by  it.  Secondly,  the  money 
had  the  peculiar  charm  of  beinsf  s^igaciously  ob- 
tained  at  other  people's  cost.  Thirdly,  it  involved 
much  outward  show  of  homage  and  distinction  ; 
a  board  being  an  awful  institution  in  its  own 
spliere,  and  a  director  a  mighty  man.  "  To  make 
a  swinijeing  profit,  have  a  lot  of  chaps  to  order 
about,  and  get  into  regular  good  society  by  one 
and  the  same  niGans,  and  them  so  easy  to  one's 
hand,  ain't  sueli  a  bad  look-out,"  thought  Jonas. 
The  latter  considerations  were  only  second  to  his 
etvarice;  for,  conscious  that  there  was  nothing  in 
his  person,  conduct,  character  or  accomplishments 
to  command  respect,  he  was  greedy  of  power,  and 
was,  in  his  heart,  as  much  a  tyrant  as  any  lau- 
relled conqueror  nn  record. 

But  lie  determined  to  proceed  with  cunning  and 
Caution,  and  to  bf-  very  keen  in  his  observation  of 
the  gentility  of  Mr.  Montague's  private  establi-h- 
mtnt.  For  it  no  more  occurred  fo  this  shallow 
knave  that  Montajrue  wanted  him  to  be  so,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  invited  him  while  his  decision  was 
yet  in  abeyance,  than  the  possibility  of  thil  ge- 
"*ius  being  aide  to  overreach  him  in  any  way, 
icrced  through  his  self  conceit  by  the  inlet  of  a 
j.eedle's  point.  He  had  said  in  the  outset  that 
Jonas  was  too  sharp  for  him  :  and  Jonas,  who 
would  have  been  shf-rp  enough  to  believe  him  in 
nothing  else,  though  he  had  solemnly  sworn  it, 
believed  him  in  that  instantly. 

It  was  with  a  filtering  hand,  and  yet  with  an 
imbecile  attempt  at  a  swagger,  that  he  knocked 
at  his  new  friend's  floor  in  Pall  Mali  when  tlie 
appointed  hour  arrived,  Mr.  Bailey  quicklv  an- 
swered to  tlie  summ<ins.  He  was  not  proud,  and 
Was  kindly  disponed  to  take  notice  of  Jonas;  b'ji 
Jonas  had  forgotten  him. 

"  Mr.  Montague  at  home  7" 

**  I  should  hope  he  wos  at  borne,  and  wauinz 
23 


dinner,  too,"  said  Bailey,  with  the  ease  of  an  c't 
acquaintance.  "  Will  you  take  your  hat  up  al  jng 
with  you,  or  leave  it  here  ?" 

Mr.  Jonas  preferred  leaving  it  there. 

"  The  hold  name,  I  suppose  ?"  said  B  liley,  with 
a  grin. 

Mr.  Jonas  stared  at  him  in  mute  indignation, 

"  What,  don't  you  remember  h'jld  Mothef 
Todgers's  ?"  said  Mr.  Bailey,  with  his  favouri'.d 
action  of  the  knees  and  boots.  "  Don't  you  re- 
member my  taking  your  name  up  to  the  young 
ladies  when  you  come  a  courting  there  ?  A  re-j'- 
lar  scaly  old  shop,  warn't  it?  Times  is  changed, 
ain't  they  ?     I  say,  how  you've  growed  I" 

Without  pausing  for  any  acknowledgment  jf 
this  compliment,  he  ushered  the  visitor  up  .s'.air-j, 
and,  having  announced  him,  retired  with  a  private 
wink. 

The  lower  story  of  the  house  was  occupied  by 
a  wealthy  tradesman;  but  Mr.  Montague  had  all 
the  upper  frortion,  and  splendid  lodging  it  was. 
The  room  in  which  he  received  Jonas  was  a  spa- 
cious and  elegant  apartment,  furnished  with  ex- 
treme magnificence;  decorated  with  pieturBs, 
copies  from  the  antique  in  alabaster  and  marble, 
china  vases,  lofty  mirrors,  crimson  hangings  of 
the  richest  silk,  gilded  carvings,  lu.xurious  couches, 
glistening  cabinets  inlaid  with  precious  woods, 
costly  toys  of  every  sort  in  negligent  abund^inc*!. 
The  only  guests  beside  Jonas  were  the  Doctor, 
the  resident  Director,  and  two  other  genilenii-n 
whom  Montague  presented  in  due  form 

"  My  dear  friend,  lam  dt  lighted  to  ste  you 
Jobling  you  know,  I  believe  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  said  the  Doctor  pleasantly,  as  b« 
stepped  out  of  the  circle  to  shake  hands.  '•  1 
trust  I  have  that  honour.  I  hope  so.  My  d.-ai 
sir,  I  see  you  well.     Quite  well  ?      That 's  well  I" 

"  Mr.  Wolf,"  said  .Montague,  as  soon  as  t/w 
Doctor  would  allow  him  to  introduce  the  two 
others,  "Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  Mr.  Pip,  Mr.  Chuzzle 
wit," 

Both  gentlemen  were  exceedingly  happy  'O 
nave  the  honour  of  nuking  Mr.  '^"bmlewit's  ««r 


irs 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


qunintaiice.      The    Doctor    drew    Jonas   a    little 
apart,  and  whispered  behind  his  hand:  ' 

"  Mtn  (if  the  world,  my  dear  sir — men  of  the 
world.  Html  Mr.  Wolf— literary  character — 
you  needn't  mention  it — remarkably  clever  weekly 
paper — oh,  remarkably  clever  I  Mr.  Pip — thea- 
trical man — capital  man  to  know — oh,  capital 
man  1" 

"  Well !"  said  Wolf,  folding'  his  arms,  and  re- 
suming a  conversation  which  the  arrival  of  Jonas 
had   .nterrupted.     "And  what  did  Lord  Nobley  ! 
Bay  to  that  ?"  ' 

"  W'hy,"  returned  Pip,  with  an  oath,  "  he  didn't 
know  wjiat  to  say.  Damme,  sir,  if  he  wasn't  as 
mute  as  a  poker.  But  you  know  what  a  good 
fellow  Nobley  is  !" 

"  The  best  fellow  in  the  world !"  cried  Wolf. 
"  It  was  only  last  week  that  Nobley  said  to  me, 
By  Gad,  Wolf,  I  've  got  a  Jiving  to  bestow,  and 
if  you  had  but  been  bronght  up  at  the  University, 
strike  me  blind  if  I  wouldn't  have  made  a  parson 
of  you !' " 

"Just  like  him,"  said  Pip,  with  another  oath. 
*•  And  he  'd  have  done  it !" 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Woif.  "  But  you 
»ere  going  to  tell  us" — 

"  Oh,  yes  !"  cried  Pip.  "  To  be  sure.  So  I 
was.  At  *iist  he  was  dumb — sewn  «p,  dead,  sir 
— but  afi'  (  ■■  minute  he  said  to  the  Duke^  '  Here's 
Pip.  Ask  Pip.  Pip's  our  mtttual  friend.  Ask 
Pip.  He  knows.'  'Damme?*  said  the  Duke,  *I 
appeal  to  Pip,  then.  Come  Pip  Bandy  or  not 
bandy?  Speak  out!'  'Bandy,  your  Grace,  hy 
the  Lord  Harry  !'  said  L  '  Ha,  ha '.'  laughed  the 
Duke.  '  To  be  sure  she  is.  Bravo,  Pip.  Well 
paid,  Pip,  I  wish  I  may  die  if  you're  not  a 
trump,  Pip,  Pop  me  down  among  your  fasiiion- 
able  visitors  whenever  I  'm  in  town,  Pip.'  And 
BO  I  do,  to  this  day." 

The  conclusion  of  this  story  gave  immense 
eatisfaction,  which  was  in  no  degree  lessened  by 
the  announcement  of  dinner.  Jonas  repaired  to 
the  dining-room,  along  with  his  distinguished 
host,  and  took  his  seat  at  the  board  between  that 
individual  and  his  friend  the  Doctor.  The  rest 
fell  into  their  places  like  men  who  were  well  ac- 
customed  to  the  house ;  and  dinner  was  done  full 
justice  to,  by  all  parties. 

It  was  as  good  a  one  as  money  (or  credit,  no 
matter  which,")  could  produce.  The  dishes,  wines, 
and  fruits,  were  of  the  choicest  kind.  Everything 
was  elegantly  served.  The  plate  was  gorgeous. 
Mr.  Jonas  was  in  the  midst  of  a  calculation  of  the 
value  of  this  item  alone,  when  his  host  disturbed  him. 

'•  A  ghiBS  of  wine  ?" 

"Oh!"  said  Jonas,  who  had  had  several  glasses 
already.  "As  much  of  that,  as  you  like!  It's 
too  good  to  refuse." 

"Well  said,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit !"  pried  Wolf. 

"  Tom  Gag,  upon  my  soul !"  said  Pip. 

"  Positively,  you  know,  that 's  —  ha,  ha,  ha  !" 
irhserved  the  Doctor,  laying  down  his  knife  and 
Jork  for  one  instant,  and  then  going  to  work  again, 
pell-mell — "  that  's  epigrammatic  ;  nt'ite  !" 

"You're  tolerably  comfortable,  I  hope 7"  said 
Tigg,  apart  to  Jonas. 

"Oh!  You  needn't  trouble  y>i?''. head  about 
me,"  he  replied.     "  Famous  !" 

"  I  thought  it  best  not  to  have  a  party,"'  said 
Tyjjf.     "  You  feel  Ihul  ?" 


"  Why,  what  do  you  call  this  ?"  retorted^  Jona» 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  do  this  every  day, 
do  you  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Montague,  shrugging 
his  shoulders,  "every  day  of  my  life,  wlien  I  dine 
at  home.  'I"his  is  my  common  style,  ll  was  of 
no  use  having  anything  uncommon  for  voa 
You'd  have  seen  through  it.  'You'll  have  a 
party  ?'  said  Crimple.  '  No,  I  won't,'  I  saiil  :  'he 
shall  take  us  in  the  rough  I'  " 

"  And  pretty  smooth  too,  ecod  !"  said  Jr.-ias, 
glancing  round  the  table.  "This  don't  co.-t  a 
trifle." 

"  Why,  to  be  candid  with  you,  it  does  not,"  re. 
turned  the  other.  "  But  1  like  this  sort  of  thing. 
It 's  the  way  I  spend  my  money." 

Jonas  thrust  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and 
said  "  Was  it  ?" 

"  When  you  join  us,  you  won't  get  rid  of  vour 
share  of  the  profits  in  the  same  way  ?"  said  Tiflg- 

"Quite  ditferent,"  retorted  Jonas. 

"Well,  and  you're  right,"  said  Tigpf,  with 
friendly  candour.  "  You  needn't.  It 's  not  ne- 
cessary. One  of  a  company  must  do  it  to  hold 
the  connexion  together  ;  but,  as  I  take  a  ple.is:ire 
in  it,  that's  my  departrnint.  You  don't  mind 
dining  expensively  at  another  man's  expense,  I 
hope  ?" 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Jonas. 

"  Then  I  hope  you  '11  often  dine  with  me  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  Jonas,  "I  don't  mind.  On  the 
contrary." 

"  And  I  'II  never  attempt  to  talk  business  to 
ynu  over  wine,  I  take  my  oatli,"  said  Tigg.  "  Oh 
deep,  deep,  deep  of  you  this  morning  I  I  must 
tell  'em  that.  They  're  the  very  men  to  enjoy  it. 
Pip,  my  good  fellow,  I've  a  splendid  little  trait  to 
tell  you  of  my  friend  Chuzzlewit,  who  is  t!ie 
deepest  dog  I  know  :  I  give  you  my  sacred  word 
of  honour  he  is  the  deepest  dog  1  know,  Pip  !" 

Pip  swore  a  frightful  oath  that  he  was  sure  of 
it  already  ;  and  the  anecdote,  being  told,  was  re- 
ceived  with  loud  applause,  as  an  incontcstible 
proof  of  Mr.  Jonas's  greatness.  Pip,  in  a  natural 
spirit  of  emulation,  then  related  some  instances  of 
his  own  depth;  and  Wolf,  not  to  be  lelt  behind- 
hand, recited  the  leading  points  of  one  or  two 
vrstly  hurnorons  articles  he  was  then  pn-pjring. 
These  lucubrations,  being  of  what  he  called  •'  a 
warm  compiexion,"  W(  re  highly  approved  ;  and 
all  the  company  agreed  that  they  were  full  of 
point. 

"  Men  of  tlie  world,  my  dear  sir,"  Jobling  whis. 
pered  to  Jonas ;  "  thorough  rnen  of  the  world  '. 
To  a  pro'ession.il  person  like  niyselti  it's  quite 
refreshing  to  come  into  this  kind  of  society.  It  "s. 
not  only  agreeable  —  and  nothing  can  be  more 
agreeable  —  hut  it's  philosophically  improving. 
It's  character,  my  dear  sir;  character  !" 

It  is  so  [>leasant  to  find  real  merit  appreciated, 
'vhatever  its  particular  walk  in  life  in.iy  be,  tii.it 
the  general  harmony  of  the  company  was  doubt- 
less much  promoted  by  their  knowing  that  the  tw>) 
men  of  the  world  were  held  in  great  estecn»  by 
tlie  upper  classes  of  society,  and  by  the  gallant 
defenders  of  their  country  in  the  army  and  navy, 
but  particularly  the  former.  The  least  of  their 
stories  had  a  colonel  in  it  ;  lords  were  ati  plentiful 
asoa'hs;  and  even  the  Blood  Royal  ran  in  tho 
muddy  channel  of  their  personal  recoUecliuns- 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


179 


"  Mr.  CliuzzUnvit  didn't  know  liiiii,  T  'in  afraid," 
paid  W'ulf,  ia  reference  to  a  eerlain  persoiiatre  of 
illustrious  descent,  who  had  previously  figured  in 
a  reminiscence. 

"No,"  said  Tifrg^;  "but  we  must  bring  him 
into  contact  with  tiiis  sort  of  fellows." 

"  [le  was  very  fond  of  literature,"  observed 
Wolf. 

"  Was  he  ?"  said  T\gg. 

"  Oil,  yes ;  he  took  my  paper  regularly  for 
niany  years.  Do  you  know  he  said  some  good 
thinjjs  now  and  then  ?  He  asked  a  certain  Vis- 
count, who  's  a  friend  of  mine — Pip  knows  him 
— *  What's  the  editor's  name,  what's  the  editor's 
name  ?'  '  Wolf.'  '  Wolf,  eh  ?  Sharp  biter.  Wolf. 
We  must  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door,  as  the  pro- 
verb s;iys.'  It  was  very  well.  And  being  com- 
plimentary, I  printed  it." 

"  Rut  the  Viscount 's  the  boy  '."  cried  Pip,  who 
invented  a  new  oath  for  the  introduction  of  every- 
thing he  said.  "The  Viscount's  the  boy!  He 
came  into  our  place  one  night  to  take  Her  home; 
rather  slued,  but  not  much  ;  and  said,  '  Where's 
Pip?  I  want  to  see  Pip.  Produce  Pip!' — 'What's 
the  row,  my  lord  ?' — '  Shakspeare 's  an  infernal 
humbug,  Pip!  What's  the  good  of  Shakspeare, 
Pip  ?  I  never  read  him.  What  the  devil  is  it  all 
about,  Pip?  There's  a  lot  of  feet  in  Shakspeare's 
verse,  but  there  an't  any  legs  worth  mentioning 
in  Sliakspeare's  plays,  are  there,  Pip?  Juliet, 
Dcsdemona,  Lady  Macbeth,  and  all  the  rest  of 
'em,  whatever  their  names  are,  might  as  well  have 
no  legs  at  all,  for  anything  the  audience  know 
about  it,  Pip.  Why,  in  that  respect  they  're  all 
Miss  BilEns  to  tlie  audience,  Pip.  I  '11  tell  you 
what  it  is.  What  the  people  call  dramatic  poetry 
is  a  collection  of  sermons.  Do  I  go  to  the  thea- 
tre to  be  lectured  ?  No,  Pip.  If  I  wanted  that, 
I  'd  go  to  church.  What 's  the  legitimate  object 
of  the  drama,  Pip?  Human  nature.  What  are 
legs?  Human  nature.  Then  let  us  have  plenty 
of  leg  pieces,  Pip,  and  I'll  stand  by  you,  my  buck  !' 
And  I  am  proud  to  say,"  added  Pip,  "  tliat  he  did 
stand  by  me,  handsomely." 

The  conversation  nov.'  becoming  general,  Mr. 
Jonas's  opinion  was  requested  on  this  subject;  and 
as  it  was  in  full  accordance  with  the  sentiments 
of  Mr.  Pip,  that  gentleman  was  extremely  grati- 
fied. Indeed,  both  himself  and  Wolf  had  so  much 
in  common  with  Jonas,  that  they  became  very 
amiable  ;  and  between  their  increasing  friendship 
and  tiie  fumes  of  wine,  Jonas  grew  talkative. 

It  does  not  follow  in  the  case  of  such  a  person 
that  the  more  talkative  he  becomes,  the  more 
agreeable  he  is;  on  the  contrary,  his  merits  show 
to  most  advantage,  perhaps,  in  silence.  Having 
no  means,  as  he  thought,  of  putting  himself  on 
an  equality  with  the  rest,  but  by  the  assertion  of 
that  depth  and  sharpness  on  which  he  had  been 
complimented,  Jonas  exhibited  that  faculty  to  the 
utmost;  and  was  so  deep  and  so  sharp  that  he 
lost  himself  in  Iiis  own  profundity,  and  cut  his 
fingers  with  his  own  edge-tools. 

It  was  especially  in  his  way  and  character  to 
exhibit  lis  quality  at  his  entertainer's  expense; 
and  while  he  drank  of  the  sparkling  wines,  and 
partook  of  his  monstrous  profusion,  to  ridicule  the 
extravagance  which  had  set  such  costly  fare  be- 
fore him.  Even  at  such  a  wanton  board,  and  in 
such  more  than  doubtful  company,  this  might 
baTe  proved  a  disagreeable  experiment,  but  that 


Tigg  and  Criniijle,  ?tiiHyii.g  to  understand  their 
man  ihoroutrlilv,  g'.ve  him  what  license  he  chose  : 
knowing  that  the  more  he  took,  the  hclU'.r  fur  their 
purpose.  And  thus  wliiie  the  blundering  cheat 
— gull  that  he  was,  for  all  his  cunning — thought 
himself  rolled  up  hedge-hog  fashion,  with  his 
sharpest  points  towards  them,  he  was,  in  fact,  be- 
traying -ill  his  vulnerable  parts  to  their  unwinking 
walrhfulness. 

Whether  the  two  gentlemen  who  contributed  so 
much  to  the  Doctor's  philosophical  knowledge 
(by  the  way,  the  Doctor  slipped  oft'  quietly,  after 
swallowing  his  usual  amount  of  wine)  had  had  their 
cue  distinctly  from  the  host,  or  took  it  from  what 
they  saw  and  heard,  they  acted  their  parts  very 
well.  They  solicited  the  honour  of  Jonas's  bet- 
ter acquaintance ;  trusted  that  they  would  have 
the  pleasure  of  introducing  him  into  that  elevated 
society  in  which  he  was  so  well  qualified  to  shine  ; 
and  inforfned  him,  in  the  most  friendly  manner, 
that  the  advantages  of  their  respective  establish- 
ments were  entirely  at  his  control.  In  a  word, 
they  said,  "  Be  one  of  us  !"  And  Jonas  said  he 
was  infinitely  obliged  to  them,  and  he  would  be : 
adding  within  himself,  that  so  long  as  they  "stood 
treat,"  there  was  nothing  he  would  like  better. 

After  coffee,  which  was  served  up  in  the  draw- 
ing-room, there  was  a  short  interval,  (mainly  sus- 
tained by  Pip  and  Wolf)  of  conversation;  rather 
highly  spiced  and  strongly  seasoned.  When  »t 
flagged,  Jonas  took  it  up,  and  showed  considera- 
ble  humour  in  appraising  the  furniture  ;  inquiring 
whether  such  an  article  was  paid  for  ;  what  it  had 
originally  cost;  and  the  like.  In  all  of  this,  he 
was,  as  he  considered,  desperately  hard  on  Mon- 
tague,  and  very  demonstrative  of  his  own  bril- 
liant  parts. 

Some  Champagne  Punch  gave  a  new  though 
temporary  fillip  to  the  entertainments  of  the  even- 
ing. For  after  leading  to  some  noisy  proceedings, 
which  were  not  at  all  intelligible,  it  ended  in  the 
unsteady  departure  of  the  two  gentlemen  of  the 
world,  and  the  slumber  of  Mr.  Jonas  upon  one  of 
tlie  sofas. 

As  he  could  not  be  made  to  understand  where 
he  was,  Mr.  Bailey  received  orders  to  call  a  hack- 
ney-coach, and  take  him  home  :  which  that  young 
gentleman  roused  himself  from  an  uneasy  sleep 
in  the  hall  to  do.  It  being  now  almost  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"Is  he  hooked,  do  you  think?"  whispered 
Crimple,  as  himself  and  partner  stood  in  a  distant 
part  of  the  room  observing  him  as  he  lay. 

"Ay!"  said  Tigg,  in  the  same  tone.  "With 
a  strong  iron,  perhaps.  Has  Nadgett  been  here 
to-night?" 

"  Yes.     I  went  out  to  him.     Hearing  you  had 
company,  he  went  away." 
"  Why  did  he  do  that  ?" 

"  He  said  he  would  come  back  early  in  the 
morning,  before  you  were  out  of  bed." 

"  Tell  them  to  be  sure  and  send  him  up  to  niT 
bedside.  Hnsh  !  Here 's  the  boy !  Now  Mf. 
Bailey,  take  this  gentleman  home,  and  see  him 
safely  in.  Hallo  here  !  Why  Chuzzlewit,  hailoa  !" 
They  got  him  upright  with  some  difficulty,  and 
assisted  him  down  stairs,  where  they  put  nis  hat 
upon  his  head,  and  tumbled  him  into  the  coach. 
Mr.  Bailey  having  shut  him  in,  mounted  the  box 
beside  the  coachman,  and  smoked  his  cigar  with 
an  air  of  particular  satisfaction;  the  undert«kinf 


]80 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


in  whicl)  he  was  engaged  having  a  free  and  spnrt- 
ing  character  about  it.  which  was  quite  congenial 
to  his  taste. 

Arriving  in  due  time  at  the  house  in  the  city, 
Mr.  Bailey  jumped  down,  and  expressed  the  lively 
nature  of  his  feelings,  in  a  knock:  the  like  of 
which  had  probably  not  been  heard  in  that  quar- 
ter since  the  great  fire  of  London.  Going  out 
into  the  road  to  observe  the  effect  of  this  feat,  he 
eaw  that  a  dim  light,  previously  visible  at  an  up- 
per window,  had  been  already  removed  and  was 
travelling  down  stairs.  To  obtain  a  foreknow- 
ledge of  the  bearer  of  this  taper,  Mr.  Bailey  skip- 
ped back  to  the  door  again,  and  put  his  eye  to  the 
keyhole. 

It  was  the  merry  one  herself.  But  sadly, 
strangely  altered  I  So  carewforn  and  dejected,  so 
faultering  and  full  of  fear;  so  fallen,  humbled, 
broken  ;  that  to  have  seen  her,  quiet  in  her  coffin, 
would  have  been  a  less  surprise. 

She  set  the  light  upon  a  bracket  in  the  hall, 
and  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart;  upon  her  eyes; 
upon  her  burning  head.  Then  she  came  on 
towards  the  door,  with  such  a  wild  and  hurried 
step,  that  Mr.  Bailey  lost  his  self-possession,  and 
still  had  his  eye  where  the  keyhole  had  been, 
when  she  opened  it. 

"  Aha  !"  said  Mr.  Bailey,  with  an  effort  "There 
you  are,  are  you  ?  What's  the  matter  ?  Ain't  you 
well,  though  ?" 

In  the  midst  of  her  astonishment  as  she  recog- 
nised him  in  his  altered  dress,  so  much  of  her  old 
smile  came  back  to  her  face  that  Bailey  was  glad. 
But  next  moment  he  was  sorry  again,  for  he  saw 
tears  standing  in  her  poor  dim  eyes. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  Bailey.  "  There 
ain't  nothing  the  matter.  I  've  brought  home  Mr. 
Chuzzlewit.  He  ain't  ill.  He's  only  a  little 
Bwipey  you  know."  Mr.  Bailey  reeled  in  his 
boots,  to  express  intoxication. 

*'  Have  you  come  from  Mrs.  Todgers's  ?"  asked 
Merry,  trembling. 

"  Todgers's,  bless  you  !  No !"  cried  Mr.  Bailey. 
"I  haven't  got  nothing  to  do  with  Todgers's.  I 
cut  that  connexion  long  ago.  He  's  been  a  dining 
with  my  governor  at  the  west-end.  Didn't  you 
know  he  was  a  comin'  to  see  us  ?" 

"No,"  she  s:iid,  faintly. 

"  Oh  yes  !  We  're  heavy  swells  too,  and  so  I  tell 

!rou.  Don't  you  come  out,  a  catching  cold  in  your 
lead,  /'ll  wake  him  !"  And  Mr.  Bailey  express- 
ing in  his  demeanour  a  perfect  confidence  that  he 
could  carry  him  in  with  ease,  if  necessary,  opened 
the  coach-door,  let  down  the  steps,  and  giving 
Jonas  a  shake,  cried  "We've  got  home,  my 
fiowcr  !  Tumble  up  then  !" 

He  was  so  far  recovered  as  to  be  able  to  re- 
spond to  this  appeal,  and  to  come  stumbling  out 
of  the  coach  in  a  heap,  to  the  great  hazard  of  Mr. 
Biiiky's  person.  When  he  got  upon  the  pave- 
ment, Mr.  Bailey  first  butted  at  him  in  front,  and 
then  di^xtcroualy  propped  him  up  behind;  and 
having  Mteadi('d  him  by  these  means,  he  assisted 
him  into  the  house. 

"You  go  up  first  with  the  light,"  said  Bailey 
to  Mrs.  Jonas,  "  and  we  '11  follcr.  Don't  tremble 
eo.  He  won't  hurt  yon.  Wiien  /'ve  had  a  drop 
loo  much,  I  'm  full  of  good  natur  myself." 

She  went  on  before;  and  her  husband  and 
Bailey,  by  dint  of  tumbling  over  each  other,  and 
kauckmg  themselvrs  about,  got  at  last  into  the 


sitting-room  above  stairs,  where  Jonas  staggered 
into  a  seat. 

"  There  :"  said  Mr.  Bailey.  "  He  's  all  right 
now.  You  ain't  got  nothing  to  cry  for,  bless 
ynij  I     He  's  righter  than  a  trivet  I" 

The  ill-favoured  brute,  with  dress  awry,  anil 
sodden  face,  and  runipJed  liair,  sat  blinking  and 
drooping,  and  rolling  his  idiotic  eyes  about,  until, 
becoming  conscious  by  degrees,  he  recognised  his 
wife,  and  shook  his  fist  at  her. 

"Ah  I"  cried  Mr.  Bailey,  squaring  his  arms 
with  a  sudden  emotion.  "  What,  you  're  wieious, 
are  you  ?   Would  you  though  !   You  'd  better  not  I" 

"  Pray,  go  away!"  sad  Merry.  "Bailey,  my 
good  boy,  go  home.  Jonas!"  she  said;  timidly 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  bending 
her  head  down,  over  him  ;  "Jonas  !" 

"  Look  at  her  I"  cried  Jonas,  pushing  her  off 
with  his  extended  arm.  "Look  here  I  Look  at 
her  !    Here  's  a  bargain  for  a  man  1" 

"  Dear  Jonas  I" 

"  Dear  Devil  I"  he  replied,  with  a  fierce  gesture. 
"  You  're  a  pretty  clog  to  be  tied  to  a  man  tor  life, 
you  mewling,  white-faced  cat  I  Get  out  of  my 
sight  I" 

"  I  know  you  don't  mean  it,  Jonas.  You 
wouldn't  say  it  if  you  were  sober." 

With  affected  gaiety  she  gave  Bailey  a  piece  of 
money,  and  again  implored  him  to  be  gone.  Hej 
entreaty  was  so  earnest,  that  the  boy  had  not  llie 
heart  to  stay  there.  But  he  stopped  at  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs,  and  listened. 

"  I  wouldn't  say  it  if  I  was  sober  I"  retorted 
Jonas.  "  You  know  better.  Have  I  never  said 
it  when  I  was  sober  ?" 

"  Often,  indeed  I"  she  answered  through  her 
tears. 

"  Hark  ye !"  cried  Jonas,  stamping  his  foot 
upon  the  ground.  "  You  made  me  bear  your 
pretty  humours  once,  and  ecod  I  'II  make  you 
bear  mine  now.  I  always  promised  myself  I 
vi'r)uld.  I  married  you  that  I  might.  I  'II  know 
who's  master,  and  who's  slave!" 

"  Heaven  knows  I  am  obedient !"  said  the  sob. 
bing  girl.  "  Much  more  so  than  I  ever  thought 
to  be !" 

Jonas  laughed  in  his  drunken  exultation 
"What!  you're  finding  it  oiit,  are  you!  Pa 
tience,  and  you  will  in  time  !  Griffins  have  claws, 
my  girl.  There's  not  a  pretty  slight  you  ever 
put  upon  me,  nor  a  pretty  trick  you  ever  played 
me,  nor  a  pretty  in.solencc  you  ever  showed  me, 
that  I  won't  pay  back  a  hundred-fold.  Wliatelr-e 
did  I  marry  you  I'or.  You,  too  '"  lie  said,  with 
coar.^c  contem[)t. 

It  might  have  sollened  him — indeed  it  might — 
to  hear  her  turn  a  little  friigment  of  a  song  ho 
used  to  say  he  liked  ;  trying,  with  a  heart  so  liiil, 
to  win  him  back. 

"Oho!"  he  said,  "you  're  deaf,  are  vou  '  You 
don't  hear  me,  eh  ?  So  much  the  better  tor  you, 
I  hate  you.  I  hate  myself,  for  having  been  tool 
enough  to  strap  a  pack  upon  my  back  l()r  the 
pleasure  of  treading  on  it  whenever  I  ch(,o.-c. 
Why,  things  have  opened  to  me,  now,  so  that  I 
might  marry  almost  where  I  liked.  But  I 
wouldn't  ;  I  'd  keep  single.  I  ought  to  be  sini;le, 
among  the  friends  /know.  Instead  of  that,  here 
I  am,  tied  like  a  log  to  you.  Pah  !  Why  <lo  yf)U 
show  your  pale  face  when  I  come  home  ?  Am  ' 
never  to  forget  you  7" 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEVVIT. 


181 


"  ITnw  late  it  is  !"  she  said  cheerfully:  opening 
ihe  shutter,  after  an  interval  of  silence.  "  Broad 
d.iv,  Jonus  i" 

"  Hroad  drjy  or  black  night,  what  do  /  care  I" 
was  itie  kind  rejoinder. 

"  Tiie  iiigiit  passed  quickly,  too.  I  don't  mind 
sitting  up,  at  all." 

"Sit  up  for  rne  again,  if  you  dare  1"  growled 
Jonas. 

"  I  was  reading,"  she  proceeded,  "  all  night 
long.  I  began  when  you  went  out,  and  read  till 
you  came  liome  again.  The  strangest  story, 
Joiius  I  And  true,  tlif;  book  says.  I  '11  tell  j'ou  lo- 
nu)rrinv." 

"  True,  was  it  ?"  said  Jonas,  doggedly. 

"  So  the  book  says." 

"  Was  there  anything  in  it,  about  a  man's  being 
determined  to  conquer  his  wife,  break  her  spirit, 
bend  her  temper,  crush  all  her  humours  like  so 
many  nutsliells — kill  her,  for  aught  I  know?" 
said  Jonas. 

"  No.     Not  a  word,"  she  answered  quickly. 

"  Ah  I"  he  returned.     "  That  '11  be  a  true  story 


though,  before  long ;  for  all  the  book  says  nothing 
about  it.  It 's  a  lying  book,  I  see.  A  fit  book  for 
a  l>ing  reader.    But  you  're  deaf     I  forgot  that." 

There  was  another  interval  of  silence;  ami  the 
boy  was  stealing  away,  when  he  heard  lier  fool- 
step  on  the  floor,  and  stopped.  She  went  up  to 
him,  as  it  seemed,  and  spoke  lovingly  :  saying 
tiiat  she  would  defer  to  him  in  everything,  and 
would  consult  his  wishes  and  obey  them,  and  they 
might  be  very  happy  if  he  would  be  gentle  with 
her.     He  answered  with  an  imprecation,  and — 

Not  with  a  blow  ?  Yes.  Stern  truth  against 
the  base-souled  villain  :  with  a  blow. 

No  angry  cries ;  no  loud  reproaches.  Even  her 
weeping  and  her  sobs  were  stifled  by  her  clinging 
round  him.  She  only  said,  re[ieating  it  in  agony 
of  heart,  Flow  could  he,  could  he,  could  he — and 
lost  utterance  in  tears. 

Oh  woman,  God  beloved  in  old  Jerusalem  ' 
The  best  among  us  need  deal  lightly  with  thy 
faults,  if  only  for  the  punishment  thy  nature  will 
endure,  in  bearing  heavy  evidence  against  us,  on 
the  Day  of  Judgment  I 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


IN  WHICH  SOME  PEOPLE  ARE  PRECOCIOUS,  OTHERS  PROFESSIONAL,  AND 
OTHERS  MYSTERIOUS:  ALL  IN  THEIR  SEVERAL  WAYS. 


It  may  have  been  the  restless  remembrance  of 
what  he  had  seen  and  heard  over-night,  or  it  may 
have  been  no  deeper  mental  operation  than  the 
discovery  that  he  had  notiiing  to  do,  which  caused 
Mr.  Bailey,  on  the  following  afternoon,  to  feel 
particularly  disposed  for  agreeable  society,  and 
prompted  him  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  friend  Poll 
Sweedlepipe. 

On  the  little  bell  giving  clamorous  notice  of  a 
visitor's  approach  (tiir  Mr.  Bailey  came  in  at  the 
door  with  a  lunge,  to  get  as  much  sound  out  of  the 
bell  as  possible).  Poll  Sweedlepipe  desisted  from 
the  contemplation  of  a  favourite  owl,  and  gave  his 
young  friend  hearty  welcome. 

"  Why,  you  look  smarter  by  day,"  said  Poll, 
■  than  you  do  by  candle-light  I  never  see  such 
a  tight  young  dasher" 

"  Reether  so,  Polly.  How 's  our  fair  friend 
Sairah?" 

"  Oh,  she 's  pretty  well,"  said  Poll.  "  She 's  at 
home." 

"  There 's  the  remains  of  a  fine  woman  about 
Sairah,  Poll,"  observed  Mr.  Bailey,  with  genteel 
indiffl'reiice. 

"  Oil !"  thought  Poll,  »  he 's  old.  He  must  be 
Very  old  !" 

"  Too  much  crumb,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Bailey ; 
"  too  fat.  Poll.  But  there 's  many  worse  at  her 
lime  of  life."  ! 

"The  very  owl's  a  opening  his  eyes  I"  thought 
Poll.  "  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  in  a  bird  of  his  opi-  j 
nions." 

He    happened    to   have   been    sharpening    his : 
razors,  v\  hich  were  lying  open  in  a  row,  while  a 
huge  stiop  diiifflcd   from  the  wall.     Glancing  at 
these  prepar?itio'i«,  Mr.  Bailey  stroked  his  chin,  j 
and  a  thought  apfieared  to  occur  to  him. 

"Pi.li,"    he    said,  "I  ain't  as  neat  as  I  could' 
wish  about  the  gilis.      B»  ing  here,  I  may  as  well 
have  a  shave,  and  get  trimmed  close."  j 

rLe  barber  utood  ajjliast;  but  Mr.  Bail«v  divest ! 


!  ed  himself  of  his  neckcloth,  and  sat  down  in  the 
easy  shaving  chair  with  all  the  dignity  and  confi. 
dence  in  life.  There  was  no  resisting  his  manner 
The  evidence  of  sight  and  touch  became  as  no- 
thing. His  chin  was  as  smooth  as  a  new-laid  egg 
or  a  scraped  Dutch  cheese ;  but  Poll  Sweedlepipe 
wouldn't  have  ventured  to  deny,  on  affidavit,  that 
he  had  the  beard  of  a  Jewish  rabbi. 

"  Go  with  the  grain.  Poll,  all  round,  please," 
said  .Mr.  Bailey,  screwing  up  his  face  for  the  re- 
ception of  the  lather.  "  You  may  do  wot  you  like 
with  the  bits  of  whisker.     I  don't  care  for  'em.'' 

The  meek  little  barber  stood  gazing  at  him 
with  the  brush  and  soap-dish  in  his  hand,  stirring 
them  round  and  round  in  a  ludicrous  uncertainty, 
as  if  he  were  disabled  by  some  fascination  from 
beginning.  At  last  he  made  a  dash  at  Mr.  Bdilev's 
cheek.  Then  he  stopped  again,  as  if  the  ghost  of 
a  beard  had  suddenly  receded  from  his  touch;  but 
receiving  mild  encouragement  from  Mr.  Bailev, 
in  the  form  of  an  adjuration  to  "(Jo  in  and  win," 
he  lathered  him  bountifully.  Mr.  Bailey  smiled 
through  the  suds  in  his  satisfiction. 

"  Gently  over  the  stones.  Poll.  Go  a-tiptoe  over 
the  pimples !" 

Poll  Sweedlepipe  obeyed,  and  pcraped  the  lather 
off  again  with  particular  car<;.  Mr.  Bailev  squint- 
ed at  every  successive  dab,  as  it  was  deposited  on 
a  cloth  on  his  left  shoulder,  and  seemed,  with  a 
microscopic  eye,  to  detect  iiome  bristles  in  it;  for 
he  niurmure.d  more  than  once,  "  Reether  redder 
than  I  could  wish.  Poll."  The  operation  being 
Concluded,  Paul  fell  hack  and  stared  at  him  ajain, 
while  Mr.  Bailey,  wiping  his  face  on  the  jack 
towel,  remarked,  "that  arter  late  hours  nothing 
freshened  up  a  man  so  mu(;Ji  as  a  easy  shave." 

He  was  in  the  act  of  tying  his  cravat  at  tho 
glass,  without  his  coat,  and  Poll  had  wipea  ni» 
r.izor,  ready  for  the  next  customer,  when  Mrs 
Gump,  coming  down  stairs,  looked  in  at  the  chop 
door  to   give  the   barber  neighbourlv  good  day 


182 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


Feeling  foi  her  unfortunate  situation,  in  having  con- 
ceived a  legard  for  himself  which  it  was.  not  in 
tlie  nature  of  things  that  he  could  return,  l\Ir.  Bai- 
lej  hastened  to  sootlie  her  with  words  of  kindness. 

"  Hallo  I"  he  said,  "Sairah  I  I  needn't  ask  you 
how  you  've  been  this  long  time,  for  you  're  in 
full  bloom.  All  a  blowin'  and  a  growin' ;  ain't 
she,  Polly  ?" 

"  Why,  drat  the  Bragian  boldness  of  that  boy!" 
cried  Mrs.  Gamp,  though  not  displeased.  "  What 
a  iinperent  young  sparrow  it  is  !  I  wouldn't  be 
th;il  crietur's  mother  not  for  fifty  pound  I" 

Mr.  Bailey  regarded  this  as  a  delicate  confession 
of  her  attachment,  and  a  hint  that  no  pecuniary 
gain  could  recompense  her  for  its  being  rendered 
hopeless.  He  felt  flattered.  Disinterested  afTec- 
lion  is  always  flattering. 

"Ah,  dear  I"  moaned  Mrs.  Gamp,  smking  into 
the  shaving  chair,  "That  there  blessed  Bull,  Mr. 
Swecdlepipe,  has  done  his  wery  best  to  conker 
me.  Of  all  the  trying  invalieges  in  this  wally  of 
the  hhadder,  that  one  beats  'em  black  and  blue." 

It  was  the  practiceof  Mrs.  Gamp  and  her  friends 
in  the  profession,  to  say  this  of  all  the  easy  cus- 
tomers ;  as  having  at  once  the  effect  of  discourag- 
ing competitors  for  office,  and  accounting  for  the 
necessity  of  high  living  on  the  part  of  the  nurses. 

"Talk  of  constitooshun  !"  Mrs.  Gamp  observed. 
"A  person's  constitooshun  need  be  made  of  Bricks 
to  stand  it.  Mrs.  Harris  jestly  says  to  me,  but 
t'other  day,  'Oh  I  Sairey  Gamp,'  she  says,  'how 
is  it  done  !'  '  Mrs.  Harris,  ma'am,'  I  says  to  her, 
*we  gives  no  trust  ourselves,  and  puts  a  deal  o' 
trust  elsevere ;  these  is  our  religious  feelins,  and 
we  finds  'em  answer,'  '  Sairey,'  says  Mrs.  Harris, 
'sech  is  life.  Vich  likeways  is  the  bend  of  all 
things !'  " 

The  barber  gave  a  soft  murmur,  as  much  as  to 
say  that  Mrs.  Harris's  remark,  though  perhaps 
not  quite  so  intelligible  as  could  be  desired  from 
such  an  authority,  did  equal  honour  to  her  head 
and  to  her  heart. 

"And  here,"  continued  Mrs.  Gamp,  "and  here 
am  I  a  goin  twenty  mile  in  distant,  on  as  wenter- 
Bonie  a  chance  as  ever  any  one  as  monthlied  ever 
run,  I  do  believe.  Says  Mrs.  Harris,  with  a  wo- 
man's and  a  mother's  'art  a  beating  in  her  human 
breast,  says  she  to  me,  '  You  're  not  a  goin,  Sai- 
rey, Lord  forgive  you  !'  '  Why  am  I  not  a  going, 
Mrs.  HarrLs-?'  I  replies.  '  Mrs.  Gill,'  I  says,  '  wos 
never  wrong  with  six  ;  and  is  it  likely,  ma'am — I 
ai't  you  as  a  mother — that  she  will  begin  to  be 
uiiri'!/'lar  now.  Often  and  often  have  I  heerd  him 
say,'  I  says  to  Mrs.  Flarris,  'meaning  Mr.  Gill, 
that  he  would  back  his  wife  agen  Moore's  alnia- 
nnck,  to  n.nme  the  very  day  and  hour,  for  nine- 
pence  fardcn.  Is  it  likely,  ma'am,'  I  says,  'as 
she  will  fail  this  once?'  Says  Mrs.  Harris,  'No, 
n;a'am,  not  in  the  Cf>urse  of  nater.  But,'  she  says, 
the  tears  a  filjin  in  lier  eyes,  'you  knows  irmch 
belter*  rtiian  Pic,  with  your  experienge,  how  little 
puts  us  out.  A  Punch's  show,'  she  says,  '  a  chim- 
bley  swien,  a  newt'unhindog,  or  a  drunkin  man,  a 
coinin  round  the  corner  sharp,  may  do  it.'  So  it 
may.Mr.Sweedlcpipes,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "there's 
DO  dcniging  of  it;  and  though  my  .books  is  clear 
for  full  a  week,  I  takes  a  an.ifious  'art  along  with 
trie,  I  do  asciure  you,  sir." 

"You're  so  full  of  zon],  you  see  I"  said  Poll. 
"You  worrit  yourself  so." 

"Worrit  myself  I"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp,  raising 
her  hands  &nd  turning  up  her  eyes.   "  You  speak 


'  the  truth  in  that,  sir,  if  you  never  speaks  r.o  more, 
'twixt  this  and  when  two  Sundays  jines  together. 
I  feels  the  sufFcrins  of  other  people  more  than  I 
feels  my  own,  though  no  one  mayn't  suppoge  il. 
The  families  I've  had,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "if  all 
wos  knowd,  and  credit  done  where  credit's  doo, 
would  takea  week  to chris'en  at  St.Polge's  fontin  !" 

"  Where  's  the  patient  going  ?"  asked  Sweedle. 
pipe. 

"Into  Har'fordshire,  which  is  his  native  air. 
But  native  airs  nor  native  gracts  neither,"  Mrst 
Gamp  observed,  "  won't  bring  him  round." 

"  So  bad  as  that .'"  inquired  the  wistful  ba»ber. 
"  Indeed  !" 

Mrs.  Gamp  shook  her  head  mysteriously,  and 
pursed  up  her  lips.  "  There  's  fevers  of  the  mind," 
she  said,  "  as  well  as  body.  You  may  take  your 
slime  drafts  till  you  flies  into  the  air  with  effer 
wescence ;  but  you  won't  cure  that." 

"  Ah  I"  said  the  barber,  opening  his  eyes,  and 
putting  on  his  raven  aspect,  "  Lor  I" 

"  No.  You  may  make  yourself  as  light  as  any 
gash  balloon,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp.  "  But  talk,  when 
you  're  wrong  in  your  head  and  when  you  're  in 
your  sleep,  of  certain  things;  and  you'll  be  heavy 
in  your  mind." 

"Of  what  kind  of  things  now  ?"  inquired  Poll, 
greedily  biting  his  nails  in  his  great  interest 
"Ghosts?" 

Mrs,  Gamp,  who  perhaps  had  been  already 
tempted  further  than  she  had  intended  to  go,  by 
the  barber's  stimulating  curiosity,  gave  a  sniff  of 
uncommon  significance,  and  said,  it  didn't  matter. 

"  I'm  a  going  down  with  my  patient  in  the 
coach  this  arternoon,"  she  proceeded.  "  I  'm  a 
going  to  stop  w  ith  him  a  day  or  so,  till  he  gets  a 
country  nuss  (drat  them  country  nusses,  much 
the  orkard  hussies  knows  about  their  bis'ness)  • 
and  then  I 'm  a  comin'  back;  and  that's  my 
trouble,  Mr.  Sweedlepipes.  But  I  hope  that  every, 
think  '11  only  go  on  right  and  comfortable  as  long 
as  I'm  away;  perwisin  which,  as  3Irs.  Harris 
says,  Mrs.  Gill  is  welcome  to  choose  her  own 
time  :  all  times  of  the  day  and  night  bein'  equally 
the  same  to  me." 

During  the  progress  of  the  foregoing  remarks, 
which  Mrs.  Gamp  had  addressed  exclusively  to 
the  Barber,  Mr.  Bailey  had  been  tying  his  cravat, 
getting  on  his  coat,  and  making  hideous  faces  at 
himself  in  the  glass.  Being  now  personally  ad. 
dressed  by  Mrs.  Gamp,  he  turned  round,  and 
mingled  in  the  conversation, 

"You  ain't  been  in  the  city,  I  suppose,  sir, 
since  we  was  all  three  there  together,"  said  .Mrs. 
Gamp,  "at  Mr.  Chuzzlewit's?" 

"  Yes  I  have,  Sairah.     I  was  there,  last  night." 

"Last  night!"  cried  the  Barber. 

"Yes,  Poll,  reether  so.  You  can  call  it  this 
morning  if  you  like  to  be  particular.  He  dined 
with  us." 

"Who  does  that  young  Limb  mean  by  '  hns?'" 
said  Mrs.  Gimp,  with  most  impatient  emphasis. 

"  Me  and  my  Governor,  Sairah.  He  dined  at 
our  house.  We  wos  very  merry,  Snirah.  So 
much  so,  that  I  was  obliged  to  see  him  home  in 
a  hackney. couch  at  thn  e  o'clock  in  the  morning." 
It  was  on  the  tip  of  the  liov's  tongue  to  rclafo 
what  had  folliiwed;  but  remembering  how  eisily 
it  mitrht  he  carried  to  iiis  master's  ears,  and  tlie 
repeated  cautions  he  had  li:id  from  .Mr.  C^fimple 
"not  to  chatter,"  he  cbeckid  hinistlf:  adding 
only,  "  She  was  sitting  up,  expecting  ium." 


MARTIN   CFIUZZLF.WIT. 


183 


''And  all  things  considered,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp 
■hJirply,  "  slie  might  have  know'd  better  than  to 
go  a  tiring  herself  out,  by  doin'  anytliinli  of  the 
sort.  Did  tiiey  seem  pretty  pleasa.it  together 
sir  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  Bailey, "  pleasantenough." 

"I'm  glad  on  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  with  a 
pcc.jiid  sniff  of  significance. 

"  I'huy  haven't  been  married  so  long,"  observed 
Pull,  rubbing  liis  hands,  "that  ihey  need  be  any- 
thm^r  but  pleasant  yet  awhile." 

"  No,"  said  Mrs. Gamp,  with  a  third  significant 
Bigruil. 

"  Especially,"  pursued  the  Barber,  "  when  the 
gtiitleinan  bears  such  a  character  as  you  gave 
liim." 

"  I  speak  as  I  find,  Mr.  Sweedlepipes,"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp.  "Forbid  it  should  be  otherways ! 
But  we  never  knows  wot's  hidden  in  each  otlier's 
hearts;  and  if  we  had  glass  winders  there,  we'd 
need  to  keep  the  shelters  up,  some  on  us,  I  do 
a-ssuru  you  !" 

"  But  you  don't  mean  to  say" — Poll  Sweedle- 
pipe  began. 

"  No,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  cutting  him  very  short, 
"  I  don't.  Don't  think  I  do.  The  torters  of  the 
Imposition  shouldn't  make  me  own  I  did.  All 
I  says  is,"  added  the  good  woman,  rising  and  fold- 
ing her  shawl  about  her,  "that  the  Bull's  a  wait- 
in',  and  tlie  precious  moments  is  a  flyin'  fast." 

Tiie  little  barber  having  in  his  eager  curiosity 
a  great  desire  to  see  Mrs.  Gamp's  patient,  proposed 
to  Mr.  Bailey  that  they  should  accompany  her  to 
tiie  Bull,  and  witness  the  departure  of  the  coach. 
That  young  gentleman  assenting,  they  all  went 
(Hit  together. 

Arriving  at  the  tavern,  Mrs.  Gamp  (who  was 
full-dressed  for  the  journey,  in  her  latest  suit  of 
mourning)  left  her  friends  to  entertain  themselves 
in  tiie  yard,  while  she  ascended  to  the  sick  room, 
where  her  fellow-labourer  Mrs.  Prig  was  dressing 
the  invalid. 

He  was  so  wasted,  that  it  seemed  as  if  his 
bones  would  rattle  when  they  moved  him.  His 
ciieeks  were  sunken,  and  his  eyes  unnaturally 
large.  He  lay  back  in  the  easy  chair  like  one 
more  dead  than  living;  and  rolled  his  languid 
eyes  towards  the  door  when  Mrs.  Gamp  appeared, 
IS  painfully  as  if  their  weight  alone  were  burden- 
some to  move. 

"  And  how  are  we  by  this  time  ?"  Mrs.  Gamp 
observed.     "  We  looks  charming." 

"  VVu  looks  a  deal  charminger  than  we  are, 
then,"  returned  Mrs.  Prig,  a  little  chafed  in  her 
temper.  "  We  got  out  of  bed  back'ards,  I  think, 
for  we  're  as  cross  as  two  sticks.  I  never  see  sich 
a  man.  He  wouldn't  have  been  washed,  if  he'd 
had  his  own  way." 

"  Slie  put  the  soap  in  my  mouth,"  said  the  un- 
fortunate  patient,  feebly. 

'■  Uouldu't  you  keep  it  shut  then  ?"  retorted 
Mrs.  Prig.  "Who  do  you  think 's  to  wash  one 
fo'ter,  :ind  miss  anotlier,  and  wear  one's  eyes  out 
witli  aV  manner  of  fine-work  of  that  description, 
foi  half-a-crown  a  day  ?  If  you  wants  to  be  titti- 
vated,  you  must  pay  accordin." 

"  Oh,  dear  me  I"  cried  the  patient,  "oh,  dear, 
dear  1" 

"  There  I"  said  Mrs.  Prig,  "  that's  the  way  he's 
been  a  conducting  of  him.self,  Sarah,  ever  since  I 
got  him  out  of  bed,  if  you  Ml  believe  it." 

"  Instead  of  being  grateful,"  Mrs.  Gamp  ob- 


served, "  f( .  all  our  little  ways.    Oh,  fie  for  shame 
sir,  fie  for  siiame  I" 

Here  Mrs.  Prig  seized  the  patient  by  the  chin, 
and  began  to  rasp  his  uniiappy  iici-.d  with  a  hair- 
brush. 

"I  suppose  you  don't  like  that,  neither  I"  she 
observed,  stopping  to  look  at  him. 

It  was  just  possible  that  he  didn't,  for  the  brush 
was  a  specimen  of  the  hardest  kind  (jf  instrument 
producible  by  modern  art;  and  his  very  eyc-lids 
were  red  witli  the  friction.  Mrs.  Prig  was  grati- 
fied to  observe  the  correctness  of  her  supposition, 
and  said  triumpliantly,  "she  know'd  as  much." 

When  his  hair  was  smoothed  down  comfortably 
into  his  eyes,  Mrs.  Prig  and  Mrs.  Gamp  put  on 
his  neckerchief:  adjusting  his  shirt  collar  with 
great  nicety,  so  that  the  starched  points  should 
also  invade  those  organs,  and  afHict  them  with  an 
artificial  ophtlialniiii.  His  waistcoat  and  coat 
were  next  arranged  :  and  as  every  button  was 
wrenched  into  a  wrong  button-hole,  and  the  order 
of  his  boots  was  reversed,  he  presented  on  the 
whole  rather  a  melancholy  appearance. 

"I  don't  think  it's  right,"  said  the  poor  weak 
invalid.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  was  in  somebody  else's 
clothes.  I  'm  all  on  one  side  ;  and  you  've  made 
one  of  my  legs  shorter  than  the  other.  There  's 
a  bottle  in  my  pocket,  too.  Wiiat  do  you  make 
me  sit  upon  a  bottle  for  ?" 

"Deuce  take  the  man!"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp, 
drawing  it  forth.  "  If  he  ain't  been  and  got  my 
night-bottle  here.  I  m:ide  a  little  cupboard  of  his 
coat  when  it  hung  behind  the  door,  and  quite  for- 
got it,  Betsey.  You  '11  find  a  ingun  or  two,  &.nd 
a  little  tea  and  .sugar  in  his  t'other  pocket,  my 
dear,  if  you  '11  jest  be  good  enough  to  take  etn 
out." 

Betsey  produced  the  property  in  question,  to 
gether  with  some  other  articles  of  general  clian 
dlery ;  and  Mrs.  Gamp  transferred  them  to  her 
own  pocket,  which  was  a  species  of  nankeen  pan- 
nier. Refreshment  then  arrived  in  the  form  of 
chops  and  strong  ale,  for  the  ladies,  and  a  basin 
of  beaf-tea  for  the  patient:  wliich  refection  wa.« 
barely  at  an  end  when  Jolin  Westlock  appeared. 
"  Up  and  dressed  1"  cried  John,  silting  down 
beside  him.  "That's  brave.  How  do  you  feel  ?" 
"  Much  better.  But  very  weak." 
"No  wonder.  You  have  had  a  hard  bout  of  it 
But  country  air,  and  change  of  scene,"  said  John, 
"will  make  anotlier  man  of  you  I  Why,  Mrs 
Gamp,"  he  added,  laughing,  as  he  kindly  arranged 
the  sick  man's  gunnenls,  "you  have  odd  notions 
of  a  gentleman's  dress!" 

"  Mr.  Leewsome  an't  a  easy  gent  to  get  into 
his  clothes,  sir,"  Mrs.  Gamp  replied  with  dignity; 
"as  me  and  Betsy  Prig  can  certify  afore  the  Lord 
Mayor  and  Uncommon  Counsellors,  if  needful  !" 
John  was  at  that  moment  standing  cIdsc  in 
front  of  the  sick  man,  in  the  act  of  releasing  him 
from  the  torture  of  the  collars  before  mentioned, 
when  he  said  in  a  whisper  : 

"  Mr.  Westlock  !  I  don't  wish  to  be  overheard. 
I  have  something  very  particular  and  strange  to 
say  to  you  ;  something  Ihut  has  been  a  dreadful 
weight  on  my  mind,  through  this  long  illness." 

Quick  in  all  his  motions,  John  was  turning 
round  to  desire  the  women  to  leave  the  room: 
when  the  sick  man  held  him  by  the  sleeve. 

"  Not  now.  I  've  not  the  strenglli.  I  've  not  th« 
courage.  May  I  tell  it  when  I  have?  May  I 
write  it,  if  I  find  that  easier  and  better  ?" 


184 


LIFE    ..ND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  May  yo'.i  !"  cried  John.  "  Why,  Leewsoino, 
Hrh-it  is  this  !" 

"  Don't  ask  me  what  it  is.  It  's  unnatural  ati'l 
true).  Frightful  tu  tliink  of.  Fri^rlil  ul  to  tull. 
Frightful  to  know.  Frightful  to  have  helped  in. 
Ltt  ine  kiss  your  hand  for  all  your  goo(iness  to 
uie.    Be  kinder  still,  and  don't  ask  ine  wliat  it  is  I" 

At  first,  John  gazed  at  him,  in  great  surprise; 
but  remembering  how  very  much  reduced  he  was, 
and  how  recently  his  brain  had  been  on  fire  with 
Itver,  believed  liiat  he  was  labouring  under  some 
imaginary  horror,  or  despondent  fancy.  For  fur- 
ther information  on  tliis  point,  he  took  an  oppor- 
tunity of  drawing  Mrs.  Gamp  aside,  while  Betsey 
Prig  was  wrapping  him  in  cloaks  and  shawls,  and 
asked  her  whether  he  was  quite  collected  in  his  mind. 

"Oh,  bless  you,  nol"  said  Mrs.  Gamp.  "He 
hates  his  nusscs  to  this  hour.  They  always  does 
it,  sir.  It  's  a  certain  sign.  If  you  could  have 
heerd  tiie  poor  dear  soul  a  findin'  fault  with  me 
and  Betsey  Prig,  not  half  an  hour  ago,  you  would 
h.ive  wondered  how  it  is  we  don't  get  fretted  to 
the  tomb." 

Phis  almost  confirmed  John  in  his  suspicion  ; 
so,  not  taking  what  had  passed  into  any  serious 
account,  he  resumed  his  former  cheerful  manner 
and  assisted  by  Mrs.  Gamp  and  Betsey  Prig,  con- 
ducted Leewsome  downstairs  to  the  coach :  just 
tiien  upon  the  point  of  starting. 

Poll  Sweedlepipe  was  at  the  door  with  his  arms 
titrht  folded  and  his  eyes  wide  open,  and  looked 
on  with  absorbing  interest,  while  the  sick  man 
was  slowly  moved  into  the  vehicle.  His  bony 
hands  and  haggard  face  impressed  Poll  wonder- 
fully ;  and  he  informed  Mr.  Bailey,  in  confidence, 
that  he  wouldn't  have  missed  seeing  him  for  a 
pound.  Mr.  Bailey,  who  was  of  a  different  con- 
stitution, remarked,  that  he  would  have  staid 
av\ay  for  five  shillings. 

It  was  a  troublesome  matter  to  adjust  Mrs. 
Gamp's  luggage  to  her  satisfaction;  for  every 
p.  ckage  belonging  to  that  lady  had  the  incon- 
venient property  of  requiring  to  be  put  in  a  boot 
by  itself,  and  to  have  no  other  luggage  near  it,  on 
p..  in  of  actions  at  law  for  heavy  damages  against 
tiie  proprietors  of  the  coach.  The  umbrella  with 
the  circular  patch  was  partit-ularly  hard  to  be  got 
rid  of,  and  several  times  thrust  out  its  battered 
brass  nozzle  from  improper  crevices  and  chinks, 
to  the  great  terror  of  the  other  passengers.  In- 
deed, in  her  intense  anxiety  to  find  a  haven  of 
refuge  for  this  chattel,  Mrs.  Gamp  so  often  moved 
it,  in  the  course  of  five  minutes,  that  it  seemed 
not  one  umbrella  but  filly.  At  length  it  was  lost, 
or  said  to  be;  and  for  the  next  five  minutes  she 
was  lace  to  face  with  the  coachman,  go  wherever 
lie  might,  protesting  that  it  should  be  "  made 
good,"  though  she  took  the  question  to  the  House 
of  Commons. 

At  last,  her  bondlc,  and  her  pattens,  and  her 
basket,  and  everything  else,  being  disposed  of, 
■he  took  a  frier.diy  leave  of  I'oll  ainj  Mr.  I$ailcy, 
dropped  a  curtsey  to  John  VVesllnek.  ami  parted 
BH  from  a  cherished  membfcr  oj  llie  sisteihood 
with  Betsey  Prig. 

"  VVishiii'  yiiu  lots  of  sickness,  my  dnrling 
'.rortur,"  Mrs.  G.imp  ohseiveo,  ^m.  yowi.  ,)...ces. 
ft  won't  be  long,  I  hopt  afo.-*"  we  works  together, 
ofl  'Jnd  on,  agaii.,  Betsey;  iind  may  our  next 
Iiu-etm'  be  at  a  large  family's,  win -e  tliey  ^ill 
takes  il  reg'iar,  one  frotn  aimllier,  lii'ii  and  lum 
■bout,  uud  has  it  businesb-liks." 


"Id  r\\  care  how  soon  it  is,"  said  Mrs.  Prijf ; 
"  nor  how  many  weeks  it  lasts." 

Mrs.  Gamp,  with  a  reply  in  a  congenial  spiiit, 
was  backing  to  the  coich  when  she  came  in  con. 
tact  with  a  lady  and  gentleman  who  were  passing 
along  the  footway. 

"  'I'ake  care,  take  care,  here  !"  cried  the  geru 
tieman.  "Halloo!  My  dear !  Why,  it's  Mrs. 
Gamp  I" 

"  What,  Mr.  Mould !"  exclaimed  the  nurse. 
"  And  Mrs.  Mould  !  who  would  have  thought  aa 
we  should  ever  have  a  meetin'  here,  I  'in  sure  I" 

"  (roing  out  of  town,  Mrs.  Gamp?"  cried 
Mould.     "That's  unusual,  isn't  it  ?" 

"  It  is  unusual,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp.  "  But 
only  for  a  day  or  two  at  most.  The  gent,"  she 
whispered,  "as  I  spoke  about." 

"  What,  in  the  coach!"  cried  Mould.  "The 
one  you  thought  of  recommending  ?  Very  odd. 
.My  dear,  this  will  interest  you.  The  gentleman 
that  Mrs.  Gamp  thought  likely  to  suit  us,  is  in  the 
coach,  my  love." 

Mrs.  Mould  was  greatly  interested. 

"  Here,  my  dear.  You  can  stand  upon  the 
door-step,"  said  Mould,  "and  take  a  look  nt  him. 
Ha  !  There  he  is.  V.'here  's  my  glass  ?  Oh  I 
all  right,  I  've  got  it.     Do  you  see  him,  my  dear  ?" 

"Quite  plain,"  said  Mrs.  Mould. 

"  Upon  my  life,  you  know,  this  is  a  very  singu- 
lar circumstance,"  said  Mould,  quite  delighted. 
"  Phis  is  the  sort  of  thing,  my  dear,  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  on  any  account.  It  tickles  one. 
It 's  interesting.  It 's  almost  a  little  play,  you 
know.  Ah!  There  he  is  !  To  be  sure.  Looks 
poorly,  Mrs.  M.,  don't  he?" 

Mrs.  Mould  assented. 

"  He's  coming  our  way  perhaps,  after  all,"  said 
Mould.  "  Who  knows !  1  feel  as  if  I  ought  to 
show  him  some  little  attention,  really.  He  don't 
seem  a  stranger  to  me.  I'm  very  much  inclined 
to  move  my  hat,  my  dear." 

"He's  looking  hard  thi§  way,"  said  Mrs 
Mould. 

"  'I'hen  I  will !"  cried  Mould.  "  How  d'ye  do, 
sir?  I  wish  you  good  day.  Ha  !  He  bows  toa 
Very  gentlemanly.  Mrs.  Gamp  has  the  cards  in 
her  pocket,  I  have  no  doubt.  This  .s  very  singu- 
lar, my  dear — and  very  pleasant.  I  am  not  su- 
perslitions,  bat  it  really  seems  as  if  one  vv;is  den- 
tilled  to  pay  him  those  little  melancholy  civilities 
which  belong  to  our  peculiar  line  of  business. 
There  can  be  no  kind  of  objection  to  j'our  kissing 
your  hand  to  him,  my  dear." 

.Mrs.  Mould  did  so. 

"  Ha  I"  said  Mould.  "  He's  eviden'ly  grntifird. 
Poor  fellow  !  I'm  quite  glad  yon  did  it,  my  lova 
Bye  bye,  Mrs.  Gamp!"  waving  his  hand.  "There 
he  goes;  there  he  goes!" 

So  he  did,  for  the  coach  roll<  d  off  as  the  wor'S 
were  spoken.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mould,  in  high  g<  d 
hijuiour,  went  their  merry  way.  Mr.  Bailey  rr. 
tired  with  Poll  Sweedlepipe^  as  soon  as  possible, 
but  some  little  time  elapsed  bci'ore  he  eonid  re. 
move  his  friend  from  the  ground,  owing  to  tl-o 
iiiifiression  wrought  upon  the  b.irber's  nerves  by 
M'-s.  F'rig,  whom  he  pronounci  d,  in  admiration  of 
her  he.ird,  to  he  a  woman  of  Iransceiideiit  eli.-irms. 

When  the  light  cloud  of  buslle  hanging  round 
the  enach  was  thus  dispersed,  Nadgi  tt  was  sx'H 
in  the  (larkist  box  of  the  Bull  eotlec-room,  looking 
wistiully  up  at  the  clock — as  if  the  man  who  neve: 
npjHwred  were  a.  little  behind  his  tiiiiu 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


165 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


rKi)VES  THAT  CHANGES  MAY  BE   RUNG  IN  THE   BEST-REGULATED   FAMI- 
LIES, AND  THAT   MR.  PECKSNIFF  WAS  A  SPECIAL  HAND   AT   A   TRIPLE- 

BOB-MAJOR. 


As  the  surgeon's  first  care  after  amputating  a 
fimb  is  to  take  up  the  arteries  the  cruel  knife  has 
eevt'ft'd,  so  it  is  the  duty  of  this  history,  which  in 
its  remorseless  course  has  cut  from  the  Peck- 
pniffian  trunk  its  rig^ht  arm,  Mercy,  to  look  to  the 
piirent  stem,  and  see  how  in  all  its  various  rami- 
fications it  ^ot  on  without  her. 

And  first  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  it  may  be  observed, 
that  having  provided  tor  his  younger  daughter 
that  choicest  of  blessings,  a  tender  and  indulgent 
husband;  and  having  gratified  the  dearest  wish 
of  his  parental  heart  by  establisliing  her  in  life  so 
happily  ;  he  renewed  his  youth,  and  spreudiiig  the 
plumage  of  his  own  bright  conscience,  felt  him- 
self equ!il  to  all  kinds  of  flights.  It  is  customary 
M'ith  fathers  in  stage-plays,  after  giving  their 
daughters  to  the  men  of  their  hearts,  to  congratu- 
late themselves  on  having  no  other  business  on 
their  hands  but  to  die  immediately:  though  it  is 
rarely  found  that  they  are  in  a  hurry  to  do  it. 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  being  a  Either  of  a  more  sage  and 
practical  class,  appeared  to  think  that  his  imme- 
diate business  was  to  live;  and  having  deprived 
himself  of  one  comfort,  to  surround  himsell' with 
otiiers. 

But  however  much  inclined  the  good  man  was, 
to  be  jocose  and  playful,  and  in  the  garden  of  his 
fancy  to  disport  himsell  (if  one  may  say  so),  like 
Dt)  architectural  kitten,  he  had  one  impediment 
cxinstantly  opposed  to  him.  The  gentle  Cherry, 
Btung  by  a  sense  of  slight  and  injury,  which  far 
from  softening  down  or  wearing-  out,  rankled  and 
festered  in  her  heart  —  tlie  gentle  Cherry  was  m 
flat  rebellion.  She  wnged  fierce  war  against  her 
dear  Papa  ;  she  led  her  parent,  what  is  usually 
Billed,  for  want  of  a  better  figure  of  speech,  the 
life  of  a  dog.  But  never  did  that  dog  live,  in 
kennel,  slaWe-yard,  or  house,  whose  life  was  half 
as  hard  as  Mr.  Pecksniff's  with  his  gentle  child. 

Tlie  father  and  daugliler  were  silting  at  their 
breakfast.  Tom  had  retired,  and  they  were  alone. 
Mr.  Pecksniff"  frowned  at  first;  but  having  clear, 
ud  his  brow,  looked  stealthily  at  his  child.  Her 
aose  was  very  red  indeed,  and  screwed  up  tight, 
with  hostile  preparation. 

"  Cherry,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff",  "  what  is  amiss 
fA'tween  us?     My  child,  why  are  we  disunited?" 

Miss  J^ecksnitTs  answer  was  scarcely  a  response 
to  this  gush  of  affection,  for  it  was  simply,  "  Bo- 
Uier,  Pa :" 

'*  Bother !"  repeated  Mr.  Pecksniff",  in  a  tone  of 
aiiiruish. 

"Oh!  'tis  too  late,  Pa,"  said  his  daughter, 
Csilmly,  "  to  talk  to  me  like  that.  I  know  what  it 
means,  md  what  its  value  is." 

"  This  is  hard  1"  cried  Mr.  PecksniflT,  addressing 
nis  bre-ikfiist-cup.  "This  is  very  hard!  She  is 
my  child.  I  carried  her  in  my  arms,  when  she 
Wore  sjiapiliss  wfir^ted  shoes — ]  might  say,  muf- 
fiers — uianv  years  ai;oI" 

•^  You  needn't  taunt  me  with  that.  Pa,"  retort- 
ed Cherry,  with  a  spiteful  look.     "I  am  not  so  i 

a-i 


many  years  older  than  my  sister,  either,  though 
she  is  married  to  your  friend  1" 

"Ah,  human  nature,  human  nature!  Poor 
human  nature  I"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  shaking  his 
head  at  human  nature  as  if  he  didn't  belong  fc 
it.  "  To  think  that  this  discord  should  arise  fro(i) 
such  a  cause  !  oh,  dear,  oh,  dear  1" 

"From  such  a  cause,  indeed!"  cried  Cherry. 
"State  the  real  cause,  Pa,  or  I'll  stale  it  mysel£ 
Mind  •  I  will !" 

Perhaps  the  energy  with  which  she  said  this 
was  infectious.  However  that  may  be,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff' changed  his  tone  and  the  expression  of  his 
face,  for  one  of  anger  if  not  downright  violence, 
when  he  said  : 

"  You  will !  you  have.  You  did,  yesterday. 
You  do,  always.  You  have  no  decency ;  you 
make  no  secret  of  your  temper;  you  have  e.xpo.^ed 
yourself  to  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  a  hundred  times." 

"  Myself!"  cried  Cherry,  with  a  bitter  smile. 
"Oil,  indeed  !   I  don't  mind  that." 

"  Me  too,  then,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff". 

His  daughter  answered  with  a  scornful  laugh. 

"  And  since  we  have  come  to  an  explanation, 
Charity,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff",  rolling  his  head 
portentously,  "  let  me  tell  you  that  I  won't  allow 
it.  None  of  your  nonsense,  Miss  I  I  won't  per- 
mit it  to  be  done." 

"  I  shall  do,"  said  Charity,  rocking  her  chF.i 
backwards  and  forwards,  and  raising  her  voice  to 
a  high  pitch,  "  I  shall  do.  Pa,  what  I  please,  and 
what  I  have  done.  I  am  not  going  to  be  crushed 
in  everything,  depend  upon  it.  I've  been  more 
shamefully  used  than  anybody  ever  was  in  this 
world,"  here  she  began  to  cry  and  sob, "  and  may 
expect  the  worst  treatment  from  you,  I  know. 
But  I  don't  care  for  that.     No,  I  don't !" 

Mr.  Pecksniff"  was  made  so  desperate  by  the 
loud  tone  in  which  she  spoke,  that,  aller  looking 
about  him  in  frantic  uncertainty  for  some  means 
of  softening  it,  he  rose  and  shook  her  until  the 
ornamental  bow  of  hair  upon  her  head  nodded 
like  a  plume.  She  was  so  very  much  astonished 
by  this  assault,  that  it  really  had  the  desired  eff"ect 

"  I  '11  do  it  again  !"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff",  as  he 
resumed  his  seat,  and  fetched  his  breath,  "if  you 
dare  to  talk  in  that  loud  manner.  How  do  yua 
mean  about  being  shamefully  used  ?  If  Mr. 
Jonas  chose  your  sister  in  preference  to  you,  who 
could  help  it,  I  should  wish  to  know?  Whai 
have  /  to  do  with  it?" 

"  Wasn't  I  made  a  convenience  of?  Weren't 
my  feelings  trifled  with?  Didn't  he  address  him- 
self to  me  first  ?"  sobbed  Cherry,  clasping  her 
hands  ;  "  and  oh,  good  gracious,  that  1  should  live 
to  be  shook  I" 

"  You  'II  live  to  be  shaken  again,"  returned  her 
parent,  "if  you  drive  me  to  that  means  of  main 
taining  the  decorum  of  this  hu;nble  roof  You 
surprise  me.  I  wonder  yo  a  have  not  more  spirit 
if  Mr.  Jonas  didn't  care  for  you,  how  ■•ould  vi-a 
wi8h  to  have  him  7" 


186 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  I  wish  to  have  him  !"  exclaimed  Ciierry. 
'  1  wish  to  have  him,  Pa  !" 

"T/ien  what  are  you  making  all  this  piece  of 
work  for,"  retorted  her  father, '  if  you  didn't  wish 
to  have  him  ?" 

"Because  I  was  treated  with  duplicitj',"  said 
Cherry  ;  "  and  because  my  own  sister  and  my 
own  lather  conspired  against  mo.  I  am  not  angry 
with  her"  said  Cherry,  looking  mucli  more  angry 
tlian  ever.  "  1  pity  her.  1  'm  sorry  for  her.  1 
know  the  fate  that 's  in  store  for  her,  with  tliai 
Wretch." 

"Mr.  Jonas  will  survive  your  calling  him  a 
wretch,  my  child,  I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff" 
with  returning  resignation:  "  but  call  him  what 
you  like  and  make  an  end  of  it." 

"  Not  an  end,  Pa,"  said  Charity.  "  No,  not  an 
end.  That's  not  the  only  point  on  which  we're 
not  agreed.  I  won't  submit  to  it.  It 's  better 
you  should  know  that,  at  once.  No;  I  won't 
gubmit  to  it,  indeed,  Pa!  I  am  not  quite  a  tool, 
and  I  am  not  blind.  All  I  have  got  to  say,  is,  1 
won't  submit  to  it." 

Whatever  she  meant,  she  shook  Mr.  Pecksniff 
now  ;  for  his  lame  attempt  to  seem  composed,  was 
melancholy  in  the  last  degree.  His  anger  changed 
to  meekness,  and  his  words  were  mild  and  I'avvn- 

"  My  dear,"  he  said ;  "  if  in  the  short  excite- 
■nent  of  an  angry  moment  I  resorted  to  any  un- 
justifiable means  of  suppressing  a  little  outbreak 
calculated  to  injure  you  as  well  as  myself —  it's 
possible  I  may  have  done  so;  perhaps  I  did  —  I 
ask  your  pardon.  A  father  asking  pardon  of  his 
cliild,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  is,  I  believe,  u  spec- 
tacle to  soften  the  most  rugged  nature." 

But  it  didn't  at  all  soften  Miss  Pecksniff:  per- 
haps, because  her  nature  was  not  rugged  enough. 
On  the  contrary,  she  persisted  in  saying,  over  and 
over  again,  that  she  wasn't  quite  a  lool,  and  wasn't 
blind,  and  wouldn't  submit  to  it. 

"You  labour  under  some  mirtake,  my  child  !" 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff:  "but  1  will  not  ask  you  what 
it  is;  I  don't  desire  to  know.  No,  pray  1"  he 
added,  holding  out  his  hand  and  colouring  again, 
'let  us  avoid  the  subject,  n!y  dear,  w  hatever  it  isl" 

"  It 's  quite  right  that  tlie  subject  should  be 
avoided  between  us.  Sir,"  said  t:herry.  "  But  1 
wish  to  be  able  to  avoid  it  altogether,  and  conse- 
quently must  beg  you  to  provide  me  with  a  home." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  looked  about  the  room,  and  said, 
"  A  home,  my  child  !" 

"Another  home.  Papa,"  said  Cherry,  with  in- 
creasing Ptateliness.  "Place  me  at  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers's  or  somewhere,  on  an  independent  footing; 
but  I  will  not  live  here,  if  such  is  to  be  the  case." 

It  is  possible  that  Miss  Pecksniff  saw  in  Mrs. 
Todgers's,  a  vision  of  enthusiastic  men,  pining  to 
fiill,  in  adoration,  at  her  feet.  It  is  possible  that 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  his  new-born  juvenility,  saw  in 
the  suggestion  of  that  same  establishment,  an 
easy  means  of  relieving  himself  from  an  irk- 
iiome  charge  in  the  way  of  temper  and  watchful- 
ness. It  is  undoubtedly  a  fact  tiiat  in  the  atten- 
tive ears  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  the  |)r()posilinn  did  not 
wound  quite  like  the  dismal  knell  of  all  his  lKi|)es. 

But  he  was  a  man  of  great  feeling,  and  ac-jte 
•ensihility;  and  he  sque(!zed  his  pocket-handker- 
chief against  his  eyes  with  both  hiinds  —  as  such 
men  always  do  ;  especially  when  lliey  are  observ- 


ed. '•  One  of  my  birds,"  Mr.  PecKsniff  said,  "  has 
lett  me  tor  ttie  stranger's  breast;  the  other  would 
take  wing  to  Todgers's  I  Well,  well,  what  am  I  ? 
1  don't  know  what  I  am,  exactly.     Never  mind  !" 

Even  this  remark,  made  more  pathetic  perhapfl 
by  his  breaking  down  in  the  middle  of  it,  had  no 
effect  upon  Charity.  She  was  grim,  rigid,  an** 
infle.vible. 

"  But  I  have  ever,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "sacri- 
ficed my  children's  happiness  to  my  own — I  mean 
my  own  happiness  to  my  children's —  and  I  will 
not  begin  to  regulate  my  lite  by  other  rules  of 
conduct  now.  If  you  can  be  happier  at  Mra, 
Todgers's  than  in  your  father's  house,  my  dear, 
go  to  Mrs.  Todgers's!  Do  not  think  of  me,  my 
girl !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  emotion  :  "  I  shall 
get  on  pretty  well,  no  doubt." 

Miss  Charily,  who  knew  he  had  a  secret  plea- 
sure in  the  contemplation  of  the  proposed  change, 
su[)pressed  her  own,  and  went  on  to  negociate  the 
terms.  His  views  upon  this  subject  were  at  first 
so  very  limited,  that  another  difference,  involving 
possibly  anotiier  shaking,  threatened  to  ensue; 
but  by  degrees  they  came  to  something  like  an 
understanding,  and  the  storm  blew  over.  Indeed 
Miss  Charity's  idea  was  so  agreeable  to  both,  that 
it  would  have  been  strange  if  they  had  not  coine 
to  an  amicable  agreement.  It  was  soon  arranged 
between  them  that  the  project  should  be  tried,  and 
>!iat  immediately;  and  that  Cherry's  not  being 
well,  and  needing  change  of  scene,  and  wishing 
to  be  near  her  sister,  should  form  the  excuse  for 
her  departure,  to  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  and  Mary,  to 
both  ot'  whom  she  had  pleaded  indisposition  for 
some  'ime  past.  These  premises  agreed  on,  Mr. 
Pecksiiiff  gave  her  his  blessing,  with  ail  tli6 
dignity  of  a  self-denying  man  who  had  made  a 
hard  sacrifice,  but  comforted  himself  with  tlie 
reflection  that  virtue  is  its  own  reward.  Thus 
they  were  reconciled  for  the  first  time  since  that 
not  eusilj'  forgiven  night,  when  Mr.  Jonas,  repiv 
diating  the  elder,  had  confessed  his  passion  for 
the  younger  sister,  and  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  abettcC 
him  on  moral  grounds?. 

But  how  happened  it  —  in  the  name  of  an  uju 
expected  addition  to  that  small  family,  the  Seven 
Wonders  of  the  World,  whatever  and  wherever 
they  may  be,  how  ha|)pened  it  —  that  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff and  liis  daughter  were  about  to  part?  Ho;v 
happened  it  that  tiieir  mutual  relations  were  so 
greatly  altered?  Why  was  Miss  Pecksniff  so 
clamorous  to  have  it  understood  that  she  was 
neither  blind  nor  foolish,  and  she  wouldn't  bear 
it?  It  is  not  possible  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  any 
thoughts  of  marrying  again  I  or  that  his  daugh 
ter,  with  the  sharp  eye  ol'a  single  woman,  fathom- 
ed his  design  ! 

Let  us  inquire  info  this. 

Mr.  Pef^ksniff,  as  a  man  without  reproach,  from 
whom  the  breath  of  siiinder  p;issed  like  common 
breath  from  any  otl)t:i  polished  surt'aco,  could 
afford  to  do  what  common  men  could  not.  •  He 
knew  the  purity  of  his  own  motives;  and  when 
he  had  a  motive  worked  at  it  as  only  a  vi  ry  good 
man  (or  a  very  bud  one)  can.  Did  he  si  I  b(\'ore 
himself  any  strong  and  palpable  motwes  lor 
takfig  a  second  wilii?  Yes:  and  not  one  or  two 
of  tliem,  tiut  a  combination  of  wry  many. 

Old  M'lrtin  Chuzzlewit  had  gradually  uridf-- 
J  ;;oiie  an  important  change.     Even  upon  tlie  uijjfbt 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


187 


wiien  he  made  such  an  ill-timed  arrival  at  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  house,  he  was  comparatively  subdued 
and  easy  to  deal  v.'itli.  This  Mr.  Pecksniff  at- 
tributed, at  the  time,  to  tlie  effect  his  brotliet's 
•Jcath  had  had  upon  him.  But  from  that  hour 
.lis  ciiaracter  seemed  to  have  modified  by  rejofular 
decrees,  and  to  have  softened  down  into  a  dull  in- 
difference for  almost  every  one  but  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
His  looks  were  much  the  same  as  ever,  but  his 
mind  was  singnhirly  iiltered.  It  was  not  that  this 
or  that  pLission  stood  out  in  brighter  or  in  dimmer 
hues ;  but  that  the  colour  of  the  whole  man  was 
fi:dfd.  As  one  trait  disappeared,  no  other  trait 
sprung^  up  to  take  its  place.  His  senses  dwindled 
too.  He  was  less  keen  of  sight;  was  deaf  some- 
tiuies;  took  little  notice  of  what  passed  before 
him  ;  and  would  be  profoundly  taciturn  for  days 
together.  The  process  of  this  alteration  was  so 
easy,  that  almost  as  soon  as  it  began  to  be  observ- 
ed it  was  complete.  But  Mr.  Pecksniff  saw  it 
first,  and  having  Anthony  t'huzzlewit  fresh  in  his 
recollection,  saw  in  his  brother  Martin  the  same 
process  of  decay. 

To  a  gentleman  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  tenderness, 
this  was  a  very  mournful  sight.  He  could  not 
but  foresee  the  probability  of  his  respected  rela- 
tive being  made  the  victim  of  designing  persons, 
and  of  his  riches  falling  into  wortiiless  h;mds.  It 
gave  him  so  much  [)ain  that  he  resolved  to  secure 
the  property  to  himself;  to  keep  bad  testamentary 
suitors  at  a  distance ;  to  wall  up  the  old  gentle. 
man,  as  it  were,  for  his  own  use.  By  little  and 
little,  therefore,  he  began  to  try  whether  Mr. 
Cliiizzl.'wit  gave  any  promise  of  becoming  an  in- 
BtriiiiMit  in  his  hands;  and  finding  tiiat  he  did, 
and  indeed  that  he  was  very  supple  in  his  plastic 
finf{irs,  he  made  it  the  business  of  his  life — kind 
Boul  I — to  establish  an  ascendancy  over  him  :  and 
every  little  test  he  durst  apply  meeting  with  a  suc- 
cess beyond  his  hopes,  he  began  to  think  he  heard 
old  Martin's  cash  already  chinking  in  his  own 
unworldly  pockets. 

But  when  Mr.  Pecksniff  pondered  on  this  sub- 
ject  (as,  in  his  zealous  way,  he  often  did),  and 
thought  with  an  uplifted  heart  of  the  train  of  cir- 
cumstances  which  had  delivered  the  old  gintle- 
raan  into  his  hands  for  the  confusion  of  evil-doers 
and  the  triumph  of  a  righteous  nature,  he  always 
felt  that  Mary  Graham  was  his  stumbling-block. 
Let  the  old  man  say  what  he  would,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff knew  he  had  a  strong  affection  for  her.  He 
knew  that  he  showed  it  in  a  thousand  little  ways  ; 
that  he  liked  to  have  her  near  him,  and  was  never 
quite  at  ease  when  she  was  absent  long.  That  he 
had  ever  really  sworn  to  leave  her  nothing  in  his 
will,  !\Ir.  Pecksniff  greatly  doubted.  That  even 
if  he  had,  there  were  many  ways  by  which  he 
Could  evade  the  oath  and  satisfy  his  conscience, 
Mr.  F'cksniff  knew.  That  her  unprotected  state 
was  no  light  burden  on  the  old  man's  mind,  he 
also  knew,  for  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  had  plainly  told 
him  so.  "  Tiien,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "what  if  I 
married  her !  What,"  repeated  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
sticking  up  his  hair  and  glancing  at  his  bust  by 
Spoker  :  "  What  if,  making  sure  of  his  approval 
first — he  is  nearly  imbecile,  poor  gentleman — I 
married  her  I" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had  a  lively  sense  of  the  Beau- 
tiful: especially  in  women.  His  manner  towards 
Uie  sex,  was  remarkable  for  its  insinuating  char- 


acter. It  is  recorded  of  him  in  another  part  of 
these  pages,  that  ho  embraced  Mrs.  Todgers  on 
the  smallest  provocation  :  and  it  was  a  way  he 
had  :  it  was  a  part  of  the  gentle  placiditv  of  liis 
disposition.  Before  any  thought  of  matrimony 
was  in  his  mind,  he  had  bestowed  on  Mary  many 
little  tokens  of  his  spiritual'  admiration.  Tiiey 
had  been  indignantly  received,  but  that  was  no- 
thing. True,  as  the  idea  expanded  within  him, 
these  had  become  too  ardent  to  escape  the  piercing 
eye  of  ('herry,  who  read  his  scheme  at  once;  but 
he  had  always  felt  the  power  of  Mary's  charms. 
So  Interest  and  Inclination  made  a  pair,  and  drew 
the  curricle  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  plan. 

As  to  any  thought  of  revenging  himself  on 
young  Martin  for  his  insolent  expressions  when 
they  parted,  and  of  shutting  him  out  still  more 
effectually  from  any  hope  of  reconciliation  with 
his  grandfather,  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  much  toi.> 
meek  and  forgiving  to  be  suspected  of  harbouring 
it.  As  to  being  refused  by  Mary,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
was  quite  satisfied  that  in  her  position  she  could 
never  hold  out  if  he  and  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  were 
both  against  her.  As  to  consulting  the  wishes  of 
her  heart  in  such  a  case,  it  formed  no  part  of  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  moral  code  ;  for  he  knew  what  a  good 
man  he  was,  and  what  a  blessing  he  must  be,  to 
anybody.  His  daughter  having  broken  the  ice, 
and  the  murder  being  out  between  them,  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  now  only  to  pursue  his  design  as 
cleverly  as  he  could,  and  by  the  craftiest  ap- 
proaohes. 

"  Well,  my  good  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff  meet- 
ing old  Martin  in  the  garden,  tor  it  was  his  habit 
to  walk  in  and  out  by  that  way,  as  the  fancy  took 
him  :  "  and  how  is  my  dear  friend  this  delicious 
morning  ?" 

"  Do  you  mean  me  7"  asked  the  old  man. 
"Ah!"  said   Mr.  Pecksniff,  "one  of  his  deaf 
days,  I  see.   Could  I  mean  any  one  else,  my  deal 
Sir?" 

"  You  might  have  meant  Mary,"  said  the  old 
man. 

"  Indeed  I  might.  Quite  true.  I  might  speak 
of  her  as  a  dear,  dear  friend,  I  hope  ?"  observed 
Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  old  Martin.  "  I  think 
she  -."eserves  it." 

"  Think  •"  cried  Pecksniff.  "  Think,  Mr.  Chuz- 
zlewit!" 

"  You  are  speaking  I  know,"  returned  Martin, 
"  but  I  don't  catch  what  you  say.     Speak  up !" 

"  He's  getting  deafer  than  a  flint,"  said  Peck- 
sniff. "  I  was  saying,  my  dear  Sir,  that  I  am 
afraid  I  must  make  up  my  mind  to  part  with 
Clicrry." 

"  What  has  $he  been  doing  ?"  asked  the  old 
man. 

"  He  puts  the  most  ridiculous  questions  I  ever 
heard  !"  muttered  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  He  's  a  child 
to-day."  After  which  he  added,  in  a  mild  roar, 
"  She  hasn't  been  doing  anything,  my  dear  friend." 
"  What  are  you  going  to  part  with  her  for  T' 
demanded  Martin. 

"  Slie  hasn't  her  health  by  any  means,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff.  "She  misses  her  sister,  my  dear 
Sir;  they  doated  on  each  other  from  the  cradle. 
And  I  think  of  giving  her  a  run  in  London  for  a 
change.  A  good  long  run  Sir,  if  I  find  she  likea 
it." 


188 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


"  Quite  right,"  cried  Martin.   "  It 's  judicious." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  I  hope  you 
mean  to  bear  me  company  in  this  dull  part,  while 
she's  away  ?"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  removing  from  it,"  was 
Martin's  answer. 

"'I'lien  why,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  taking  the 
old  man's  arm  in  his,  and  walking  slowly  on  : 
"  Why,  my  good  Sir,  can't  you  come  and  stay 
with  me?  1  am  sure  I  could  surround  you  with 
more  comforts — lowly  as  is  my  Cot,  than  you  can 
obtain  at  a  village  house  of  entertainment.  And 
pardon  me,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  pardon  me  if  I  say 
that  such  a  place  as  the  Dragon,  however  well- 
cumiuctt'd  (and,  as  far  as  I  know,  Mrs.  Lupin  is 
one  of  the  worthiest  creatures  in  this  county),  is 
hardly  a  home  for  Miss  Graham." 

Martin  mused  a  moment:  and  then  said,  as  he 
shook  him  by  the  hand, 

"  No.     You  're  quite  right ;  it  is  not." 

"The  very  sight  of  skittles,"  Mr.  Pecksniff 
eloquently  pursued,  "  is  far  from  being  congenial 
to  a  delicate  mind." 

"  It's  an  amusement  of  the  vulgar,"  said  old 
Martin,  "certainly." 

"Of  the  very  vulgar,"  Mr.  Pecksniff  answered, 
"Then  why  not  bring  Miss  Graham  here.  Sir? 
Here  is  the  house !  Here  am  I  alone  in  it,  for 
Thomas  Pinch  I  do  not  count  as  any  one.  Our 
lovely  friend  shall  occupy  my  daughter's  cham- 
ber; you  shall  choose  your  own;  we  shall  not 
quarrel,  I  hope  I" 

"  We  are  not  likely  to  do  that,"  said  Martin. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  pressed  his  hand,  "We  under- 
stand each  other,  my  dear  Sir,  I  see  ! — I  can  wind 
hir)i,"  he  thought,  with  exultation,  "  round  my 
little  finger  !" 

"  You  leave  the  recompense  to  me  ?"  said  the 
old  man,  after  a  minute's  silence, 

"  Oh  !  Do  not  speak  of  recompense  !"  cried 
Pecksniff. 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Martin,  with  a  glimmer  of 
his  old  obstinacy,  "you  leave  the  recompense  to 


Do 


you 


"Since  you  desire  it,  my  good  Sir." 

"  I  always  desire  it,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You 
know  I  always  desire  it.  I  wish  to  pay  as  I  go, 
even  when  I  buy  of  you.  Not  that  I  do  not  leave 
a  balance  to  be  settled  one  day,  Pecksniff." 

The  architect  was  too  much  overcme  to  speak. 
He  tried  to  drop  a  tear  upon  his  patron's  hand, 
Sut  couldn't  find  one  in  his  dry  distillery. 

"  May  that  day  be  very  distant  I"  was  his  pious 
exclamation.  "  Ah,  Sir  !  If  I  could  say  how  deep 
an  interest  I  have  in  you  and  yours !  I  allude  to 
our  beautiful  young  frienii." 

"  True,"  he  answered.  "True.  She  need  have 
tKj<nc  one  intert^sted  in  her.  I  did  her  wrong  to 
train  ner  as  I  did.  Orphan  tiiougli  she  was,  she 
would  have  found  some  one  to  protect  her  whom 
bbe  might  have  loved  again.  When  she  was  a 
cliild,  I  pleased  myself  with  the  thought  that  in 
pr.itifyiiig  Miy  whim  in  placing  her  between  me 
hiid  false-hcarled  knaves,  I  h;.d  done  her  a  kind- 
ness. Now  (die  is  u  woman,  1  have  no  such  com- 
fort She  hi'.s  no  protector  but  lierseK'  I  have 
put  her  at  B>.-.'h  odds  with  the  world,  ihat  any  dog 
'nay  bark  or  luwn  upon  her  .-it  his  pleasure,  fn- 
iied  she  stands  in  need  of  delicate  consideration. 
Vt'K.  indeed  she  does  I" 


"  If  her  position  could  be  altered  and  defined, 
Sir  ?"  Mr.  Pecksniff  hinted. 

"  How  can  that  be  done  ?  Should  I  make  a 
seamstress  of  her,  or  a  governess?" 

"  Heaven  forbid  I"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  My 
dear  Sir,  there  are  other  ways.  There  are,  ir>. 
deed.  But  I  am  much  excited  and  embarrassed 
at  present,  and  would  rather  not  pursue  tlie  sub- 
ject. I  scarcely  know  what  I  mean,  Ptrmil 
me  to  resume  it  at  another  time," 

"  You  are  not  unwell  ?"  asked  Martin,  anxi. 
ously. 

"  No,  no  I"  cried  Pecksniff.  "  No.  Permit  me 
to  resume  it  at  another  time.  I'll  walk  a  little. 
Bless  you  !" 

Old  Martin  blessed  him  in  return,  and  squeez- 
ed  his  hand.  As  he  turned  away,  and  slowly 
walked  towards  the  house,  3Ir.  Pecksniff  stood 
gazing  after  him :  being  pretty  well  recovered 
from  his  late  emotion,  which,  in  any  other  man, 
one  might  have  thought  had  been  assumed  as  a 
machinery  for  leeling  Martin's  pulse.  Tiie  change 
in  the  old  man  found  such  a  slight  expression  in 
his  figure,  that  Mr.  Pecksniff,  looking  alter  him, 
could  not  help  saying  to  himself, 

"And  I  can  wind  him  round  my  little  finger  I 
Only  think!" 

Old  Martin  happening  to  turn  his  head,  saluted 
him  afl'ectionately.  Mr.  Pecksniff  returned  the 
f-csiare. 

"  Why  the  time  was,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff;  "  and 
not  long  ago,  when  he  wouldn't  look  at  me!  How 
soothing  is  this  change  !  Such  is  the  delicate 
texture  of  the  human  heart:  so  ccmiplicated  is 
the  process  of  its  being  softened  I  Externally  .he 
looks  the  same,  and  I  can  wind  him  round  my 
little  finger.     Only  think  !" 

In  sober  truth,  there  did  appear  to  be  nothing 
on  which  Mr,  Pecksniff  might  not  have  ventured 
with  Martin  Chuzzlewit;  for  whatever  Mr,  Peck- 
sniff said  or  did  was  right,  and  whatever  l«e 
advised  was  done,  Martin  had  escaped  so  many 
snares  from  needy  fortune-hunters,  and  had  witli- 
ered  in  the  shell  of  his  susjiicion  and  distrust  for 
so  many  years,  but  to  become  the  good  man's 
tool  and  plaything.  With  the  happiness  of  this 
conviction  painted  on  his  fiice,  the  architect  went 
forth  upon  his  morning  walk. 

The  summer  weather  in  his  bosom  was  reflecU 
ed  in  the  breast  of  Nature.  Tlirough  deep  green 
vistas  where  the  bouf^iis  arched  over-head,  and 
showed  the  sunlight  flashing  in  the  beautiful  per- 
spective ;  through  dewy  fern  from  which  tlw 
strrtled  hares  leaped  up,  and  fled  at  his  approach; 
by  mantled  pools,  and  liillen  trees,  and  down  in 
hollow  places,  rustling  among  l.ist  year's  leaves 
whose  sc(mt  was  Memory  ;  the  placid  Pecksniff 
strolled.  By  meadow  gates  and  hedges  frngr.  iit 
with  wild  roses;  and  by  thatched. roofed  irottages 
whose  inmates  humbly  bowed  before  him  as  a 
man  both  good  and  wise;  the  worthy  Pecksniff 
walked  in  tranquil  meditation.  The  bee  passed 
onward,  humming  of  the  work  he  had  to  do;  tlxj 
idle  gnats  for  ever  going  round  and  round  in  oiu3 
contracting  and  exjjanding  ring,  yet  always  going 
on  us  fist  as  he,  danced  merrily  before  him  ;  the 
colour  of  the  long  grass  came  and  went,  as  if  the 
light  clouds  made  it  timid  as  they  floiitcd  through 
the  distant  air.  The  birds,  so  manv  Pecksniff 
consciences,  sung  gaily  upon  every  branch  ;  anil 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


189 


Mr.  Pecksniff  paid  his  homage  to  the  day  by  ru- 
nii(<ating'  on  his  projects  as  he  walked  along 

Chancing  to  trip,  in  his  abstraction,  over  the 
spreading  root  of  an  old  tree,  he  raised  his  pious 
eyes  to  take  a  survey  of  the  ground  before  him. 
It  startled  him  to  see  the  embodied  image  of  his 
tjioughts  not  far  a-head.  Mary  herself.  And 
alono 

At  first  Mr.  Pecksniff  stopped,  as  if  with  the 
intention  of  avoiding  her;  but  his  next  impulse 
was,  to  advance,  which  he  did  at  a  brisk  pace ;  ca- 
rolling as  he  vvunt,  so  sweetly  and  with  so  much 
innocence,  tliat  he  only  wanted  feathers  and  wings 
to  be  a  bird. 

Hearing  notes  behind  her,  not  belonging  to  the 
songsters  of  the  grove,  she  looked  round.  Mr. 
Pt'cksniff  kissed  his  hand,  and  was  at  her  side 
immediately. 

"Communing  with  Nature?"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff.    "  So  am  I." 

She  said  the  morning  wns  so  beautiful  that  she 
had  walked  further  than  she  intended,  and  would 
return.  Mr.  Pecksniff  said  it  was  exactly  his 
Case,  and  he  would  return  with  her. 

"  Take  my  arm,  sweet  girl,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. 

Mary  declined  it,  and  walked  so  very  fast  that 
he  remonstrated.  "  You  were  loitering  when  I 
came  upon  yon,"  Mr.  Peoksniff  said.  "  Why  be 
so  cruel  as  to  hurry  now!  You  would  not  shun 
me,  would  you  ?" 

"  Yes,   I   would,"  she   answered,   turning  her 

flowing  clifck  indignantly  upon  liitn,.  "you  know 
would.    Release  me,  Mr.  Pecksniff.    Your  touch 
is  disagreeable  to  nie." 

His  touch  I  What,  that  chaste  patriarchal  touch 
which  Mrs.  Todgers — surely  a  dLscreet  lady — had 
endured,  not  only  without  complaint,  but  with  ap- 
parent  satisfiction  !  This  was  positively  wrong, 
Mr.  Pecksniff  was  sorry  to  hear  her  say  it 

"  If  you  have  not  observed,"  said  Mary,  "that 
it  is  so,  prny  take  the  assurance  from  my  lips,  and 
do  n^t,  as  you  are  a  gentleman,  continue  to  offend 
me." 

"Well,  well!"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  mildly,  "I 
feel  that  I  migiit  consider  this  becoming  in  a 
daughter  of  my  own,  and  why  should  I  object  to 
it  m  one  so  beautiful!  It's  harsh.  It  cuts  me 
to  the  soul,"  suid  Mr.  Pecksniff:  "  but  I  cannot 
quarrel  with  you,  Mary." 

She  tried  to  say  she  was  sorry  to  hear  it,  but 
burst  into  tears.  Mr.  Pecksniff  now  repeated  the 
Todgers  performance  on  a  comfortable  scale,  as 
if  he  intended  it  to  last  some  time ;  and  in  his 
diseng;iged  hand,  catching  hers,  employed  him- 
self in  separating  the  fingers  with  his  own,  and 
sometimes  kissing  them,  as  he  pursued  the  con- 
versation thus: 

"  I  am  gl  id  we  met.  I  am  very  glad  we  met. 
I  am  able  now  to  ease  my  bosom  of  a  heavy  load, 
and  speak  to  you  in  confidence.  Mary,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  in  his  tenderest  tones:  indeed,  they 
were  so  very  tender  that  he  almost  squeaked : 
*  My  soul  I   1  love  you  !" 

A  fantastic  thing,  that  maiden  aflfectation  !  She 
made-believe  to  shudder. 

"I  love  you,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "my  gentle 
life,  with  a  devotion  which  is  quite  surprising, 
even  to  myself.  I  did  suppose  that  the  sensation 
wwi  buried  in  the  silent  tomb  of  a  lady,  only  se- 


cond to  you  in  quali'ies  of  llie  n.ind   and   form  , 
but  i  find  1  am  mistaken." 

She  tried  to  disenyi.ge  her  hand,  out  rnia^ht  as 
well  have  tried  to  i'vcv  herself  from  the  embr.'Ce 
of  an  affectionate  hoa-eonsiriclor  :  if  anything  so 
wily  may  be  brougnt  into  comparison  wilii  Peck- 
sniff. 

"  Although  I  am  a  widower,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, examining  the  rings  upon  hei  fiiitrcrs,  and 
tracing  the  course  of  one  delicate  blue  vein  with 
his  lat  thumb,  "a  widower  with  two  daughters, 
still  I  am  not  encumbered,  my  love.  One  of  them, 
as  you  know,  is  married.  The  other,  by  her  own 
desire,  but  with  a  view,  I  will  confess — why  not  7 
— to  my  altering  my  condition,  is  about  to  leave 
her  father's  house.  I  have  a  character,  I  hope. 
People  are  pleased  to  speak  well  of  me,  I  think 
My  person  and  manner  are  not  ab^iolulel}  those 
of  a  monster,  I  trust.  Ah,  naughty  Hand  1"  s;!id 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  apostrophising  the  reluct int  prize, 
"  wiiy  did  you  take  me  prisoner !     Go,  gn  I" 

He  slapped  the  hand  to  punisn  it;  but  relent- 
ing, folded  it  in  his  waistcoat,  to  comfort  it  again. 

"  Blessed  in  each  other,  and  in  the  society  of 
our  venerable  friend,  my  darling,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, "  we  shall  he  happy.  When  he  is  wafted 
to  a  haven  of  rest,  we  will  console  each  other. 
My  pretty  primrose,  what  do  you  say  ?" 

"  It  is  possible,"  Mary  answered,  in  a  hurried 
manner,  "that  I  ought  to  feel  grateful  tor  this 
mark  of  your  confidence.  I  cannot  say  that  I 
do,  but  I  am  willing  to  stippose  you  may  deserve 
my  thanks.  Take  them ;  and  pray  leave  me,  .Mr 
Pecksniff." 

The  good  man  smiled  a  greasy  smile :  and  drew 
her  closer  to  him. 

"  Pray,  pray  release  me,  Mr.  Pecksniff.  I  can- 
not listen  to  your  proposal.  I  cannot  reeeive  it. 
There  are  many  to  whom  it  may  be  a ic  {stable, 
but  it  is  not  so  to  me.  As  an  act  of  kindness  and 
an  act  of  pity,  leave  me  1" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  walked  on  with  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  her  hand  in  his,  as  contentedly  as 
if  they  had  been  all  in  all  to  each  other,  and  wore 
joined  together  in  the  bonds  of  truest  love. 

"  If  you  force  me  by  your  superior  strength," 
said  Mary,  who,  finding  that  good  words  had  not 
the  least  effect  upon  him,  made  no  further  elfort 
to  suppress  her  indignation  :  "  if  you  force  mo 
by  your  superior  strength  to  accompany  you  back, 
and  to  be  the  subject  of  your  insolence  upon  the 
way,  you  cannot  constrain  the  expression  of'  my 
thoughts.  I  hold  you  in  the  deepest  abhorrence 
I  know  your  real  nature  and  despise  it." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mr,  Pecksniff,  sweetly.  "  No, 
no,  no  1" 

"  By  what  arts  or  unhappy  chances  you  have 
gained  your  influence  over  Mr.  Chuzzlewif,  I  do 
not  know,"  said  Mary  :  "  it  may  be  strong  enousrb 
to  soften  even  this,  but  he  shall  know  of  thia, 
trust  me,  Sir." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  raised  his  heavy  eyelids  languid- 
ly, and  let  them  fall  again.  It  was  saying  with 
perfect  coolness,  "  Ay,  ay  I  Indeed  !" 

"  Is  it  not  enough,"  said  Mary,  "  that  you  warj* 
and  change  his  nature,  adapt  his  every  prejudice 
to  your  bad  ends,  and  harden  a  b'iart  naturally 
kind  by  shutting  out  the  truth  and  aflowing  none 
but  false  and  distorted  views  to  reach  it ;  is  it  not 
enough  that  you  have  the  power  it  doing  Ihi* 


190 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


and  that  you  exercise  it,  but  must  you  also  be  so  I 
CoarsL-,  so  cruel,  and  so  cowaidly  to  me?"  | 

Still  Mr.  Pecksniff  led  her  Ciilmly  on,  and  look- 
ed as  mild  as  any  lamb  that  ever  pastured  in  the 
fields. 

"  Will  nothing  move  you,  Sii  !"  cried  Mary. 
My  dnar,"  observed  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  a  pla- 
cid  leer,  "  a   habit  of  self-examination,  and  the 
practice  of— shall  I  say  of  virtue?" 
"  Of  hypocrisy,"  said  Mary. 
"No,  no,"  resumed  Mr.  Pecksniff,  chafing-  the 
captive  hand  reproachfully:  "of virtue — have  en- 
abled  nje  to  set  such  guards  upon  myself,  that  it 
IS  really  difficult  to  rutfle  me.    It  is  a  curious  fact, 
but  it  Is  difficult,  do  you   know,  for   any  one  to 
ruffle  me.     And  did  she  think,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, with  a  playful  tightening  of  his  grasp,  "  that 
the  could  I    How  litlle  did  slie  know  his  heart  I" 

Little  indeed  !  Her  mind  was  so  strang(  ly  con- 
stituted that  she  would  have  preferred  the  caresses 
of  a  toad,  an  adder,  or  a  serpent :  nay,  the  hug 
of  a  bear:  to  the  endearments  of  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"Come,  come,"  said  that  good  gentleman,  "a 
word  or  two  will  set  this  mutter  right,  and  estab- 
lish -a  pleasant  understanding  between  us.     I  am 
not  angry,  my  love." 
"  You  angry !" 

•  No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  I  am  not.  I  say 
80.     Neither  are  you." 

There  was  a  beating  heart  beneath  his  hand 
that  told  another  story  though. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  not,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff: 
"and  I  will  tell  you  why.  Tliere  are  two  Mar- 
tin Chuzzlcwits,  my  dear  ;  and  your  carrying  your 
anger  to  one  might  have  a  serious  effect,  wlio 
knows,  upon  the  othf-r.  You  wouldn't  wish  to 
hurt  him,  would  you  1" 

She  trembled  viohntly,  and  looked  at  him  with 
such  a  proud  disdain  tiiat  he  turned  his  eyes  away. 
No  douht  lest  he  siiould  be  offended  with  her  in 
spite  of  his  better  self 

"  A  passive  quarrel,  my  love,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, "  may  be  changed  into  an  active  one,  re- 
member.  It  would  lie  sad  to  blight  even  a  disin- 
herited younff  man  in  his  already  blighted  pros- 
pects :  but  how  easy  to  do  it !  Ah,  how  easy  ! 
Have  I  influence  with  our  venerable  friend,  do 
you  think?  Well,  perhaps  I  have.  Perhaps  I 
have. 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers;  and  nodded  with 
an  air  of  banter  that  wms  charming. 

"  No,"  he  continued,  thou<.'htfully.  "  Upon  the 
■whole,  my  sweet,  if  I  were  you,  I  'd  keep  my  se- 
cret  to  myself.  1  am  not  at  all  sure:  very  far 
from  it  :  that  it  would  surprise  our  friend  in  any 
way,  for  he  and  I  have  had  some  conversation 
together  only  this  morning,  and  he  is  anxious, 
very  anxious,  to  establish  you  in  some  more  set- 
tled manner.  But  whether  he  was  surprised  or 
not  surprised,  the  consequence  of  your  imparting 
it  might  be  the  same.  Martin,  junior,  might  suf- 
fer severely.  I'd  have  compassion  on  Martin, 
junior,  do  you  know!"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with 
t  persuasive  smile.  "  Yes.  He  don't  deserve  it, 
but  I  w'^\ild." 

She  wept  so  bitterly  now,  and  was  so  much  dis- 
tressed, that  ne  thought  it  prudent  to  unciasp  her 
vaist,  and  hold  her  only  by  the  hand. 

"  As  to  our  own  share  in  the  precious  little  mys- 
te-T."  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "we  will  keep  it   to 


ourselves,  and  talk  of  it  between  ourselves,  and 
you  shall  think  it  over.  You  will  consent,  my 
love;  you  will  consent,  I  know.  Whatever  yoa 
may  think  ;  you  will.  I  seem  to  remember  to 
have  heard  :  I  really  don't  know  where,  or  how  :** 
he  added,  with  bewitching  frankness,  "  that  you 
and  Martin,  junior,  when  you  were  children,  iiad 
a  sort  of  childish  fondness  for  each  otiier.  When 
we  are  married,  you  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of 
thinking  that  it  didn't  last,  to  ruin  him,  but  pass- 
ed away,  to  do  him  good  ;  for  we  Ml  see  then,  what 
we  can  do  to  put  some  trifling  help  in  Martin  ju- 
nior's way.  Have  I  any  influence  with  our  ven- 
erable friend  ?  Well  I  Perhaps  I  have.  Perhaps 
I  have." 

Tlie  outlet  from  the  wood  in  which  these  ten- 
der passages  occurred,  was  close  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
house.  They  were  now  so  near  it  that  he  stopped, 
and  holding  up  her  little  finger,  said  in  playful 
accents,  as  a  parting  fancy: 
"Shall  I  bite  it?" 

Receiving  no  reply  he  kissed  it  instead  ;  and 
then  stooping  down,  inclined  his  flabby  face  to 
hers — he  had  a  flabby  face,  although  he  was  a 
good  man — and  with  a  blessing,  which  from  such 
a  source  was  quite  enough  to  set  her  up  in  life, 
and  prosper  her  from  that  time  forth,  permitted  her 
to  leave  him. 

Gallantry  in  its  true  sense  is  supposed  to  ennt^ 
ble  and  dignify  a  man  ;  and  love  has  shed  refine- 
mi'iits  on  innumerable  Cymons.  But  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff: perhaps  because  to  one  of  his  exalted  na- 
ture these  were  mere  grossnesses  :  certainly  did 
not  appear  to  any  unusual  advantage,  now  that  he 
was  lefl  alone.  On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  be 
shrunk  and  reduced  ;  to  be  trying  to  hide  himself 
within  himself;  and  to  be  wretched  at  not  having 
the  power  to  do  it.  His  shoes  looked  too  large; 
his  sleeves  looked  too  long ;  his  hair  looked  too 
limp;  his  hat  looked  too  little;  his  features  look- 
ed  too  mean ;  his  exposed  throat  looked  as  if  a 
halter  would  have  done  it  good.  For  a  minute  or 
two,  in  fict,  he  was  hot,  and  pale,  and  mean,  and 
shy,  and  slinking,  and  consequently  not  at  all 
Pecksniffian.  But  after  that,  he  recovered  him- 
self, and  went  home  with  as  beneficent  an  air  as 
if  he  had  been  the  High  Priest  of  the  summer 
weather. 

"  I  have  arranged  to  go,  Papa,"  said  Charity, 
"to-morrow." 

"So  soon,  my  child  !" 

"  I  can't  go  too  soon,"  said  Charity,  "  under 
the  circumstances.     I  have  written  to  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers  to  propose  an  arrangement,  and  have  request 
ed  her  to  meet  me   at  the   coach,  at  all  events. 
You  '11  be  quite  your  own  master  now,  Mr.  Pinch  I" 
Mr.  Pecksniff  had  just  gone  out  of  the  room, 
and  Tom  had  just  come  into  it. 
"  My  own  master  I"  repeated  Tom. 
"Yes,  you'll   have    nobody  to   interfere    with 
you,"  said  Charity.    "  At  least  I  hope  you  won't 
Hem  I   It 's  a  changing  world." 

"What!  are  —  arc  you  going  to  be  married. 
Miss  Pecksniff?"  asked  Tom  in  great  surprise. 

"  Not  exactly,"  faltered  Cherry.  "  I  haven't 
made  up  my  mind  to  be.  I  believe  I  could  be 
if  I  chose,  Mr.  Pinch." 

"  Of  course  you  could  I"  said  Tom.  And  he 
said  it  in  perfect  good  faith.  He  believed  it  froi» 
the  bottom  of  his  heart 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


191 


**No,"  said  Cherry.  "J  am  not  going  to  be 
married.  Nobody  is,  tliat  I  know  of.  Hem  ! 
But  I  am  not  going  to  live  willi  Papa.  I  have 
my  rea.'^ons,  but  it's  all  a  secret.  I  shall  always 
feel  very  kindly  towards  you,  I  assure  you,  for  the 
boldness  you  showed  that  night.  As  to  you  and 
ipe   Mr.  Pinch,  we  part  the  best  friends,  possible !" 

Tom  th.Hiked  her  for  her  confidence,  and  for 
her  friendship,  but  there  was  a  mystery  in  the 
former,  which  perfectly  bewildered  him.  In  his 
extravagant  devotion  to  the  family,  he  had  felt  the 
loss  of  Merry  more  than  any  one  but  those  who 
knew  that  for  all  the  slights  he  underwent  he 
thought  his  own  demerits  were  to  bl.ime,  could 
possibly  have  understood.  He  had  scarcely  re- 
conciled himself  to  that,  when  here  was  Charity 
about  to  leave  them.  She  had  grown  up,  as  it 
were,  under  Tom's  eye.     The  sisters  were  a  part 


of  Pecksniff,  and  a  part  of  Tom ,  items  in  Peck- 
sniff's goodness,  and  in  Tom's  service.  He 
couldn't  bear  it :  not  two  hours'  sleep  had  Tons 
that  night,  through  dwelling  in  his  bed  upon  these 
dreadful  changes. 

When  morniug  dawned,  he  thought  he  must 
have  dreamed  this  piece  of  ambiguity  ;  but  no, 
on  going  down  stairs  he  fouriJ  them  picking 
trunks  and  cording  boxes,  and  making  other  pre- 
parations for  Miss  Charity's  departure,  which  last- 
ed all  day  long.  In  good  time  for  the  evening- 
coach,  Miss  ("harity  deposited  her  housekeeping 
keys  with  much  ceremony  upon  the  parlour-table; 
took  a  gracious  leave  of  all  the  house;  and  quit- 
ted  her  paternal  roof — a  blessing,  lor  whish  the 
Pecksniffian  servant  was  observed  by  some  pro. 
fane  persons  to  be  particularly  active  in  the  thanks- 
giving  at  church  next  Sunday, 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

MR.  PINCH  IS  DISCHARGED  OF  A  DUTY  WHICH  HE  NEVER  OWED  TO  ANY- 
BODY; AND  MR.  PECKSNIFF  DISCHARGES  A  DUTY  WHICH  HE  OWES  TO 
SOCIETY, 


The  closing  words  of  the  last  chapter,  lead  na- 
turally to  the  commencement  ot'  this,  its  succes- 
sor ;  for  it  has  to  do  with  a  church.  With  the 
church  so  often  mentioned  heretofore,  in  which 
Tom  Pincli  played  the  organ  for  nothing. 

One  sultry  afternoon,  about  a  week  atler  Miss 
Charity's  departure  for  London,  Mr.  Pecksniff  be- 
ing out  walking  by  himself,  took  it  into  his  head 
to  stray  into  the  churchyard.  As  he  was  linger- 
ing among  the  tombstones,  endeavouring  to  ex- 
tract an  available  sentiment  or  two  from  the  epi- 
taphs — for  he  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  mak- 
ing up  a  few  moral  crackers,  to  be  let  off  as  oc- 
casion served  —  Tom  Pinch  began  to  practise. 
Tom  could  run  down  to  the  church  and  do  so 
whenever  he  had  time  to  spare;  for  it  was  a  sim- 
ple little  organ,  provided  with  wind  by  the  action 
of  the  musician's  feet;  and  he  was  independent, 
even  of  a  bellows-blower.  Though  if  Tom  had 
wanted  one  at  any  time,  there  was  not  a  man  or 
boy  in  all  the  village,  and  away  to  the  turnpike 
(tollman  included),  but  would  have  blown  away 
for  him  till  he  was  black  in  the  face. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  had  no  objection  to  music;  not 
the  least.  He  was  tolerant  of  everything  —  he 
often  said  so.  He  considered  it  a  vagabond  kind 
of  trifling,  in  general,  just  suited  to  'I'om's  capa- 
city. But  in  regard  to  Tom's  performance  upon 
tliis  same  organ,  he  was  remarkably  lenient,  sin- 
gularly amiable;  for  when  Tom  pkiyed  it  on  Sun- 
days, Mr.  Pecksniff  in  his  unbounded  sympathy 
felt  as  if  he  played  it  himself,  and  were  a  bene- 
factor to  the  congregation.  So  whenever  it  was 
impossible  to  devise  any  other  means  of  taking 
tlie  value  of  Tom's  wages  out  of  him,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff gave  him  leave  to  cultivate  this  instrameiit. 
For  which  mark  of  his  consideration,  Tom  was 
very  gratef;]. 

The  aflernoon  was  remarkably  warm,  and  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  been  strolling  a  long  way.  He  had 
not  what  may  be  called  a  fine  ear  for  nmsic,  but 
he  knew  when  it  had  a  tranquillizing  influence  on 
his  soul ;  and  that  was  the  case  now.  for  it  sound-  i 


ed  to  him  like  a  melodious  snore.  He  approached 
the  church,  and  looking  through  the  diamond  lat- 
tice of  a  window  near  the  porch,  saw  Tom,  with 
the  curtains  in  the  lolt  drawn  back,  playing  away 
with  great  expression  and  tenderness. 

The  church  had  an  inviting  air  of  coolness. 
The  old  oak  roof  su()ported  by  cross-beams,  the 
hoary  walls,  the  marble  tablets,  and  the  cracked 
stone  pavement,  were  refreshing  to  look  at.  There 
were  leaves  of  ivy  tapping  gently  at  the  opposi^^ 
windows;  and  the  sun  poured  in  through  on.; 
one  :  leaving  the  body  of  the  church  in  tempting 
shade.  But  the  most  tempting  spot  of  all,  waa 
one  red-curtained  and  soft-cushioned  pew,  where- 
in the  official  dignitaries  of  the  place  (of  whom 
Mr.  Pecksniff  was  the  head  and  chief)  enshrined 
themselves  on  Sundays,  Mr.  Pecksniff's  seat 
w.is  in  the  corner  :  a  remarkably  comfortable  cor- 
ner :  where  his  very  large  Prayer-Book  was  at 
that  minute  making  the  most  of  its  quarto  self 
upon  the  desk.     He  determined  to  go  in  and  rest. 

He  entered  very  softly  ;  in  part  beciuse  it  was 
a  church;  in  part  because  his  tread  was  always 
soft;  in  part  because  Tom  played  a  solemn  tunei 
in  p.irt  because  ho  thought  he  would  surprise  him 
when  he  stojjped.  Unbolting  the  door  of  the  hi^.^ 
pew  of  state,  he  glided  in  and  shut  it  after  hi:n  , 
then  sitting  in  his  usual  place,  and  stretching  out 
his  legs  upon  the  hassocks,  he  composed  himself 
to  listen  to  the  music. 

It  is  an  unaccountable  circumstance  that  he 
should  have  ft  It  drowsy  there,  where  the  force  of 
association  might  surely  have  been  enough  to 
keep  him  wide  awake;  but  he  did.  He  had  not 
been  in  the  snug  little  corner  five  minutes  before 
he  began  to  nod.  He  had  not  recovered  himself 
one  minute  before  he  began  to  nod  again.  In  the 
very  act  of  opening  his  eyes  indolently,  he  nod- 
ded again.  In  the  very  act  of  shutting  them,  ho 
nodded  sgain.  So  he  fell  out  of  one  nod  into  an 
other  until  at  last  he  ceased  to  nod  at  all,  and  'vai 
as  fast  as  the  church  itself. 

He  had  a  corFciousness  of  the  organ,  long  dAe> 


192 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


he  fcl!  asleep,  tfioiig-h  as  to  its  being  an  orjran  he 
had  no  more  idea  of  ttiat,  than  he  had  o*"  its  be- 
ing' a  Bull.  After  a  while  he  began  to  have  at 
intervals  the  same  dreamy  impression  of  voices; 
und  awakening  to  an  indolent  curiosity  upon  tlie 
subject,  opened  hts  eyes. 

lie  was  so  indolent,  that  afler  glancing  at  the 
hassocks  and  the  pew,  he  was  already  half-way 
off  to  sleep  again,  when  it  occurred  to  him  tJMt 
tliere  really  were  voices  in  the  church  :  low  voices, 
talking  earnestly  hard  by  :  while  the  echoes  seem- 
ed to  mutter  responses.  He  roused  himself,  and 
listened. 

Betbre  he  had  listened  half-a-dozen  seconds,  he 
became  as  broad  awake  aa  ever  he  had  been  in 
all  his  life,  \^'ith  eyes,  and  ears,  and  mouth, 
wide  open,  he  moved  himself  a  very  little  with 
the  utmost  caution,  and  gathering  the  curtain  in 
his  hand,  peeped  out. 

Tom  Pinch  and  Mary.  Of  course.  He  had  re- 
Cognised  their  voices,  and  already  knew  the  topic 
they  discussed.  Looking  like  the  small  end  of  a 
guillotined  man,  with  his  chin  on  a  level  with  the 
top  of  the  pew,  so  that  he  might  duck  down  im- 
niediateiy  in  case  of  either  of  tliem  turning  round, 
he  listened.  Listened  with  such  concentrated 
eagerntss,  that  his  very  hair  and  shirt-collar  stood 
bristling  up  to  help  him. 

"No,"  cried  lom.  "No  letters  have  ever 
reached  me,  except  that  one  from  New  York.  But 
don't  be  uneasy  on  that  account,  for  it 's  very 
ikely  they  have  gone  away  to  some  far-off  place, 
where  the  posts  are  neither  regular  nor  frequent. 
He  said  in  that  very  letter  that  it  might  be  so, 
even  in  that  city  to  which  they  thought  of  travel- 
ling— Eden,  you  know." 

"  It  is  a  great  weight  upon  my  mind,"  said 
Mary. 

"  Oh,  but  you  mustn't  let  it  be,"  said  Tom. 
"There's  a  true  saying  that  nothing  travels  so 
fast  as  ill  news;  and  if  the  slightest  harm  had 
happened  to  Martin,  you  may  be  sure  you  would 
have  heard  of  it  long  ago.  I  have  often  wished 
to  say  this  to  you,"  Tom  continued  with  an  em- 
barrassment that  became  him  very  well,  "  but  you 
liave  never  given  me  an  opportunity." 

"  I  have  sometimes  been  almost  afraid,"  said 
Mary,  "that  you  n)ight  suppose  I  hesitated  to 
confide  in  you,  Mr.  Pinch." 

"No,"  'i;om  stammer''J,  "  1 — I  am  not  aware 
that  I  ever  supposed  that.  I  am  sure  that  if  I 
have,  1  have  cheeked  the  thought  directly,  as  an 
injustice  to  you.  1  feel  the  delicacy  of  your  situ- 
ation in  having  to  confiile  in  me  at  all,"  said  Tom, 
"but  1  would  risk  my  life  to  save  you  from  one 
day's  uneasiness  :  indeed  I  would  I" 

Poor  Tom  ! 

•*  I  have  dreaded  sometimes,"  Tom  continued, 
"That  I  might  have  displeased  you  by — by  hav- 
ing  the  boldness  to  try  ana  aniieipate  your  wishes 
now  and  then.  At  other  times  I  have  fancied 
that  your  kindness  prompted  you  to  keep  aloof 
ftom  me." 

"  Indeed  !" 

"  It  was  very  foolish :  very  presumptuous  and 
ndiculons  :  to  think  so,"  Tom  pursued:  "but  I 
feared  you  miglit  suppose  it  possible  that  I — I — 
■huuld  admire  you  too  much  for  my  own  peace  ; 
tnd  rio  d(^nied  yourself  the  slight  assistance  you 
would  otiicrwisu  have  accepted  from  me.    If  such 


an  idea  has  ever  presented  it-self  to  you,"  falLTed 
Tom.  "  pray  dismiss  it.  I  am  easily  made  hap 
py  :  and  I  shall  live  contented  here  long  after  you 
and  Martin  have  forgotten  me.  I  am  a  poor,  shy, 
awkward  creature  :  not  at  all  a  man  of  the  world  : 
and  you  should  think  no  moic  of  me,  bless  you, 
than  if  I  were  an  old  friar  I" 

If  friars  bear  such  hearts  as  thine,  Tom,  kt 
friars  multiply;  though  they  have  no  such  rule 
in  all  their  stern  arithmetic. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Pinch  I"  said  Mary,  giving  him  her 
hand;  "I  cannot  tell  you  how  your  kiiidi.esa 
moves  me.  I  have  never  wronged  you  by  Ui-i 
slightest  doubt,  and  have  never  for  an  instant 
ceased  to  feel  that  you  were  all ;  much  more  than 
all;  that  Martin  found  you.  Without  the  trilent 
care  and  friendship  I  have  experienced  from  jou, 
my  life  here  would  have  been  unhappy.  But  you 
have  been  a  good  angel  to  me ;  filling  me  with 
gratitude  of  heart,  hope,  and  courage." 

"  I  am  as  little  like  an  angel,  I  am  afraid,"  re- 
plied Tom,  shaking  his  head,  "as  any  stone  cher- 
ubim  among  the  gravestones ;  and  1  don't  thinL 
there  are  many  real  angels  of  that  pattern.  But 
I  should  like  to  know  (if  you  will  tell  me)  why 
you  have  been  so  very  silent  about  Martin." 

"  Because  I  have  been  afraid,"  said  Mary,  "  of 
I*  juring  you." 

"Of  injuring  me!"  cried  Tom. 

"  Of  doing  you  an  injury  with  your  employer.** 

The  gentleman  in  question  dived. 

"  With  Pecksniff  I"  rejoined  Tom,  with  cheeN 
ful  confidence.  "Oh  dear,  he'd  never  think  of 
us  !  He  's  the  best  of  men.  The  more  at  ease 
you  were,  the  hap|)ier  he  would  be.  Oh  dear,  you 
needn't  be  afraid  of  Pecksniff.    He  's  not  a  spy." 

Many  a  man  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  place,  if  be 
could  have  dived  through  the  floor  of  the  pew  of 
slate  and  come  out  at  Calcutta  or  any  inhabited 
region  on  the  other  side  of  the  earth,  would  have 
done  it  instantly.  Mr.  Pecksniff  sat  down  u})on 
a  hassock,  and  listening  more  attentively  than 
ever,  smiled. 

Mary  seemed  to  have  expressed  some  dissent 
in  the  meanwhile,  for  Tom  went  on  to  say,  with 
honest  energy  : 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  it  always 
happens,  whenever  I  express  myself  in  this  way, 
to  anybody  almost,  that  I  find  they  won't  do  ju. 
tice  to  Pecksniff.  It  is  one  of  the  most  extraor. 
dinary  circumstances  that  ever  came  within  my 
knowledge,  but  it  is  so.  There  's  John  Wesllock 
who  used  to  be  a  pupil  here,  one  of  the  best-heart- 
ed  young  men  in  the  world,  in  all  other  matters 
—  I  really  believe  John  would  have  PecksnitT 
flogged  at  the  cart's  tail  if  he  could.  And  John 
is  not  a  solitary  case,  for  every  pupil  we  have  had 
in  my  time  has  gone  away  with  the  same  invete- 
rate hatred  of  him.  There  was  Mark  Taplcy, 
too,  quite  in  another  station  of  life,"  said  Tom: 
"  the  mockery  he  used  to  make  of  Pecksniff  when 
he  was  at  the  Dragon  was  shocking.  Martin, 
too;  Martin  was  worse  than  any  of  'em.  But  I 
forgot  He  prepared  you  to  dislike  Pecksniff,  of 
course.  So  you  came  with  a  prejudice,  you  know, 
Miss  Graham,  and  are  not  a  fair  witness." 

Tom  triumphed  very  much  in  this  discovery, 
and  rubbed  iiis  hands  with  great  satisfaction. 

"Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Mary,  "you  mistake  him." 

"  No,  no  I"   cried  Tom.     "  You  mistake  hiis. 


MARTIN    CHUZZl.EVVIT. 


193 


But,"  he  added,  with  a  rapid  chancre  in  his  tone, 
**wliat  is  the  matter?  Miss  Graiiam,  what  is  the 
matter  '" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  brougltt  up  to  the  top  of  the  pew, 
by  slow  dejy^reifs,  his  hair,  his  forehead,  his  eye- 
br.AV,  his  eye.  She  was  silting'  on  a  bench  be- 
side the  door  with  her  hands  before  iier  face;  and 
Tjiii  w.is  betiding  over  her. 

"  WtKit  is  the  matter  I"  cried  Tom.  "  Have  I 
said  aiivlhii)<r  to  hurt  yoti  ?  Has  any  one  said 
riiythiiig  to  hurt  yon?  Don't  cry.  Pray  tell  me 
what  it  is.  I  cannot  lie.ir  to  see  you  so  distressed. 
Mercy  on  us,  I  never  was  so  surprised  and  griev- 
ed in  all  my  lite !" 

Mr.  F'cck.snitf  kept  his  eye  in  the  same  place. 
He  could  have  moved  it  now  for  nothing  short  of 
a  ginilot  or  a  red-hot  wire. 

"  I  wouldn't  have  told  you,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said 
Mary,  "if  I  could  have  helped  it;  but  your  de- 
lusion is  so  absorbiriir,  and  it  is  so  necessary  that 
we  should  be  upon  our  g^uard  ;  that  you  should 
not  be  compromised;  and  to  tliat  end  that  you 
should  know  by  whom  I  am  beset:  that  no  alter- 
native is  leil  me.  I  came  here  purposely  to  ti'll 
you,  but  I  think  I  should  have  wanted  courage 
if  you  had  n(jt  chanced  to  lead  me  so  directly  to 
the  object  of  my  coming." 

Tom  gazed  at  her  steadfastly,  and  seemed  to 
sny,  "  What  else  ?"      But  he  said  not  a  word. 

"That  person  whom  you  think  the  best  of 
men,"  said  Mary,  looking  up,  and  speaking  with 
a  quivering-  lip  and  flashing  eye  :  ^ 

"  Lord  bless  nie !"  muttered  Tom,  staggering 
back.  "  Wait  a  rrmment.  That  person  wiiom  I 
tliink  the  best  of  men !  You  me:;n  Pecksniff,  of 
course.  Yes.  I  see  you  mean  Pecksnifl".  Good 
gracious  me,  don't  spe.k  without  authority.  What 
lias  he  done  ?  If  he  is  not  the  best  of  men,  what 
is  he  ?" 

"The  worst.  The  falsest,  the  craftiest,  mean- 
est, cruelest,  most  sordid,  most  shameless,"  said 
the  trembling  girl — trembling  with  her  indigna- 
tion. 

Tom  sat  down  on  a  seat,  and  clasped  his  hands. 

"What  is  he,"  said  Mary,  "  who  receiving  me 
in  his  house  as  his  guest:  his  unwilling  guest: 
knowing  my  history,  and  how  defenceless  and 
alone  I  am,  presumes  before  his  duughters  to  af- 
front me  so  tiiat  if  I  had  a  brolher  hut  a  child, 
who  saw  it,  he  would  instinctively  have  helped 
me?" 

"  He  is  a  scoundrel  I"  exclaimed  Tom.  "  Who- 
ever he  may  he,  he  is  a  scoundrel." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  di-.ed  again. 

•'What  is  he,"  said  Mary,  "who,  when  my 
only  friend  ;  a  dear  and  kind  one  too  :  was  in  full 
health  of  mind,  humbled  himself  before  him,  but 
was  spurned  aw;iy  (for  he  knew  him  then)  like  a 
dog.  Who,  in  his  t!)rgiving  spirit,  now  that  that 
friend  is  sunk  into  a  failing  state,  can  crawl  about 
him  again,  and  use  the  influence  he  basely  gains, 
for  every  base  and  wicked  purpose,  and  not  for 
one — not  one — that's  true  and  good  ?"  i 

"  I  say  he  is  a  scoundrel,"  answered  Tom. 

**  But  what  is  he  :  oh  Mr.  Pinch,  what  is  he :  I 
who,  thinking  he  could  compass  these  designs  tlie  | 
better  were  I  his  wife,  assails  me  with  the  cow- 
erd's  argument  that  if  I  marry  him,  .Martin,  on  ' 
whom  I  have  brought  so  much  misfortime,  shall 
be  restored  to  something  of  his  former  hoj/es ;  and  , 
25 


if  I  do  not,  shall  be  p!  inged  in  deepct  ruip  ^ 
What  is  he  who  makes  my  very  constancj  to  one 
I  love  with  all  my  heart  a  torture  to  myself  a-id 
wrong  to  him  ;  who  makes  im;,  do  what  I  wii!, 
the  instrument  to  hurt  a  head  I  would  heap  bless, 
ings  on  !  What  is  he  who,  winding  all  tliese  cruel 
snares  about  me,  explains  their  purpose  to  me, 
with  a  smooth  tongue  and  a  sfniling  fice,  in  tha 
broad  light  of  day  :  dragging  me  on  the  wliilo  ia 
his  embrace,  and  holding  to  his  lips  a  hand,"  pur- 
sued the  agitated  girl,  extending  it,  "^vhich  I 
would  have  struck  off,  if  with  it  I  could  lose  the 
shame  and  degradation  of  liis  touch  ?" 

"  I  say,"  cried  Tom,  in  great  excitement,  "he 
is  a  scoundrel  and  a  villain.  I  don't  care  who  he 
is,  I  say  he  is  a  double-dyed  and  most  intolerable 
villain  !" 

Covering  her  face  with  her  hands  agiin,  as  if 
the  passion  which  had  sustained  her  through  the.^e 
disclosures  lost  itself  in  an  overwhelming  sense 
of  shame  and  grief,  she  abandoned  herself  to 
tears. 

Any  sight  of  distress  was  sure  to  move  the  ten- 
derness  of  Tom,  but  this  especially.  Teirs  and 
sobs  from  her,  were  arrows  in  his  heart.  He  tm-d 
to  comfort  her;  sat  down  beside  her;  erpcnd.  d 
all  his  store  of  homely  eloquence;  and  spike  in 
words  of  praise  and  hope  of  Martin.  .\y,  though 
he  loved  her  f>om  his  soul  with  such  a  s-lf-dtny- 
ing  love  as  woman  seldom  wins :  he  s[)oki;  from 
first  to  last  of  Martin.  Not  the  wealth  of  the  rich 
Indies  would  have  tempted  Tom  to  shiik  one 
mention  of  her  lover's  name. 

When  she  was  more  composed,  she  impressed 
upon  Tom  that  this  man  she  had  descrih.:d,  was 
Pecksniff  in  his  real  colours ;  and  word  bv  word 
and  phrase  by  phrase,  as  well  as  she  remembered 
it,  related  what  had  passed  between  them  m  tl-.e 
wood  :  which  was  no  doubt  a  source  of  hig-h  grati- 
fication  to  that  gentleman  himself,  who  in  his  de- 
sire to  see  and  his  dread  of  being  seen,  was  con- 
stantly diving  down  into  the  state  pew,  ami  com- 
ing up  again  like  the  intelligent  householder  in 
Punch's  Show,  who  avoids  being  knocked  on  the 
head  with  a  cudgel.  When  she  had  conelud.'d 
her  acount,  and  had  besought  Tom  to  be  very  dis- 
tant and  unconscious  in  his  manner  towards  her 
after  this  explanation,  and  had  thanked  him  \cry 
much,  they  parted  on  the  alarm  of  footsteps  in 
the  burial-ground  ;  and  Tom  was  left  alone  in  Ihg 
church  again. 

And  now  the  full  agitation  and  misery  of  the 
disclosure,  came  rushing  upon  Tom  indeed.  The 
star  of  his  whole  life  from  boyhool,  had  become, 
in  a  moment,  putrid  vapour.  It  was  not  that  Peck- 
sniff: Tom's  Pecksniff:  had  ceased  to  exist,  but 
that  he  never  had  existed.  In  his  de^ith,  Tom 
would  have  had  the  comfort  of  remembering  wh-.t 
he  used  to  be;  but  in  this  discovery,  he  hid  the 
anguish  of  recollecting  what  he  never  was.  Fur 
as  Tom's  blindness  in  this  matter  had  been  total 
and  not  partial,  so  was  his  restored  sigdt.  Hia 
Pecksniff  could  never  have  worked  the  wicker? 
ness  of  which  he  had  just  now  heard,  but  any 
other  Pecksniff  could ;  and  the  Pecksnifl  who 
could  do  that,  could  do  anything,  and  no  doubt 
had  been  doing  anytihng  and  everything  except 
the  right  thing,  all  through  his  career.  From  the 
lofty  height  on  which  poor  Tom  had  placed  hn 
idol  it  was  tumbled  down  headlong,  and 


194 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OP 


Not  all  the  Rinp's  horsrs  nor  all  the  king's  men 
Could  tiave  set  Mr.  P(;rkf-nirt"  up  again. 

liCgJons  of  Titans  couldn't  have  got  him  out  of 
t^ie  mud;  and  serve  him  right.  But  it  was  not 
he  who  suffered  ;  it  was  Tom.  His  compass  was 
broken,  his  chart  destroyed,  hi*  chronometer  had 
Btopptd,  his  masts  were  gone  by  tiie  board;  his 
anchor  was  adrift,  ten  thousand  leagues  away. 

Mr.  PtcksnifF  watched  him  with  a  lively  inter- 
est,  for  he  divined  the  purposf.  of  Tom's  rumina- 
tions, and  was  curious  to  see  how  he  conducted 
himself  For  some  time,  Torn  wandered  up  and 
down  the  aisle  like  a  man  demented,  slopping  oc- 
easionally  to  lean  against  a  pew  and  think  it  over  ; 
then  he  stood  staring  at  a  blank  old  monument 
Bordered  tastefully  with  skulls  and  cross-bones, 
IS  if  it  were  the  finest  work  of  Art  he  had  ever 
Been,  although  at  other  times  he  held  it  in  un- 
speakable contempt;  then  he  sat  down;  and  then 
walked  to  and  fro  again;  and  then  went  wander- 
ing up  into  the  organ-loft,  and  touched  the  keys. 
But  their  minstrelsy  was  changed,  their  music 
gone;  and  sounding  one  long  melancholy  chord, 
Tom  droojped  his  head  upon  his  hands,  and  gave 
it  up  as  hopeless. 

"  I  wouldnH  have  cared,"  said  Tom  Pinch,  ris- 
ing from  his  stool,  and  looking  down  into  the 
church  as  if  he  had  been  the  Clergyman,  "  I 
wouldn't  have  caTcd  for  anything  he  might  have 
done  to  Mc,  (or  I  have  tried  his  patience  often, 
and  have  livod  ujjon  his  sufferance,  and  have  ne- 
ver been  the  hdp  to  him  that  others  could  have 
liicn.  I  wouldn't  have  minded,  Pecksniff,"  Tom 
continued,  little  Ijliinking  who  heard  him,  "  if  you 
liad  done  Me  any  wr(/n;g;  I  could  have  found 
plenty  of  excuses  for  t)liat ;  and  though  you  niiglit 
have  hurl  me,  could  ha-ve  still  gone  on  respecting 
you.  But  why  did  you  ever  fall  so  low  as  this  in 
my  esteem  !  Oh  Pecksniff,  Pecksniff,  there  is 
nothing  I  would  not  have  given  to  have  had  you 
deserve  my  old  opinion  of  you  ;  nothing  I" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  sat  upon  the  hassock  pulling  up 
his  shirt-collar,  while  Tom,  touched  to  the  quick, 
delivered  this  apostrophe.  Ailer  a  pause  he  heard 
Tom  coming  down  tiie  stairs,  jingling  the  church 
keys ;  and  bringing  his  eye  to  the  top  of  the  pew 
again,  saw  him  go  slowly  aut,  and  lock  the  door. 
Mr.  Pecksniff  durst  not  issue  from  his  place  of 
concealment;  for  through  the  windows  of  the 
church,  he  saw  Tom  passing  on  among  the  graves, 
and  flometirhes  stopping  at  a  stone,  and  leaning 
there,  as  if  he  were  a  mourner  who  had  lost  a 
friend.  Even  when  he  had  left  the  churchyard, 
Mr.  Pecksniff  still  remained  shut  up:  not  being 
at  all  secure  but  that  in  his  restless  state  of  mind 
Tom  might  come  wandering  back.  At  length 
he  issued  forth,  and  walked  with  a  pleasant  coun- 
tenance into  the  vestry  ;  where  he  knew  there 
wao  a  window  near  the  ground,  by  which  he  could 
release  himself  by  merely  stepping  out. 

He  was  in  a  curious  frame  of  mind,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff: being  in  no  hurry  to  go,  but  rather  inclin- 
ing to  a  dilatory  trilling  with  the  time,  which 
Siromptcd  iiim  to  open  the  vestry  cupboard,  and 
ook  a.  himself  in  the  parson's  little  glass  that 
liung  within  the  door.  Seeing  that  his  hair  was 
rumpled,  he  took  the  liberty  of  borrowing  the  ca- 
nonical brush  and  arranging  it.  He  also  took  the 
liberty  of  opening  another  cupboard  ;  but  he  shut 
it  up  again  q  lickly,  being  rather  startled  by  the 


sight  of  a  black  and  a  white  purplice  dangling 
against  the  wall;  wliich  had  very  much  liie  ap- 
jiearance  of  two  curates  who  had  committed  sui- 
cide by  hanging  thernseU'ts.  RernenilxTiiii:  that 
he  had  seen  in  tlie  first  cupboard  a  pnrl-wine  bot- 
tle and  some  biscuits,  he  pee|>ed  into  it  ag.in,  iaid 
helped  hiuisilf  with  mucli  delibiration  :  cogit.it- 
ing  all  the  time  though,  in  a  very  deep  anu  wtigii- 
ty  manner,  as  if  his  thoughls  were  otherw  ise  tnv. 
ployed. 

He  soon  made  up  his  mind,  if  it  had  ever  bicn 
in  doubt ;  and  putting  back  the  bottle  and  biscuits, 
opened  the  casement.  He  got  out  into  ihe  ciiurch- 
yard  without  any  difficulty;  shut  the  window  af 
ter  hiui  ;  and  walked  straight  home. 

"  Is  Mr.  Pinch  in-doors  ?"  usked  Mr.  Pecksniff 
of  his  serving-maid. 
"  Just  come  in,  Sir." 

".lust  come  in,  eh?"  repeated  Mr.  Pecksniflf^ 
cheerfully.     "And  gone  up-stairs,  I  supi>ose  ^" 

"  Yes,  Sir.  Gone  up-stairs.  Shall  1  call  liim, 
Sir?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "no.  You  needn't 
call  him,  Jane.  Thank  you,  Jane.  How  are  your 
relations,  Jane  ?" 

"  Pretty  well,  I  thank  you.  Sir." 
"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.    Let  them  know  I  asked 
about  them,  Jane.    Is  Mr.  Chuzzlcwit  in  the  way, 
Jane  ?" 

''  Yes,  Sir.     He's  in  the  parlour,  reading." 
"He's  in  tlie  parlour,  reading,  is  he,  Jane:" 
said  Mr.  Pecksniff.     "Very  well.     Then   1  think 
I  'II  go  and  see  him,  Jane." 

Never  had  Mr.  Pecksniff  been  beheld  in  a  more 
pleasant  huiiKjur  I 

But  when  he  walked  into  the  parlour  where  the 
old  man  was  engaged  as  Jane  had  said  ;  with  pen 
and  ink  and  paper  on  a  table  close  at  hand  (fir 
Mr.  Pecksniff  was  always  very  particular  to  have 
him  well  su[)plied  with  writing  materials) ;  h« 
became  less  cheerful.  He  was  not  angry,  lie  was 
not  vindictive,  he  was  not  cross,  he  was  not  moody, 
but  he  was  grieved  :  he  was  sorely  grieved.  As 
he  sat  down  by  the  old  man's  side,  two  tears:  not 
tears  like  those  with  which  recording  angels  blot 
their  entries  nut,  but  drops  so  precious  that  they 
use  them  for  their  ink :  stole  down  his  meritori- 
ous cheeks. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  old  Martin. 
"  Pecksniff,  what  ails  you,  man  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  yoo,  my  dear  Sir,  and 
I  am  slill  more  sorry  for  the  cause.     My  good, 
my  worthy  friend,  I  am  deceived." 
"  You  are  deceived  I" 

"Ah  I"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  an  agony,  "de- 
ceived in  the  tendcrest  point.  Cru<  lly  deceived 
in  that  quarter,  Sir,  in  which  I  placed  the  most 
unbounded  confidence.  Deceived,  Mr.  C'luuzle- 
wit,  by  Thomas  Pinch." 

"Oh!  bad,  bad,  bad!"  said  Martin,  laying 
down  his  book.  "  Very  bad.  1  hoi)e  not.  Are 
you  certain  ?" 

"t'trlain,  my  good  Sir!  My  eyes  and  ears  art 
witnesses.  I  wouldn't  have  believed  it  i.therw'W 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  it,  Mr.  Chu/.zlewit,  if  a 
Fiery  Serpent  had  proclaimed  it  from  the  top  of 
Salisbury  Cathedral.  I  would  have  said,"  cried 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  "that  the  Serpent  lied.  Such  win 
my  fiith  in  Thomas  Pinch,  that  I  would  have 
cast  tlie  falsehood  back  into  the  Serpent's  teeth, 


MARTIN   ChUZZLKWIT. 


lo; 


and  would  hnve  taken  Tlinmns  to  mv  heart.  But 
I  am  not  a  Serpent,  Sir,  myself,  1  grieve  to  say, 
and  no  excuse  or  hope  is  left  me. 

Martin  was  greatly  disturbed  to  see  him  so 
much  agitated,  and  to  hear  such  unexpected  news. 
IJe  begged  him  to  compose  himself,  and  asked 
upoti  what  subject  Mr.  Pinch's  treachery  had  been 
dfveltiped. 

"That  is  almost  the  worst  of  all.  Sir,"  Mr. 
Pecksniff  answered.  "  On  a  subject  nearly  con- 
cerning you.  Oh  !  is  it  not  enough,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  looking  upward,  "  that  these  blows 
must  fall  on  me,  but  must  they  also  hit  my 
frit  nds  '." 

"  You  alarm  me,"  cried  the  old  man,  changing 
colour.  "  I  am  not  so  strong  as  I  was.  You  ter- 
rify me,  Fecksiiiffl" 

"Cheer  up,  my  noble  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
taking  cour^igc,  "and  we  will  do  what  is  required 
of  us.  You  shull  know  all,  Sir,  and  shall  be  right- 
ed. But  first  excuse  me.  Sir,  ex — cuse  me.  I 
have  a  duty  to  discharge,  which  I  owe  to  soci- 
ety." 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  Jane  appeared. 
"  Send  Mr.  Pinch  here,  if  you  please,  Jane  !" 
Tom    came.     Constrained    and    altered  in  his 
manner,  downcast  and  dejected,  visibly  confused ; 
not  liking  to  look  Pecksniff  in  the  face. 

Tlie  honest  man  bestowed  a  glance  on  Mr. 
Chnzzlewit,  as  who  should  say,  "You  seel"  and 
addressed  himself  to  Tom  in  these  terms  : 

"  Mr.  Pinch,  I  have  left  the  vestry-window  un- 
faatentd,  Will  you  do  me  the  favour  to  go  ami 
secure  it;  then  bring  the  keys  of  the  sacred  edi- 
fice to  me !" 

"The  vestry-window,  Sir  !"  cried  Tom. 
"  You  undiTstand  me,  Mr.  Pinch,  I  think,"  re- 
turned his  patron.  "  Yes,  IVIr.  Pinch,  the  vestry, 
window.  I  grieve  to  say  that  sleeping  in  the 
church  after  a  fatiguing  ramble,  I  overheard  ju--t 
now  some  fragments"  he  emphasized  that  word 
"of  a  dialogue  between  two  parties;  and  one  of 
them  locking  the  church  when  he  went  out,  I  was 
obliged  to  leave  it  myself  by  the  vestry-window. 
Do  me  the  favour  to  secure  that  vestry-window, 
Mr.  Pinch,  and  then  come  back  to  me." 

No  physiognomist  that  ever  dwelt  on  earth 
could  have  construed  Tom's  face  when  he  heard 
these  words.  Wonder  was  in  it,  and  a  mild  look 
of  reproach,  but  certainly  no  fear  or  guilt,  although 
a  host  of  strong  emotions  struggled  to  display 
themselves.  He  bowed,  and  without  saying  one 
word,  good  or  bad,  withdrew. 

"  Pecksniff,"  cr'cd  Martin,  in  a  tremble,  "  what 
does  all  this  mean  ?  You  are  not  going  to  do 
anything  in  haste,  you  may  regret  I" 

"No,  my  good  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  firmly, 
"No.  But  I  have  a  duty  to  discharge  which  I 
owe  to  society ;  and  it  shall  be  discharged,  my 
friend,  at  any  cost  I" 

Oh  late  remembered,  mnch-forgotten,  mouth- 
ing, braggart  duty,  always  owed,  and  seldom  paid 
in  any  other  coin  than  punishment  and  wrath, 
when  will  mankind  begin  to  know  thee!  When 
will  men  acknowledge  thee  in  thy  neglected  cra- 
«ile,  and  thy  stunted  youth,  and  not  begin  their 
recognition  in  thy  sinful  manhood  and  thy  deso- 
late old  age!  Oh  ermined  Judge,  whose  duty  to 
society  is  now  to  doom  the  ragged  criminal  to 
puaishment  and  death,  hadst  thou  never,  Man,  a 


duty  to  discharge  in  barring  np  the  hundred  open 
gates  that  wooed  him  to  the  felon's  dock,  and 
throwing  but  ajar  the  portals  to  a  decent  life  I  Oh 
prelate,  prelate,  whose  duty  to  society  it  is  to  mourn 
in  mehincholy  phrase  the  sad  deffeneracy  of  these 
bad  times  in  which  thy  lot  of  honours  has  \iein 
cast,  did  nothing  go  before  thy  elevation  to  the  lofty 
seat,  from  which  thou  dealest  out  thy  homilies  to 
other  tarriers  for  dead  men's  shoes,  wliose  duly 
to  society  has  not  begun  I  Oh  magistrate,  so  rare 
a  country  gentleman  and  a  brave  squire,  liad  you 
no  duty  to  society,  before  the  ricks  were  blazing 
and  the  mob  were  tnad  ;  or  did  it  spring  up  armed 
and  booted  from  the  earth,  a  corps  of  yeomanry, 
full-grown  I 

Mr.  Pecksniff's  dtity  to  society  could  not  be 
paid  till  Tom  came  back.  The  interval  which 
preceded  the  return  of  that  young  man,  he  occu- 
pied in  a  close  conference  with  his  friend  ;  so  that 
when  Tom  did  arrive,  he  found  the  two  quite  rea- 
dy to  receive  him.  Mary  was  in  her  own  room 
above,  whither  Mr.  Pecksniff,  always  considerate, 
had  besought  old  Martin  to  entreat  her  to  remain 
some  half-hour  longer,  that  her  feelings  might  be 
spared. 

When  Tom  came  back,  he  found  old  l\[artin 
sitting  by  the  window,  and  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  an 
imposing  attitude  at  the  table.  On  one  side  of 
him  was  his  pocket-handkerchief;  and  on  the 
other,  a  little  heap  (a  very  little  heap)  of  gold  ani 
silver,  and  odd  pence.  Tom  saw,  at  a  glance,  that 
it  was  his  own  salary  for  the  current  quarter. 

"  Have   you   fastened  the  vestry-window,  Mr. 
Pinch  ?"  said  Pecksniff. 
"  Yes,  Sir." 

"  Thank  you.  Put  down  the  keys  if  you  please, 
Mr.  Pinch." 

Tom  placed  them  on  the  table.  He  held  the 
bunch  by  the  key  of  the  organ-loft  (though  it  was 
one  of  the  smallest)  and  looked  hard  at  it  as  he 
laid  it  down.  It  had  been  an  old,  old  friend  of 
Tom's;  a  kind  companion  to  him,  many  and 
many  a  day. 

"  Mr.  Finch,"  said  Pecksniff,  shaking  his  head  : 
"Oh  Mr.  Pinch  I  I  wonder  you  can  look  me  in 
the  face  I" 

Toin  did  it  though  ;  and  notwithstanding  that 
he  has  been  described  as  stooping  generally,  he 
stood  as  upright  then  as  man  could  stand. 

"Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Pecksniff,  taking  up  his 
handkerchief,  as  if  he  felt  that  he  should  want  il 
soon,  "  I  will  not  dwell  upon  the  past.  I  will 
spare  you,  and  I  will  spare  myself,  that  pain  at 
least." 

Tom's  was  not  a  very  bright  eye,  but  it  was  a 
very  expressive  one  when  he  looked  at  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, and  said  : 

"Thank  you,  Sir.  I  arn  very  glad  you  will  not 
refer  to  the  past." 

"  The  present  is  enough,"  said  Mt.  Pecksniff, 
dropping  a  penny,  "and  the  sooner  that  is  past, 
the  better.  Mr.  Pinch,  I  will  not  dismiss  you 
without  a  word  of  explanation.  Even  such  a 
course  would  be  quite  justifiable  under  the  cir- 
cumstances; but  it  might  wear  an  appearance  of 
hurry,  and  I  will  not  do  it ;  for  I  am,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  knocking  down  another  penny,  "  per- 
fectly self-possessed.  Therefore  I  will  sayioyoo, 
what  I  have  already  said  to  Mr.  Chuzzlewit." 
Tom  glanced  at  the  old  gentleman,  who  nodd«d 


196 


LIFE    AxND   ADVENTURES   OF 


now  and  then  as  approving  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
sentences  and  sentiments,  but  interposed  between 
ihem  in  no  other  way. 

"  From  fragments  of  a  conversation  which  I 
Q/erheard  in  the  church,  just  now,  Mr.  Pinch," 
»aid  Pccissniff,  "between  yourself  and  Miss  Gra- 
lian, — I  say  fragments,  because  I  was  slumbering 
t  a  considerable  distance  from  you,  when  I  was 
o\ised  by  your  voices — and  from  what  I  saw,  I 
ascertained  (I  would  have  given  a  great  deal  not 
to  have  ascertained,  Mr.  Pinch,)  that  you,  forget- 
ful of  all  ties  of  duty  and  of  honour,  Sir  ;  regard- 
less of  the  sacred  laws  of  hospitality,  to  which 
you  were  pledged  as  an  inmate  of  this  house ; 
h;ive  presumed  to  addres.s  Miss  Graham  with  un- 
returned  professions  of  attachment  and  proposals 
of  love." 

Tom  looked  at  him  steadily, 
"  Do  you   deny  it,  Sir,"  asked   Mr.  Pecksniff, 
dropping  one  pound  two  and  fourpence,  and  mak- 
injr  a  great  business  of  picking  it  up  ;igain. 
"  No,  Sir,"  replied  Tom.    "  I  do  not." 
"  You  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  glancing  at 
the  old  gentleman.     "  Oblige  me  by  counting  this 
money,  Mr.  Pinch,  and  putting  your  name  to  this 
leceipt.     You  do  not  ?" 

No,  Tom  did  not.  He  scorned  to  deny  it.  He 
saw  that  Mr.  Pecksniff,  having  overheard  his  own 
disgrace,  cared  not  a  jot  for  sinking  lower  yet  in 
his  contempt.  He  saw  that  he  had  devised  this 
fiction  as  the  readiest  means  of  getting  rid  of  him 
at  once,  but  that  it  must  end  in  that  any  way. 
He  saw  tliat  Mr.  Pecksniff  reckoned  on  his  not 
denying  it,  bcrause  his  doing  so  and  explaining, 
would  incense  the  old  man  more  than  ever  against 
M;irtin,  and  a,riiinst  Mary:  while  Pecksniff  him- 
self would  only  have  been  mistaken  in  his  "frag- 
ments."    Deny  it  i     No. 

"  You  find  the  amount  correct,  do  you,  Mr. 
Pinch  ?"  said  Pecksniff. 

"Quite  correct,  Sir,"  answered  Tom. 
"A  person  is  waiting  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  "to  carry  your  luggage  wherever  you 
please.     We   part,   Mr.  Pinch,  at  once,  and  are 
strangers  from  this  time." 

Something  without  a  name;  compission,  sor- 
row, old  tenderness,  mistaken  gratitude,  habit: 
none  of  these,  and  yet  all  of  them  ;  smote  upon 
Tom's  gentle  heart,  at  parting.  There  was  no 
such  soul  as. Pecksniff's  in  that  carcase  ;  and  yet, 
thoutrh  his  speaking  out  had  not  involved  the  com- 
promise  of  one  he  loved,  he  couldn't  have  de- 
nounced  the  very  shape  and  figure  of  the  man. 
Not  even  then. 

"  I  will  not  say,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  shedding 
tears,  "what  a  blow  this  is.  I  will  not  say  how 
much  it  tries  me  ;  how  it  works  upon  my  nature  ; 
huw  it  grates  upon  my  feelings.  I  do  not  care 
for  that.  I  can  endure  as  well  as  another  man. 
But  what  I  have  to  hope,  and  what  you  have  to 
hope,  Mr.  Pinch  (otherwise  a  great  responsibility 
rests  upon  you)  is,  that  this  deception  may  not 
alter  my  ideas  of  humanity;  that  it  may  not  im- 
piiir  my  freshness,  or  contract,  if  I  may  use  the 
expression,  my  Pmions.  I  ho])e  it  will  not.  I 
don't  'hiiik  it  will.  It  may  be  a  comfort  to  you, 
if  not  now,  at  some  future  time,  to  know,  that  I 
lihall  endeavour  not  to  think  the  worse  of  my  fel- 
low-creaturos  in  general,  for  what  ha  ■  passed  be- 
tween us.     Farewell !" 


Tom  had  meant  to  spare  him  one  I'ttle  piincti. 
ration  with  a  lancet,  which  he  liad  it  in  his  power 
to  administer,  but  he  changed  his  mind  on  hear* 
ing  this,  and  said  : 

"  I  tliink  you  left  something  in  the  chjrch. 
Sir." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Pecksniff  "  1 
am  not  aware  that  I  did." 

"This  is  your  double  eye-glass,  I  believe?" 
said  Tom. 

"  Oh  I"  cried  Pecksniff,  with  some  degree  of 
confusion.  "  1  am  obliged  to  you.  Put  it  dowB 
if  you  please." 

"  I  found  it,"  said  Tom,  slowly — "  when  I  went 
to  bolt  the  vestry-window — in  the  Pew." 

So  he  had.  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  taken  it  off 
when  he  was  bobbing  up  and  down,  lest  it  should 
strike  against  the  panelling:  and  hud  forgotten  it. 
Going  back  to  the  church  with  his  mind  full  of 
having  been  watched,  and  wondering  very  much 
fjrom  what  part,  Tom's  attention  was  caught  by 
the  door  of  the  state  pew  standing  open.  Look- 
ing into  it  he  found  the  glass.  And  thus  he  knew, 
and  by  returning  it  gave  Mr.  Pecksniff  the  intor- 
mation  that  he  knew,  where  the  listener  had  been  ; 
and  that  instead  of  overhearing  fragments  of  the 
conversation,  he  must  have  rejoiced  in  every  word 
of  it. 

"  I  am  glad  he's  gone,"  said  Martin,  drawing 
a  long  breath  when  Tom  had  left  the  room. 

"  It  is  a  relief,"  assented  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  It 
js  a  great  relief.  But  having  discharged  :  I  hop« 
with  tolerable  firmness  :  the  duty  which  I  owed 
to  society,  I  will  now,  my  dear  Sir,  if  you  will 
give  me  leave,  retire  to  shed  a  few  tears  in  the 
back  garden,  as  an  humble  individual." 

Tom  went  up-stairs  ;  cleared  his  shelf  of  books  : 
packed  them  up  with  his  music  and  an  old  fiddle 
in  his  trunk  ;  got  out  his  clotlies  (they  were  not 
so  many  that  they  made  his  head  ache)  ;  put  them 
on  the  top  of  his  books  ;  and  went  into  the  work- 
room for  his  case  of  instruments.  There  was  a 
ragged  stool  there,  with  the  horsehair  all  sticking 
out  of  the  top  like  a  wig:  a  very  Beast  of  a  stool 
in  itself:  on  which  he  had  taken  up  his  daily 
seat,  year  after  year,  during  the  whole  period  of 
his  service.  They  had  grown  older  and  shabbier 
in  company.  Pupils  had  served  their  time;  sea- 
sons had  come  and  gone  ;  Tnm  and  the  worn-out 
stool  had  held  together  through  it  all.  That  part 
of  th<!  room  was  traditionall}'  called  "Tom's  Cor 
ner."  It  had  been  assigned  to  him  at  first  bt;- 
cause  of  its  being  situated  in  a  strong  draught, 
and  a  great  way  from  the  fire;  and  he  had  occu- 
pied it  ever  since.  There  were  portraits  of  him 
on  the  wall,  with  all  his  weak  points  nionstriiusly 
portrayed.  Diiibojicil  sentiments,  foreign  to  his 
character,  were  represented  as  issuing  from  his 
mouth  in  fat  ballmns.  Every  pupil  had  added 
something,  even  unto  fancy  portraits  of  his  fa- 
ther with  one  eye,  and  of  his  mother  with  a  dis- 
l)roiwirlionate  nose,  and  cs])ceially  of  his  sister: 
who  always  being  presented  as  extremely  boauti. 
ful,  made  full  amends  to  Tom  for  any  other  joKe. 
Ihidcr  less  imconimon  circumstances,  it  would 
have  cut  Toni  to  the  heart  to  leave  these  things, 
and  think  that  he  saw  them  for  the  last  time  ;  but 
it  didn't  now.  There  was  no  Pecksniff;  there 
never  had  been  a  Pecksniff;  and  all  his  olhor 
griefs  were  swallowed  up  in  that 


,^^ 


;y  'V 


Mr.  TecksniflF  discharges  a  duty  which  he  owes  to  Society. 


MARTIN   UHUZZLEWIT. 


197 


So  wli  u  bp  returned  into  the  bedroom,  and 
having  fastened  up  his  box  and  a  carpet-bag',  had 
put  on  his  wtilking  gaiters,  and  his  great-coat,  and 
bis  liaf,  and  taken  his  stick  in  liis  hand,  he  looked 
round  it  for  the  last  time.  Early  on  summer 
mornings,  and  by  the  liglit  of  private  candle-ends 
on  winter  nights,  he  had  read  himself  half  blind 
ill  this  same  roocn.  He  had  tried  in  this  same 
rixim  to  learn  the  fiddle  under  the  bed-clothes,  but 
vieldiiijr  to  cbjeclions  from  the  other  pupils,  had 
reluctantly  ubandontd  the  design.  At  any  other 
time  he  would  have  parted  from  it  with  a  pang, 
tliinkiug  of  all  he  had  learned  there,  of  the  many 
iiours  he  had  passed  there  :  for  the  love  of  his  very 
dreams.  But  there  was  no  Pecksniff;  there  ne- 
ver had  been  a  Pecksniff;  and  the  unreality  of 
Pecksniff  extended  itself  to  the  chamber,  in  which, 
Bitting  on  one  particular  bed,  the  thing  supjxjsed 
to  be  that  Great  Abstraciion  had  often  preached 
morality  with  such  effect,  that  Tom  had  felt  a 
moisture  in  his  eyes,  while  hanging  breathless  on 
the  words. 

The  man  engaged  to  bear  his  box :  Tom  knew 
him  well.  A  Dragon  man:  came  stamping  up 
the  stairs,  and  made  a  roughish  bow  to  Tom  (to 
whom  in  common  times  he  would  have  nodded 
with  a  grin)  as  though  he  were  aware  of  what  had 
happened,  and  wished  him  to  perceive  it  made  no 
difference  in  him.  It  was  clumsil}'  done ;  he  was 
a  mere  waterer  of  horses ;  but  Tom  liked  the 
man  (or  it,  and  felt  i'  more  than  going  away. 

Tom  would  have  helped  him  with  the  box,  but 
he  made  no  more  of  it,  though  it  was  a  heavy  one, 
than  an  elephant  would  have  made  of  a  castle : 
just  swinging  it  on  his  back  and  bowling  down 
(tairs  as  it',  being  naturally  a  heavy  sort  of  fellow, 
he  coult  carry  a  box  infinitely  better  than  he 
could  go  alone.  Tom  took  the  carpet-bag,  and 
tvent  down  stairs  along  with  him.  At  the  outer 
iloor  stood  Jane,  crying  with  all  her  might;  and 
on  the  steps  was  Mrs.  Lupin,  sobbing  bitterly,  and 
putting  out  her  hand  for  Tom  to  shake. 

"  Y"ou  're  coming  to  the  Dragon,  Mr.  Pinch  ?" 

"No,"  said  Tom,  "no.  I  shall  walk  to  Salis- 
bury to-night.  I  couldn't  stay  here.  For  good- 
ness' sake,  don't  make  nie  so  unhappy,  Mrs.  Lu- 
pin." 

"  But  you  '11  come  to  the  Dragon,  Mr.  Pinch. 
If  it's  only  for  to-night.  To  see  me,  you  know  : 
not  as  a  traveller." 

"  God  bless  my  soul  1"  said  Tom,  wiping  his 
eyes.  "The  kindness  of  people  is  enough  to 
break  one's  heart !  I  mean  to  go  to  Salisbury  to- 
night, my  dear  good  creature.  If  you'll  take  care 
of  my  box  for  me,  till  I  write  for  it,  I  shall  con- 
eider  it  the  greatest  kindness  you  can  do  for  me." 

"I  wish,"  cried  Mrs.  Lupin,  "there  were 
twenty  boxes,  Mr.  Pinch,  that  I  might  have  'em 
all." 

"  Th  ink'ee,"  said  Tom,  "  It 's  like  you.  Good 
bye.     Good  bye." 

There  were  several  people,  young  and  old,  stand- 
ing atiotit  the  door,  some  of  whom  cried  with 
Mrs.  Lupin  ;  while  others  tried  to  keep  up  a  stout 
htMrt  as  Tom  did;  and  otlicrs  were  absorbed  in 
admiration  of  Mr.  Pecksniff — a  man  who  could 
build  a  church,  as  one  may  say,  by  squinting  at 
a  '<liii-t(jf  paper  ;  and  others  were  divided  between 
th  .1  t'ctling,  and  s^'inpathy  with  Tom.  Mr.  Pt!ck- 
aniff  liad  aopeared  on  the  top  of  the  steps,  simul- 


taneously with  his  old  pupii,  and  while  Tom  was 
talking  with  Mrs.  Lupin  kept  his  hand  stretched 
out,  as  though  he  said  "Go  forth  !"  When  Tom 
went  forth,  and  had  turned  the  corner,  Mr.  P'  c'i- 
sniff  shook  his  head,  shut  his  eyes,  and  hc.vmg 
a  deep  sigh,  likewise  shut  the  door.  On  which, 
the  best  of  Tom's  supporters  said  he  must  have 
done  some  dreadful  deed,  or  such  a  man  as  .Mr. 
Pecksniff  never  could  have  felt  like  that.  If  it 
had  been  a  common  quarrel  (they  observed)  he 
would  have  said  something,  but  when  he  didn't, 
Mr.  Pinch  must  have  shocked  him  dreidfully. 

Tom  was  out  of  hearing  of  their  shrewd  opin- 
ions, and  plodded  on  as  steadily  as  he  could  ^u, 
until  he  came  within  sight  of  the  turnpike  where 
the  tollman's  family  had  cried  out  "  Mr.  Pinch  I" 
that  frosty  morning,  when  he  went  to  meet  young 
Martin.  He  had  got  through  the  village,  and  lliis 
tollbar  was  his  last  trial ;  but  when  the  infant  loll 
takers  came  screeching  out,  he  had  half  a  mind 
to  run  for  it,  and  make  a  bolt  across  the  countr}'. 

"  Why  deary  Mr.  Pinch !  oh  deary  Sir !"  ex- 
claimed  the  tollman's  wife.  "What  an  unlikely 
time  for  you  to  be  a  going  this  way  with  a  bag  !" 

"  I  'm  going  to  Sniisbury,"  said  Tom. 

"  Why,  goodness,  where 's  the  gig  then  ?"  cried 
the  tollman's  wife,  looking  down  the  road,  as  if 
she  thought  Tom  might  have  been  upset  without 
observing  it. 

"I  haven't  got  iC  said  Tom.  "I  —  "  he 
couldn't  evade  it;  he  felt  she  would  have  him  in 
the  next  question,  if  he  got  over  this  one.  ''  I 
have  left  Mr.  Pecksniff." 

The  tollman — a  crusty  customer,  always  smok- 
ing  solitary  pipes  in  a  Windsor  chair,  inside,  set 
artfully  between  two  little  window.s  that  looked 
up  and  down  the  road,  so  that  when  he  saw  any- 
thing coming  up,  he  might  hug  himself  on  hav- 
ing toll  to  take,  and  when  he  saw  it  going  down, 
might  hug  himself  on  having  taken  it — the  toll- 
man was  out  in  an  instant. 

"Left  Mr.  Pecksniff!"  cried  the  tollman. 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  "  left  him." 

The  tollman  looked  at  his  wife,  uncertain  whe- 
ther to  ask  her  if  she  had  anything  to  suggest,  or 
to  order  her  to  mind  the  children.  Astonishment 
making  hirn  surly,  he  preferred  the  latter,  and 
sent  her  into  the  toll-house,  with  a  flea  in  lier 
ear. 

"You  left  Mr.  Pecksniff!"  cried  the  tollman, 
folding  his  arms,  and  spreading  his  legs.  "  I 
should  as  soon  have  thought  of  his  head  lea%ing 
him." 

"  Ay !"  said  Tom,  "  so  should  I  yesterday. 
Good  night !" 

If  a  heavy  drove  of  oxen  hadn't  come  by,  iin- 
mediately,  the  tollman  would  have  gone  down  to 
the  village  straight  to  inquire  into  it.  As  thiriy? 
turned  out,  he  smoked  another  pipe,  and  took  his 
wife  into  his  confidence.  But  their  united  sasra- 
city  could  make  nothing  of  it,  and  they  went  to 
bed — metaphorically — in  the  dark.  But  several 
times  that  night,  when  a  wagon  or  other  vehicle 
came  through,  and  the  driver  asked  the  tol!keei»er 
"  What  news  ?"  he  looked  at  the  man  by  the  ligiit 
of  his  lantern,  to  assure  himself  that  he  had  an 
Intercast  in  the  subject,  and  then  said,  wrapping 
his  watch-coat  round  his  legs  ; 

"  You  've  heerd  of  Mr.  Pecksniff  dow  n  ron 
der  ?" 


\9ti 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


Ah!  surely!" 

"  And  of  his  young  maw,  Mr.  Pinch,  p'raps  ?" 

"Ah!" 
They  've  parted." 

After  every  one  of  these  disclosures,  the  toll- 
man plunged  into  his  house  again,  and  was  seen 
no  more,  while  the  other  side  went  on,  in  great 
amazement. 

But  this  was  long  after  Tom  was  abed,  and 
Tom  wiis  now  with  his  face  towards  Salisbury, 
doing  )iis  best  to  get  there.  The  evening  was 
beautiful  at  first,  but  it  became  cloudy  and  dull 
at  sunset,  and  the  rain  fell  heavily  soon  afterwards. 
For  ten  long  miles  he  plodded  on,  wet  through, 
until  at  last  the  lights  appeared,  and  he  came  into 
the  welcome  precincts  of  the  city. 

He  went  to  the  inn  where  he  had  waited  for 
Martin,  and  briefly  answering  their  inquiries  after 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  ordered  a  bed.  He  had  no  heart 
for  tea  or  supper,  meat  or  drink  of  any  kind,  but 
sat  by  himself  before  an  empty  table  in  the  pub- 
lic-room while  the  bed  was  getting  ready  :  revolv- 
ing in  his  mind  all  that  had  happened  that  event- 
ful day,  and  wondering  what  he  could  or  should 


do  for  the  future.  It  was  a  great  relief  when 
the  chambermaid  came  in,  and  said  the  bed. was 
ready. 

It  was  a  low  four-poster  shelving  downward  la 
the  centre  like  a  trough,  and  the  room  was  crowd- 
ed with  impracticable  tables  and  e.vploded  chests 
of  drawers,  full  of  damp  linen.  A  graphic  repre- 
sentation in  oil  of  a  remarkably  fat  ox  hung  over 
the  fire-place,  and  the  portrait  of  some  former 
landlord  (who  might  have  been  the  ox's  brother, 
he  was  so  like  him)  stared  roundly  in,  at  the  foot 
of  the  bed.  A  variety  of  queer  smells  were  par- 
tially  quenched  in  the  prevailing  scent  of  very 
old  lavender;  and  the  window  iiad  not  .been  open- 
ed for  such  a  long  space  of  time,  that  it  pleaded 
immemorial  usage,  and  wouldn't  come  open  now. 

These  were  trifles  in  themselves,  hut  tliey  add- 
ed to  the  strangeness  of  the  place,  and  did  not 
induce  Tom  to  tbrget  his  new  position.  Peck- 
sniff had  gone  out  of  the  world — had  never  been 
in  it — and  it  was  as  much  as  Tom  could  do  to  say 
his  prayers  without  him.  But  he  felt  happier 
afterwards,  and  went  to  sleep,  and  dreamed  about 
him  as  he  Never  Was. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 


TREATS  OF  TODGERS'S  AGAIN;   AND  OF  ANOTHER  BLIGHTED  PLANT  BE- 
SIDES THE  PLANTS  UPON  THE  LEADS. 


Early  on  the  day  next  after  that  on  which  she 
bade  adieu  to  the  halls  of  her  youth  and  the  scenes 
of  her  childhood,  Miss  Pecksniff,  arriving  safely 
at  the  coach-oflSce  in  London,  was  there  received, 
and  conducted  to  her  peaceful  home  beneath  the 
siiadow  of  the  Monument,  by  Mrs.  Todgers.  M. 
Todgers  looked  a  little  worn  by  cares  of  gravy 
and  other  such  solicitudes  arising  out  of  her  estab- 
lishment, but  displayed  her  usual  earnestness  and 
warmth  of  manner. 

"  And  how,  my  sweet  Miss  Pecksniff,"  said  she, 
**  how  is  your  princely  pa  ?" 

Miss  Pecksniff  signified  (in  confidence)  tliat  he 
contemplated  the  introduction  of  a  princely  ma; 
and  repealed  the  sentiment  that  she  wasn't  blind, 
and  wasn't  quite  a  fool,  and  wouldn't  bear  it. 

Mrs.  Todgers  was  more  shocked  by  the  intelli- 
gence than  any  one  could  have  expected.  She 
was  quite  bitter.  She  said  there  was  no  truth  in 
n)an,  and  that  the  warmer  he  expressed  himself, 
as  a  general  principle,  tlie  falser  and  more  treach- 
erous lie  was.  She  foresaw  with  astonishing 
cliarncss  that  the  object  of  Mr.  Pecksnifl"'s  at- 
t.ichmcnt  was  designing,  worthless,  and  wicked; 
and  receiving  from  Charity  the  fullest  confirma- 
tion of  these  view.t,  protested  with  tears  in  her 
eyes  thiit  she  loved  Miss  PecksniflT  like  a  sister, 
and  felt  lur  injuries  as  if  they  were  her  own. 

"Your  real  darling  sister,  I  have  not  seen  more 
inan  once  since  her  marriage,"  siiid  Mrs.  Todgers, 
■*iind  then  I  thought  her  looking  poorly.  My 
•wecf  Miss  Pecksniff,  I  always  thought  that  you 
♦  as   lo  be  (he  lady." 

"Oh  dear  no  I"  cried  Clierry ,  shaking  her  head 


"  Oh  no,  Mrs.  Todgers.  Thank  you.  No  !  not 
for  any  consideration  he  could  offer." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers, 
with  a  sigh.  "I  feared  it  all  along.  But  the 
misery  we  have  had  from  that  match,  here  among 
ourselves,  in  this  house,  my  dear  Miss  Pecksniff, 
nobody  would  believe." 

"  Lor,  Mrs.  Todgers  !" 

"Awful,  awful !"  repeated  Mrs.  Todgers,  with 
strong  emphasis.  "  You  recollect  our  youngest 
gentleman,  my  dear  ?" 

"Of  course  I  do,"  said  Cherry. 

"You  might  have  observed,"  said  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers, "  how  he  used  to  watch  your  sister ;  and 
that  a  kind  of  stony  dumbness  came  over  him 
whenever  she  was  in  company  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  never  saw  anything  of  the  sort," 
said  Cherry,  in  a  peevish  manner.  "  What  non. 
sense,  Mrs.  Todgers  I" 

"  My  dear,"  returned  that  lady  in  a  hollow 
voice,  "  I  have  seen  him,  again  and  again,  sitting 
over  his  pie  at  dinner,  with  his  spoon  a  perlecl 
fixture  in  his  mouth,  looking  at  your  sister.  I 
have  seen  him  standing  in  a  corner  of  our  draw- 
ing-room, gazing  at  her,  in  such  a  lonely,  melan- 
choly state,  that  he  was  more  like  a  Pump  than  a 
man,  and  might  have  drawed  tears." 

"I  never  saw  it  I"  cried  Cherry;  "that's  all  I 
can  say." 

"  But  when  the  marriage  took  place,"  said  Mrs. 
Todgers,  proceeding  with  her  subject,  "  wlien  it 
was  in  the  paper,  and  was  re;ul  out  here  at  break- 
fast,  I  thouahl  he  had  tnken  leave  of  his  t^etises 
I  did  indeed.     The  violence  of  that  young  iii^o 


MARTIN   C  MUZZLE  WIT. 


199 


my  dear  Miss  Pecksniff;  the  frig^hlful  opinions 
he  expressed  upon  the  subject  ofselt-dostructimi ; 
Uie  extraordinary  actions  he  performed  wiUi  his 
tea;  the  clenching  way  in  wliicli  he  hrt  liis  bread 
and  butter;  the  nianner  in  which  lie  ta\inled  Mr. 
Jinldns;  all  combined  to  form  a  picture  never  to 
be  forgotten." 

"  It 's  a  pity  he  didn't  destroy  himself,  I  think," 
cAserved  Miss  Pecksniff. 

"Himself!"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  "it  took  an- 
other turn  at  night.  He  was  for  destroying  other 
people  tlien.  There  was  a  little  chaffing  going 
on — I  hope  you  don't  consider  that  a  low  expres- 
sion, Miss  Pecksniff;  it  is  always  in  our  gentle- 
men's mouths  —  a  little  chaffing  going  on,  my 
dear,  among  'cm,  ail  in  good  nature,  when  sud- 
denly lie  rose  up,  foaming  with  his  fury,  and  but 
ffir  being  held  by  three,  would  have  had  Mr.  Jin- 
kins's  life  with  a  boot-jack !" 

Miss  Pecksniff's  face  expressed  supreme  indif- 
ference. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  now  he  is 
the  meekest  of  men.  You  can  almost  bring  the 
tears  into  his  eyes  by  looking  at  him.  He  sits 
with  me  the  whole  day  long  on  Sundays,  talking 
in  such  a  dismal  way  that  I  find  it  next  to  impos- 
Bible  to  keep  my  spirits  up  equal  to  the  accommo- 
dation of  the  boarders.  His  only  comfort  is  in 
female  society.  He  takes  me  half-price  to  the 
play,  to  an  extent  which  I  sometimes  fear  is  be- 
yond his  means;  and  I  see  the  tears  a  standing 
in  his  eyes  during  the  whole  performance :  par- 
ticularly if  it  is  anything  of  a  comic  nature.  The 
turn  I  experienced  only  yesterday,"  said  Mrs. 
Todgers,  putting  her  hand  to  her  side,  "  when 
the  housemaid  threw  his  bedside  carpet  out  of  the 
window  of  his  room,  wiiile  I  was  sitting  here,  no 
one  can  imagine.  1  thought  it  was  him,  and  that 
he  had  done  it  at  last  I" 

The  contempt  with  whicii  Miss  Charity  receiv- 
ed tills  patiietic  account  of  the  state  to  which  the 
youngest  gentleman  in  company  was  reduced,  did 
not  say  much  for  her  power  of  sympathising  with 
tliat  unfortunate  character.  She  treated  it  with 
great  levity,  and  went  on  to  inform  herself,  tlien 
and  afterwards,  wliether  any  other  changes  had 
occurred  in  the  commercial  boarding-house. 

Mm  Bailey  was  gone,  and  had  been  succeeded 
(such  is  the  decay  of  human  greatness !)  by  an 
old  woman  whose  name  was  reported  to  be  Tam- 
aroo:  which  seemed  an  impossibility.  Indeed  it 
appeared  in  the  fullness  of  time  that  the  jocular 
boarders  had  appropriated  the  word  from  an  Eng- 
lish ballad,  in  which  it  is  supposed  to  express  the 
bold  and  fiery  nature  of  a  certain  hackney-coach- 
man ;  and  that  it  was  bestowed  upon  Mr.  Bailey's 
tmcessor  by  reason  of  her  having  nothing  fiery 
«b')ut  her,  except  an  occasional  attack  of  that  fire 
which  is  called  St.  Anthony's.  This  ancient  fe- 
male had  been  engaged,  in  fulfilment  of  a  vow, 
registered  by  .Mrs.  Todgers,  that  no  more  boys 
should  darken  the  commercial  doors;  and  she 
was  chiefly  remarkable  for  a  total  absence  of  all 
Compreliensii)n  upon  every  subject  whatever.  She 
was  a  perfect  'I'omb  for  messages  and  small  par- 
cciS  ;  and  when  despatched  to  the  Post-office  with 
letters,  had  been  frequently  scrn  endeavouring  to 
insinuate  thein  into  casual  chinks  in  private  doors, 
under  the  delu-^ion  that  any  door  with  a  hole  in  it 
would  answer  tho  purpose.     Slip  was  a  very  little 


old  woman,  and  always  wore  a  very  coarse  apron 
witli  a  bib  bi-fore  and  a  loop  behind,  li.getlicr  wi'h 
bandages  on  lier  wrist.s,  wiiieli  appeared  to  be  at 
flieted  with  an  everlasting  sprain.  She  was  on 
all  occasions  chary  of  opening  tfic  street-door, 
and  ardent  to  shut  it  again  ;  and  she  waited  at 
table  in  a  bonnet. 

This  was  the  only  great  change  over  and  above 
the  change  which  had  fallen  on  the  youngest  gen. 
tieman.  As  for  him.  In;  more  than  corroborated 
the  account  of  Mrs.  Todgers:  possessing  greater 
sensibility  than  even  she  had  given  him  credit  for. 
He  entertained  some  terrible  notions  of  Destiny, 
among  other  matters,  and  talked  much  about  peo. 
pie's  "Missions:"  upon  which  he  seemed  to  have 
some  private  inf^)rmation  not  generally  attainable, 
as  he  knew  it  had  been  poor  Merry's  mission  to 
crush  him  in  the  bud.  He  was  very  frail,  and 
tearful;  for  being  aware  that  a  shepherd's  mis 
sioii  was  to  pipe  to  his  flocks,  and  that  a  boat 
swain's  mission  was  to  pipe  all  hands,  and  that 
one  man's  mission  was  to  be  a  paid  piper,  and 
another  man's  mission  was  to  pay  the  piper,  sp 
he  had  got  it  into  his  hea<l  that  his  own  peculiar 
mission  was  to  pipe  his  eye.  Wliich  he  did  per- 
petually. 

He  often  informed  Mrs.  Todgers  that  the  sun 
had  set  upon  him;  that  the  billows  had  rolled 
over  him  ;  that  the  Car  of  Juggernaut  had  crushed 
him  ;  and  also  that  the  deadly  Upas  tree  of  Java 
had  blighted  him.     His  name  was  Moddle. 

Towards  this  most  unhappy  Moddle,  Miss  Peck- 
sniff conducted  herself  at  first  with  distant  hauglu 
tiness,  being  in  no  humour  to  be  entertaimd  with 
dirges  in  honour  of  her  married  sister.  The  poor 
young  gentleman  was  additionally  crushed  by 
this,  and  remonstrated  with  Mrs.  Todgers  on  the 
subject. 

"  Even  she  turns  from  me,  Mrs.  Todgers,"  said 
I  Moddle. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  try  and  be  a  little  bit 
more  cheerful.  Sir  ?"  retorted   Mrs,  Todgers, 

"Cheerful,  Mrs, Todgers!  Cheerful!"  cried  the 
youngest  gentleman  :  "  when  she  reminds  me  of 
days  tor  ever  Hed,  Mrs,  Todgers  !" 

"  Then  you  had  better  avoid  her  fi)r  a  short 
time  if  she  does,"  said  .Mrs.  Todgers,  "  and  come 
to  know  her  again,  by  degrees.  That 's  my  ad. 
vice," 

"  But  I  can't  avoid  her,"  replied  Moddle.  "  I 
haven't  strength  of  mind  to  do  it.  Oh  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers, if  you  knew  what  a  comfort  her  nose  is  to 
me !" 

"  Her  nose,  Sir!"  Mrs.  Todgers  cried. 
"  Her  profile  in  general,"    said    the    youngest 
gentleman,  "but  particularly  her  nose.      It's  so 
like;"   here  he  yielded  to  a  hurst  of  grief;  "  It's 
so  like  hers  who  is  Anotlier's,  Mrs.  Todgers!" 

The  observant  matron  did  not  fail  to  report  this 
conversation  to  Charity,  who  laughed  at  the  time, 
but  treated  Mr.  .Moddle  that  very  evening  with 
increased  consideration,  and  presented  her  sid  % 
face  to  him  as  much  as  possible.  Mr.  Moddle 
was  not  less  sentimental  than  usual;  was  rather 
more  so,  it'  anything  ;  hut  he  sat  and  stared  at  her 
with  glistening  e3'es,  and  seemed  grateful. 

"  Well,  Sir !"  said  the  lady  of  the  Board. ng 
House  next  day,  "  vou  held  up  your  head  last 
night.      You're  coming  round,  I  think.'" 

"Only  bec.iuse  she's  so  like  her  who  is  An, 


200 


LIFE    AND   ADVEx\TURES   OF 


other's,  Mrs.  Todgers,"  rejoined  the  youth.  ; 
•*  When  she  talks,  and  when  she  smiles,  I  think  j 
I'm  looking  on  hkr  brow  again,  Mrs.  Tod;rtrs."    : 

This  was  likewise  carried  to  C'liarity,  who  talk-  , 
ed  and  smiled  next  evening  in  her  most  engaging  | 
manner,  and  rallying  Mr.  Meddle  on  the  lowness  ; 
of  his  spirits,  challenged   him  to  play  a  rubber  at 
cribbage.     Mr.  Moddle  taking  up   the   gauntlet, 
they    played   several    rubbers  tor   sixpences,  and 
Charity  won  them  all.     This  may  have  been  par- 
tially attributable  to  the  gallantry  of  the  youngest 
gentleman,  but  it  was  certainly  referable   to  the 
stiite  of  his  feelings  also;  for  his  eyes  being  fre- 
quently dimmed   by  tears,  he  thought  that  aces 
were  tens,  and  knaves  queens,  which  at  times  oc- 
casioned some  confusion  in  his  play. 

On  the  seventh  night  of  cribbage,  when  Mrs. 
Todgers,  silting  by,  proposed  that  instead  of  gamb- 
ling tiiey  should  play  for  "  love,"  Mr.  Moddle  was 
seen  to  change  colour.  On  the  fourteenth  night, 
he  kissed  Miss  Pecksniff's  snuffers,  in  the  pas- 
sage, when  she  went  up  stairs  to  bed  :  meaning 
U3  have  kissed  her  hand,  but  missing  it. 

In  short,  Mr.  Moddle  began  to  be  impressed 
with  the  idea  that  Miss  Pecksniff's  mission  was 
to  comfort  him;  and  Miss  Pecksniff  began  to 
speculate  on  the  probability  of  its  being  her  mis- 
sion to  become  ultimately  Mrs.  Moddle.  He  was 
a  yonng  gentleman  (Miss  Pecksniff  was  not  a 
very  young  lady)  with  rising  prospects,  and  "  al- 
most" enough  to  live  on.  Really  it  looked  very 
vt  11. 

Besides — besides — he  had  been  regarded  as  de- 
vcted  to  Merry.  Merry  had  joked  about  him, 
sn(]  had  once  spoken  of  it  to  her  sister  as  a  con- 
quest. He  w;is  better  looking,  better  shaped,  bet- 
ter spoken,  better  tempered,  better  mannered  than 
Jonas.  He  was  easy  to  manage,  could  be  made 
to  consult  the  humours  of  his  Betrothed,  and  could 
be  shown  off  like  a  lamb  when  Jonas  was  a  bear. 
There  was  the  rub  ! 

In  the  meantime  the  cribbage  went  on,  and 
Mrs.  Todgers  went  off;  Tor  the  youngest  gentle- 
man, dropping  her  society,  began  to  take  Miss 
Pecksniff  to  the  play.  He  also  began,  as  Mrs. 
Todgers  said,  to  slip  home  "in  his  dinner-times," 
and  to  get  away  from  "  the  otfioe"  at  unholy  sea- 
sons; and  twice,  as  he  informed  Mrs.  Todgers 
himself,  he  received  anonymous  letters,  inclosing 
Curds  from  Furniture  Warehouses  —  clearly  the 
act  of  that  ungentlemanly  ruffian  Jitikins  :  only 
he  hadn't  evidence  enough  to  call  him  out  upon. 
All  of  which,  so  Mrs.  Todgers  told  Miss  Peck- 
sniff,  spoke  as  plain  English  as  the  shining  sun. 

"My  dear  Miss  Pecksniff,  you  may  depend 
upon  it,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  that  he  is  burning 
to  propose." 

"  My  goodness  me,  why  don't  he  then  !"  cried 
Cherr}'. 

"  Men  are  so  rniirh  mcire  timid  than  we  think 
Vm,  my  dear,"  returned  Mrs.  Todgers.  "They 
bi'iik  theiMS<'lves  cont.mi.dly.  I  siivv  the  words 
on  Todgers's  lips  for  months  and  months  and 
rnoriths,  belore  he  said  'em." 

Miss  Pecksniff  submitted  that  Todgers  might 
iiot  have  been  a  fair  spcinmen. 

"Oh  yes  he  was.  Oh  bliss  yon,  Ves  iny  <!e.-ir. 
J  wub  very  particular  in  those  day.-*,  1  assure  you," 


said  Mrs.  Todgers,  bridling.  "Nf),  no.  Yriu  giv? 
Mr.  Moddle  a  little  encouragement.  Miss  Peck 
sniff,  if  you  wish  him  to  speak;  and  he'll  speak 
fast  enough,  depend  upon  it." 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know  what  encouragemciH 
he  would  have,  Mrs.  Todgers,"  returned  t'harity 
"He  walks  with  me,  and  plays  cards  with  mb 
and  he  comes  and  sits  alone  with  me." 

"Quite  rieht,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers.  '  That  ■ 
indispensable,  my  dear. ' 

"  And  he  sits  very  clf)se  to  me." 
"Also  quite  correct,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers. 
"  And  he  looks  at  me." 
"  To  be  sure  he  docs,"  said  Mrs.  Todgi'rs. 
"  And  he  has  his  arm   upon   the   back  of  the 
chair  or  sofa,  or  whatever  it  is — behind   me,  you 
know." 

"  /  should  think  so,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers. 
"  And  then  he  begins  to  cry  !" 
I  Mrs.  Todgers  admitted  that  he  might  do  better 
than  that ;  and  might  undoubtedly  profit  by  the 
;  recollection  of  the  great  Lord  Nelson's  signal  at 
I  the  battle  of  Trafalgar.  Still,  she  said,  he  would 
I  come  round,  or,  not  to  mince  the  matter,  would 
'  be  brought  round,  if  Miss  Pecksniff  took  up  a 
'  decided  position,  and  plainly  showed  him  that  it 
'  must  be  done. 

Determining  to  regulate  her  conduct  by  this 
■  opinion,  the  young  lady  received  Mr.  Moddle,  on 
the  earliest  sub.-equent  occasion,  with  an  air  of 
constraint;  and  gradually  leading  him  to  inquirr, 
in  a  dejected  manner,  why  she  was  so  changed, 
confessed  to  him  that  she  felt  it  necessary  fr.r 
their  mutual  peace  and  happiness  to  take  a  decid- 
ed step.  They  had  been  much  together  lately, 
she  observed,  much  together,  and  had  tasted  the 
'  sweets  of  a  genuine  reciprocity  of  sentiment. 
j  She  never  could  forget  him,  nor  could  she  ever 
'  cease  to  think  of  him  with  feelings  of  the  liveli- 
est  friendship;  but  people  had  begun  to  talk,  the 
thing  had  been  observed  ;  and  it  was  necessary 
that  they  should  be  nothing  more  to  e-jch  other, 
than  any  gentleman  and  lady  in  society  usually 
are.  She  was  glad  she  had  had  the  resoli;tion  to 
say  thus  much  before  her  feelings  had  been  tried 
too  far;  they  had  been  greatly  tried,  she  would 
admit;  but  though  she  was  weak  and  silly,  shtf 
would  soon  get  the  better  of  it,  she  hoped. 

Moddle,  who  had  by  this  time  become  in  tlwj 
last  degree  maudlin,  and  who  wept  abundantly, 
inferred  from  the  foregoing  avowal,  that  it  was 
his  mission  to  communicate  to  others  the  blight 
which  had  fallen  on  himself;  and  that,  bcin?  a 
kind  of  unintentional  Vampire,  he  had  had  Mjss 
Pecksniff  assigned  to  him  by  the  Fates,  as  V'ic 
tim  Number  One.  Miss  Pecksniff  controverting 
I  this  opinion  as  sinful,  Mfiddle  was  goadid  on  to 
ask  whether  she  could  be  contented  with  a  blights 
cd  heart  ;  and  it  appearing  on  further  examina 
tion  that  she  could  be,  pliglited  his  dismal  troth 
which  was  accepted  and  returned. 

He  bore  his  good  fiirtune  with  the  utmost  modiv 
ration.  Instead  of  being  triumphant,  he  shed 
more  tears  than  he  had  ever  been  known  to  shi.d 
before  :  and,  sobbing,  said  : 
'  "  Oh,  what  a  day  this  has  been  !  T  can't  go 
bark  to  the  office  this  afternoon.  Oh,  what  a  try 
in^  day  this  has  been,  Good  Gracious !'" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


201 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


FURTHER  PROCEEDINGS  IN  EDEN,  AND  A  PROCEEDING  OUT  OF  IT. 
MARTIN  MAKES  A  DISCOVERY  OF  SOME  IMPORTANCE. 


From  Mr.  Moddle  to  EHen  is  an  easy  and  natu- 
fnl  transition.  Mr.  Moddle,  living  in  the  atmos- 
phere of  Miss  Pecksniff's  love,  dwelt  (if  he  had 
but  known  it)  in  a  terrestrial  Paradi.'^e.  The 
thriving  city  of  Eden  was  also  a  terreslriai  Para- 
dise, upon  the  showing  of  its  proprietors.  The 
beautiful  Miss  PecksnitF  might  have  been  poeti- 
cally described  as  a  something  too  good  for  man 
id  his  fallen  and  degraded  state.  That  was  exactly 
the  character  of  the  thriving  city  of  Eden,  as  po- 
etically heightened  by  Zephaniah  Scaddcr,  Gene- 
ral Choke,  and  other  worthies :  part  and  ])arcel 
of  the  talons  of  that  great  American  E.igle,  which 
i.^  always  airing  itself  sky-high  in  purest  sether, 
and  never,  no  never,  never  tumbles  down,  with 
draggled  wings,  into  the  mud. 

When  Mark  Tapley,  leaving  Martin  in  the  ar- 
cliitectural  and  surveying  offices,  had  effectually 
Btrengtiicned  and  encouraged  his  own  spirits  by  the 
contemplation  of  their  joint  misfortunes,  he  pro- 
ceeded, with  new  cheerfulness,  in  search  of  help : 
Congratulating  himself,  as  he  went  along,  on  the 
enviable  position  to  which  he  had  at  last  att.iined. 

"  I  used  to  think,  sometimes,"  said  Mr.  Tapley, 
"as  a  desolate  island  would  suit  me,  but  I  should 
cnly  have  had  myself  to  provide  for  there,  and  be- 
ing naterally  a  easy  man  to  manage,  tiiere  wouldn't 
oave  been  much  credit  in  that.  Now  iiere  I  've 
got  my  partner  to  take  care  on,  and  he  's  some- 
tliing  like  the  sort  of  man  for  the  purpose.  I 
want  a  man  as  is  alwa3's  a  sliding  off  his  legs  when 
he  ought  to  be  on  'em.  I  want  a  man  as  is  so  low 
down  in  the  school  of  life,  that  he  's  alwayn  a  mak- 
ing figures  of  one  in  his  copy-book,  and  can't  get 
no  further.  I  want  a  man  as  is  his  own  great- 
coat and  cloak,  and  is  always  a  wrapping  himself 
nu  in  himself  And  I  have  got  him  too,"  said 
Mr.  Tapley,  after  a  long  moment's  silence.  "  Wliat 
a  happiness  !" 

He  paused  to  look  round,  uncertain  to  which  of 
the  log-houses  he  should  repair. 

"  I  don't  which  to  t;ike,"  he  observed;  "that's 
the  truth.  They're  equally  prepossessing  outside, 
nnd  equally  commodious,  no  doubt,  within  ;  being 
fitted  up  with  every  convenience  that  a  Alligator, 
^1  a  state  of  natur',  could  possibly  require.  Let 
me  see !  The  citizen  as  turned  out  la.st  night 
lives  under  w.itcr,  in  the  right  hand  dog-kennel  at 
tile  corner.  I  don't  want  to  trouble  him  if  I  can 
help  It,  poor  man,  for  he  is  a  melancholy  object: 
a  reg'iar  Settler  in  every  respect.  There's  a 
liouse  with  a  winder,  but  I  'm  afraid  of  their  be- 
iriir  proud.  I  don't  know  whether  a  door  ain't  too 
aristocratic  ;  hut  here  goes  for  the  first  one  !" 

He  went  up  to  I  lie  nearest  cabin,  and  knocked 
with  his  hand.  Being  desired  to  enter,  he  com- 
plied. 

"Nrielibour,"  said  Mark  ;  "for  I  am  a  neigh- 
hoTir,  though   you  di'n't  know  me;   I've  come  a 

hesriiing.    Hallo!  hal — lo  ! Am  I  a-bed,  and 

dreauiiiig  !"* 

He  wndf  ihis  exclamation  on  hearing  his  own 
26 


name  pronounced,  and  finding  himself  clasped 
about  the  skirts  by  two  little  boys,  whose  faces 
he  had  often  washed,  and  whose  suppers  he  had 
often  cooked,  on  board  of  that  noble,  and  last-sail- 
ing line  of  packet  ship,  the  Screw. 

"  My  eyes  is  wrong  !"  said  Mark.  "  I  don't 
believe  'em.  That  ain't  my  fellow-passenger  yon- 
der,  a  nursing  her  little  girl,  who,  I  atn  sorry  lo 
see,  is  so  delicate  ;  and  tliat  aint  her  husband  as 
come  to  New  York  to  fetch  her.  Nor  these,"  he 
added,  looking  down  upon  the  boys,  "ain't  them 
two  young  shavers  as  was  so  I'amiliar  to  me; 
though  they  are  uncommon  like  'em.  That  I 
must  confess." 

The  woman  shed  fears,  in  very  joy  to  see  him ; 
the  mac  shook  both  his  hands,  and  would  not  let 
thcni  go;  the  two  boys  hugged  his  legs  ;  the  sick 
child,  in  the  mother's  arms,  stretched  out  her 
burning  little  fingers,  and  muttered,  in  her  hoarse, 
dry  throat,  his  well-remembered  name. 

It  was  the  same  family,  sure  enough.  Altered 
by  the  salubrious  air  of  Eden.     But  the  same. 

"This  is  a  new  sort  of  a  morning  call,"  said 
Mark,  drawing  a  long  breath,  "  It  strikes  one  all 
of  a  heap.  Wait  a  little  bit  I  I'm  a  coir.ing 
round,  fast.  That  '11  do  !  These  gentlemen  ain't 
my  friends.  Are  they  on  the  wisiting  list  of  the 
hou.>e  ?" 

The  inquiry  referred  to  certain  gaunt  pigs,  who 
had  walked  in  afler  him,  and  were  much  interest- 
ed in  the  heels  of  the  family.  As  they  did  not 
belong  ^o  the  mansion,  they  were  expelled  by  the 
two  little  boys. 

"  I  ain't  superstitious  about  toads,"  said  Mark, 
looking  round  the  room,  "  but  if  you  could  pre- 
vail upon  the  two  or  three  I  see  in  company,  lo 
step  out  at  the  same  time,  my  young  friends,  1 
think  they  'd  find  the  open  air  refreshing.  Not 
that  I  at  all  object  to  'em.  A  very  handsome  ani- 
mal is  a  toad,"  said  Mr.  Tapley,  sitting  down 
upon  a  stool:  "very  spotted;  very  like  a  partick- 
ler  style  of  old  gentleman  about  the  throat;  very 
bright-eyed,  very  cool,  and  very  slippy.  But  one 
sees  'em  to  the  best  advantage  out  of  doors  per- 
haps." 

While  pretending,  with  such  talk  as  this,  to  be 
perfectly  at  his  ease,  and  to  be  the  most  indiffer- 
ent  and  careless  of  men,  Mark  Tapley  had  an  eyo 
on  all  around  him.  The  wan  and  meagre  aspect 
of  the  family,  the  changed  looks  of  the  poor  mo- 
ther, the  fevered  child  she  held  in  her  lip,  the  air 
of  great  despondency  and  little  hope  on  every- 
thing, were  plain  to  him,  and  made  a  deep  impres- 
sion on  his  mind.  He  saw  it  all  as  clearly  and 
as  quickly,  as  with  his  bodily  eyes  he  saw  the 
rough  shelves  supported  by  pegs  driven  between 
the  logs,  of  which  the  house  was  made  ;  the  flour- 
cask  in  the  corner,  serving  also  for  a  table;  tlio 
blankets,  spades,  and  other  artieles  against  the 
walls  ;  the  damp  that  blotched  the  ground  ;  or  the 
crop  of  vegetable  rottenness  in  every  crevice  o? 
the  hut. 


802 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  How  is  it  that  you  have  come  here  ?"  asked 
Uie  man,  wlien  tlieir  fiist  expressions  of  surprise 
were  over. 

"  Wiiy,  we  come  by  the  steamer  last  night," 
replied  Mark.  "Our  intention  is  to  make  our 
lortuns  with  punctuality  and  dispatch;  and  to  re- 
tire upon  our  pro|)crty  as  soon  as  ever  it's  real- 
ized. But  how  are  you  all?  You're  looking  no- 
ble !" 

"We  are  but  sickly  now,"  said  the  poor  wo- 
man, bending  over  her  child.  "  But  we  shall  do 
belter  when  we  arc  seasoned  to  the  place." 

"  Tliere  are  some  here,"  thought  Mark,  "  whose 
seasoning  will  lust  for  ever." 

But  he  said  cheerfully,  "  Do  better  !  To  be  sure 
jou  will.  We  shall  all  do  better.  What  we  've 
eot  to  do,  is,  to  keep  up  our  spirits,  and  be  neigh- 
bourly. We  shall  come  all  right  in  the  end,  ne- 
ver fear.  Tliat  reminds  me,  by  the  bye,  that  my 
partner 's  all  wrong  just  at  present;  and  that  I 
looked  in,  to  beg  for  him.  I  wish  you  'd  come, 
and  give  me  your  opinion  of  him,  master." 

That  nmst  have  been  a  very  unreasonable  re- 
quest on  the  part  of  Mark  Tapley,  with  vvliieh,  in 
their  gratitude  for  his  kind  offices  on  board  the 
ship,  they  would  not  have  complied  instantly. 
The  man  rose  to  accompany  him  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay.  Before  they  went,  Mark  took  the 
sick  child  in  his  arms,  and  tried  to  comfort  the 
mother ;  but  the  hand  of  death  was  on  it  then,  he 
saw. 

They  found  Martin  in  the  house,  lying  wrapped 
up  in  his  blanket  on  the  ground.  He  was,  to  all 
appearance,  very  ill  indeed,  and  shook  and  shiv- 
ered horribly  :  not  as  people  do  from  cold,  but  in 
a  frightful  kind  of  spasrn  or  convulsion,  that  rack- 
ed his  whole  body.  Mark's  friend  pronounced 
his  disease  an  aggravated  kind  of  fever,  accom- 
panied with  ague;  which  was  very  common  in 
those  parts,  and  which  he  predicted  would  be 
worse  to-morrow,  and  for  many  more  to-morrows. 
He  had  had  it  himself  off  and  on,  he  said,  for  a 
couple  of  years  or  so;  but  he  was  thankful  that, 
while  so  many  he  had  known  had  died  about  him, 
he  had  escaped  with  life. 

"  And  with  not  too  much  of  that,"  thought 
Mark,  surveying  his  emaciated  form.  "  Eden  tor 
ever !" 

They  had  some  medicine  in  their  chest;  and 
this  man  of  sad  experience  showed  Mark  how 
und  when  to  administer  it,  and  how  he  could  best 
alleviate  the  sufferings  of  Martin.  His  attention 
did  not  stop  there;  for  he  was  backwards  and  for- 
wards constantly,  and  rendered  Mark  good  ser- 
vice in  all  his  brisk  attempts  to  make  tlieir  situ- 
ation more  endurable.  Hope  or  comfort  for  the 
future  he  could  not  bestow.  The  season  was  a 
sickly  one ;  the  settlement  a  grave.  His  child 
died  that  night;  and  Mark,  keeping  the  secret 
from  Martin,  helped  to  bury  it,  beneath  a  tree, 
next  day. 

With  all  his  various  duties  of  attendance  upon 
Martin  (who  became  the  more  exacting  in  his 
claims,  the  worse  he  grew),  Mark  worked  out  of 
doors,  early  and  late*  and  with  the  assistance  of 
nis  friend  and  others,  laboured  to  do  something 
with  tlieir  land.  Not  that  he  had  the  least  strength 
of  lieart  or  hope,  or  steady  purpose  in  so  doing, 
beyond  the  habitual  eheerfulimss  of  his  disposi- 
tion, and  his  amazing  power  of  sell-sustuinment ; 


for  within  himself,  he  looked  on  their  condition 
as  beyond  all  hope,  and,  in  his  own  words,  "came 
out  strong"  in  consequence. 

"As  to  coming  out  strong  as  I  could  wish,  Sir," 
he  confided  to  Martin  in  a  leisure  moment;  that 
is  to  sav,  one  evening,  while  he  was  washing  the 
linen  of  the  establishment,  after  a  hard  day's  work, 
"that  I  give  up.  It's  a  piece  of  good  fortune  aa 
never  is  to  happen  to  me,  I  see  I" 

"  Would  you  wish  for  circumstances  stronger 
than  these  ?"  Martin  retorted  with  a  groan,  from 
underneath  his  blanket. 

"Why,  only  see  how  easy  they  might  have 
been  stronger,  Sir,"  said  Mark,  "if  it  wasn't  fi)r 
the  envy  of  that  uncommon  fortun  of  mine,  which 
is  always  after  me,  and  tripping  me  up.  The 
night  we  landed  here,  I  thought  things  did  look 
pretty  jolly.  I  won't  deny  it.  I  thought  they 
did  look  pretty  jolly." 

"  How  do  they  look  now  ?"  groaned  Martin. 
"Ah!"  said  Mark,  "Ah  to  be  sure.  That's 
the  question.  How  do  they  look  now !  On  the 
very  first  morning  of  my  going  out,  what  do  I 
do?  Stumble  on  a  family  I  know,  who  are  corv 
stantly  assistmg  of  us  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  from 
that  time  to  this!  That  won't  do,  you  knowt 
that  ain't  what  I  'd  a  right  to  expect.  If  I  had 
stumbled  on  a  serpent,  and  got  bit ;  or  stumbled 
on  a  first-rate  patriot,  and  got  bowie-knifed  ;  or 
F'.unibled  on  a  lot  of  Sympathizers  with  inverted 
shirt-ciillars,  and  got  made  a  lion  of;  I  might  have 
distinguished  myself,  and  earned  some  credit.  As 
it  is,  tlie  great  object  of  my  voyage  is  knocked  on 
the  head.  So  it  would  he,  wherever  I  went.  How 
do  you  feel  to-night.  Sir?" 

"  Worse  than  ever,"  said  poor  Martin. 
"  That's  something,"  returned  Mark,  "  but  not 
enough.    Nothing  but  being  very  bad  myself,  an<i 
jolly  to  the  last,  will  ever  do  me  justice." 

"In  Heaven's  name,  don't  talk  of  that,"  saia 
Martin,  with  a  thrill  of  terror.  "  What  should  I 
do,  Mark,  if  you  were  taken  ill !" 

Mr.  Tapley's  spirits  a[)peared  to  be  stimulated 
by  this  remark,  although  it  was  not  a  very  flat- 
teriiig  one.  He  proceeded  with  his  washing  in  a 
brighter  mood  ;  and  ohseived  "that  his  glass  was 
a-ri^iiig." 

"There's  one  good  thing  in  this  place,  Sir," 
said  Mr.  Tapley,  scrubbing  away  at  the  linen, 
"  as  disposes  me  to  be  jolly  ;  and  that  is,  that  it 's 
a  reg'lar  little  United  States  in  itself.  There's 
two  or  three  American  settlers  left ;  and  they  cool- 
]y  comes  over  one,  even  here  Sir,  as  if  it  was  the 
wholesomest  and  loveliest  spot  in  the  world.  But 
they  're  like  the  (\jek  that  went  and  hid  himsell 
to  save  his  lite,  and  was  found  out  by  the  noise  he 
made.  They  can't  help  crowing.  They  was  borr. 
to  do  it ;  and  do  it  tliey  must,  whatever  comes 
of  it." 

Glancing  from  his  work,  out  at  the  door,  as  he 
said  these  words,  Mark's  eyes  encountered  a  lean 
person  in  a  blue  frock  and  a  straw  hat,  with  a 
short  black  pipe  in  his  mouth,  ami  a  great  hickory 
slick,  studded  all  over  with  knots,  in  his  hand 
who,  smoking  and  chewing  as  he  came  al  .ng,  ani 
spitting  f'reqinntly,  recorded  his  progress  by  a  train 
of  decomposed  tobacco  nn  the  groimd. 

"Here's  one  on  'em,"  eriid  Mark,  "  Hannibai 
Chollop." 

"Don't  let  him  in,"  said  Martin,  feebly. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


203 


"  He  won't  want  any  letting  in,"  replied  Mark. 
"  He  'II  come  in,  Sir."  Which  turned  out  to  be 
quite  true,  tor  he  did.  His  face  was  almost  as 
hard  and  knobby  as  his  stick  ;  and  so  were  his 
hands.  His  liead  was  like  an  old  black  hearth- 
broom.  He  Sit  down  on  the  chest  with  his  liat 
on  ;  and  crossiuff  his  leifs  and  looking  up  at  Mark, 
•aid,  without  removing  his  pipe: 

"Well,  Mr.  Col  and  how  do  you  git  along, 
Sir  ?" 

It  may  be  necessary  to  observe  that  Mr.  Tapley 
had  gravely  introduced  himself  to  all  strangers, 
by  that  name. 

"  Pretty  well,  Sir;  pretty  well,"  said  Mark. 

"  If  tliis  ain't  Mr.  (  i  uz/lewit,  ain  t  it!"  ex- 
claimed the  visiter.  "  How  do  you  git  along. 
Sir  ?" 

Martin  shook  his  head,  and  drew  the  blanket 
over  it  involuntarily  ;  for  he  felt  that  Hannibal 
was  going  to  spit;  and  his  eye,  as  the  song  says, 
was  upon  him. 

"  You  need  not  regard  me,  Sir,"  observed  Mr. 
ChoUop,  complacently.  "  I  am  fever  proof,  and 
likewise  agur." 

"  Mine  was  a  more  selfish  motive,"  said  Mar- 
tin, looking  out  again.  "  I  was  afraid  you  were 
going  to " 

"  I  can  calc'latc  my  distance,  Sir,"  returned 
Mr.  Chollop,  "  to  an  inch." 

With  a  proof  of  which  happy  faculty  he  imme- 
diately favoured  him. 

"I  re-quire.  Sir,"  said  Hannibal,  "two  foot 
clear  in  a  circ'lar  di-rection  and  can  engage  my- 
self toe  keep  within  it.  I  have  gone  ten  foot,  in 
a  circ'lar  di-rection,  but  that  was  for  a  wager." 

"  I  hope  you  won  it,  Sir,"  said  Mark. 

"  Weil,  Sir,  I  realized  the  stakes,"  said  Chollop. 
"  Yes,  Sir." 

He  was  silent  for  a  time,  during  which  he  was 
actively  engaged  in  the  formation  of  a  maeic  cir- 
cle round  the  chest  on  which  he  sat.  When  it 
Was  completed,  he  began  to  talk  again. 

"  How  do  you  like  our  country.  Sir  ?"  he  in- 
quired, looking  at  Martin. 

"  Not  at  all,"  was  the  invalid's  reply. 

Chollop  continued  to  smoke  without  the  least 
appearance  of  emotion,  until  he  felt  disposed  to 
Bpeak  again.  That  time  at  length  arriving,  he 
look  his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  and  said: 

"  I  am  not  surprised  to   hear  you   say  so. 


t^ten  possession  of  the  property. 
It  X  He  ha( 


rc-quircs  An  elevation,  and  A  preparation  of  ths^  kind,  but   had   abandoned   it,   and  was   about   to 


intellect.  The  mind  of  man  must  be  prepared 
for  Freedom,  Mr.  Co." 

He  addressed  himself  to  Mark  :  because  he 
saw  ttiat  M.irtin,  who  wished  him  to  go,  being 
already  halt".mad  with  feverish  irritation  which 
the  droning  voice  of  this  new  horror  rendered  al- 
most insupportable,  had  closed  his  eyes,  and  turn- 
ed on  his  uneasy  bed. 

'•  A  littlf;  bodily  preparation  wouldn't  be  amiss, 
cither,  would  it.  Sir,"  said  Mark,  "in  the  case  of 
a  blessed  old  swamp  like  this?" 

"  Do  you  con-sider  this  a  swamp.  Sir?"  inquir- 
ed Chollop  gravely. 

"  V/hy  yes.  Sir,"  returned  Mark.  "I  haven't 
a  doiiht  about  it,  myself." 

"  The  sentimeiit  is  quite  Europian,"  said  the 
Majo,-,  "and  does  not  surprise  me:  what  would 
your  English  millions  say  to  such  a  swamp  in 
Eiigkind,  Sir  ?' 


"They'd  say  it  was  an  inicommon  nasty  ono 
I  should  think"  said  M.irk;  "and  that  they 
would  rather  be  inoculated  for  fever  in  some  othei 
way." 

"  Europian  I"  remarked  Chollop,  with  sardonic 
pity.     "  tiuite  Europian  I" 

And  there  he  sat.  Silent  and  cool,  as  if  the 
house  were  his;  smoking  away  like  a  factory 
chimney. 

Mr  t'hollop  was,  of  course,  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men  in  the  country  ;  but  he  really 
was  a  notorious  person  besides.  He  was  usually 
described  by  his  fi  lends,  in  the  South  and  West, 
as  "a  splendid  sample  of  our  na-tive  raw  mate- 
rial, Sir,"  and  was  much  esteemed  lor  his  devo- 
tion to  rational  Liberty  ;  for  the  better  prop.iga- 
tion  whereof  he  usually  carried  a  brace  of  revolv. 
ing-pist<)ls  in  his  coat-pocket,  with  seven  barrels 
apiece.  He  also  carried,  amongst  otiier  trinkets, 
a  sword-stick,  which  he  called  his  "  Tickler ;" 
and  a  great  knile,  which  (for  he  was  a  man  of  a 
pleasant  turn  of  humour)  he  called  "Ripper,"  in 
allusion  to  its  usefulness  as  a  means  of  ventilating 
the  stomach  of  any  adversary  in  a  close  contest. 
He  had  used  these  weapons  with  distinguished 
effect  in  several  instances;  all  duly  chronicled  in 
the  newspapers ;  and  was  greatly  beloved  for  the 
gallant  manner  in  which  he  had  "jobbed  out"  the 
eye  of  one  gentleman,  as  he  was  in  the  act  of 
knocking  at  his  own  street-door. 

Mr.  Chollop  was  a  man  of  a  roving  disposition; 
and,  in  any  less  advanced  community,  might  have 
been  mistaken  for  a  violent  vagabond.  But  his 
fine  qualities  being  perfectly  understood  and  ap- 
preciated in  those  regions  where  his  lot  was  cast 
and  where  he  had  many  kindred  spirits  to  consort 
with,  he  may  be  regarded  as  having  been  born 
under  a  fortunate  star,  which  is  not  always  the 
case  with  a  man  so  much  before  the  age  in  which 
he  lives.  Preferring,  with  a  view  to  the  gratifi- 
cation of  his  tickling  and  ripping  fancies,  to  dwell 
upon  the  outskirts  of  society,  and  in  the  more 
remote  towns  and  cities,  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
emigrating  from  place  to  place,  and  estahlishing 
in  each  some  business  —  usually  a  newspaper^ 
which  he  presently  sold:  for  the  most  part  closing 
the  bargain  by  challenging,  stabbing,  pistolling, 
or  gouging,  the  new  editor,  before  he  had  quu- 


id  come  to  Eden  on  a  speculation  of  this 


leave.  He  always  introduced  himself  to  strangers 
as  a  worshipper  of  Freedom ;  was  the  consistent 
advocate  of  Lynch  law  and  slavery  ;  and  invari. 
ably  recommended,  both  in  print  and  speech,  the 
"  tarring  and  feathering"  of  any  unpopular  per- 
son  who  differed  from  himself.  He  called  this 
"planting  the  standard  of  civilization  in  the  wild, 
er  gardens  of  My  country." 

There  is  little  doubt  tliat  Chollop  would  have 
planted  this  standard  in  Eden  at  Mark's  expense, 
in  return  for  his  plainness  of  speech  (tor  the  gerw 
uine  Freedom  is  dumb  save  when  she  vaunts  her 
self,)  but  tor  the  utter  desolation  and  de-'uy  pre- 
vailing  in  the  settlement,  and  his  own  a:-)roach- 
ing  de[>arlure  from  it.  As  it  was,  he  contented 
himsi'lf  with  showing  Mark  one  of  the  rc'^olving 
pistols,  and  asking  him  what  he  thought  of  that 
weapon. 

"  It  ain't  long,  since  I  shot  a  man  down  wk  ^ 


204 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Jiat,  Sir,  in  the  State  of  Illinoy,"  observed  Choi- 
lop. 

"  Did  you,  indeed  !''  said  Mark,  without  the 
smallest  ugitation.  "Very  fr^  of  you.  And  very 
independent  I" 

"  1  i^hot  him  down,  Sir,"  \/ursued  Chollop,  "for 
asserting  in  the  Spartan  Portico,  a  tri-weekly 
journal,  that  the  ar;cient  Athenians  went  a-head 
of  tlie  present  Locofoco  Ticket." 

"And  what's  that?"  asked  Mark. 

"  Europiati  not  to  know,"  said  Chollop,  smok- 
ing  placidly.     "  Europian  quite  !" 

After  a  short  devotion  to  the  interests  of  the 
mngic  circle,  he  resumed  the  conversation  by  ob- 
strviiig': 

"  You  won't  half  feel  yourself  at  home  in  Eden, 
now  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mark,  "  I  don't." 

"  You  miss  the  imposts  of  your  country.  You 
miss  the  house  dues  ?"  observed  Chollop. 

"  And  the  houses — rather,"  said  Mark. 

"  No  window  dues  here,  Sir,"  observed  Chollop. 

"  And  no  windows  to  put  'em  on,"  said  Mark. 

"  No  stakes,  no  dungeons,  no  blocks,  no  racks, 
no  scaffolds,  no  thumb-screws,  no  pikes,  no  pillo- 
rif  s,"  said  Chollop. 

"Nothing  but  rewolvers  and  bowie-knives,"  re. 
turned  Mark.  "And  what  are  they  ?  Not  worth 
mentioning  I" 

The  man  who  had  met  them  on  the  night  of 
their  arrival  can)e  crawling  up  at  this  juncture, 
and  loolicd  in  at  the  door. 

"  Well,  Sir  !"  said  Chollop.  "  How  do  you  git 
along  ?" 

He  had  consiHeraiile  difficulty  in  getting  along 
at  all,  and  said  as  much  in  reply. 

"  Mr.  Co  And  nie,  Sir,"  observed  Chollop,  "  are 
disputating  a  piece.  He  ought  to  be  slicked  up 
pretty  smart,  to  dispntatc  between  the  Old  World 
and  the  New,  I  do  expect?" 

"  Well !"  relumed  the  miserable  shadow.  "  So 
he  had." 

"  I  was  merely  observing.  Sir,"  said  Mark,  ad- 
dressing this  new  visiter,  "that  I  looked  upon  the 
city  in  which  we  have  the  honour  to  live,  as  be- 
ing swampy.     What's  yonr  sentiments?" 

"I  opiiiionate  it's  moist,  perhaps,  at  certain 
times,"  returned  the  man. 

"But  not  as  moist  as  England,  Sir?"  cried 
Chollop,  witli  a  fierce  expression  in  his  face. 

"Oh!  Not  as  moist  as  England;  let  alone  its 
Institutions,"  said  the  man. 

"  I  sJiould  hope  there  ain't  a  swamp  in  all  Ame- 
riray,  as  don't  wliip  that  small  island  into  mush 
and  molasses,"  observed  Chollop,  decisively.  "You 
bought  slick,  straight,  and  right  away,  of  Scad- 
der,  Sir?"  to  Mark. 

Flc  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Mr.  Chollop 
winked   at  the  other  citizen. 

"  Scadder  is  a  smart  man.  Sir?  He  is  a  rising 
man?  Hi;  is  a  man  as  will  come  up'ards,  right 
Bide  up.  Sir  .'"  Mr.  Chollop  winked  again  at  the 
otiier  citizen. 

"  He  should  have  his  right  side  very  high  up. 
It  I  had  my  way,"  said  Mark  "  As  high  up  as 
Vlic  top  of  a  good  tall  gallows,  perhaps." 

Mr.  Chollop  was  so  delighted  at  the  smartness 
lit'  his  excellent  countryman  hin  itig  been  too  much 
'or  the  Britisher,  and  at  the  Britisher's  resenting 
I,  ihdl  he  could  contain  himself  nu  longer,  and 


broke  forth  in  a  shout  of  delight.  But  the  strangest 
exposition  of  this  ruling  passion  was  in  the  other: 
the  pestilence. stricken,  broken,  miserable  shadow 
of  a  man  :  who  derived  so  much  entertainment 
from  the  circumstance,  that  he  seemed  to  forgtt 
his  own  ruin  in  thinking  of  it,  and  laughed  out- 
right  when  he  said  "that  Scadder  was  a  smart 
man,  and  had  drawd  a  lot  of  British  capital  that 
way,  as  sure  as  sun-up." 

After  a  full  enjoyment  of  this  joke,  Mr.  Hanni- 
bal Chollop  sat  smoking  and  improving  the  circle, 
without  making  any  attempts  either  to  e.nverse, 
or  to  take  leave;  apparently  labouring  under  the 
not  uncommon  delusion,  that  for  a  (rve  and  en- 
lightened  citizen  of  the  United  States  to  convert 
another  man's  house  into  a  spittoon  tor  two  or 
three  hours  together,  was  a  delicate  attention,  ful' 
of  interest  and  politeness,  of  which  nobody  could 
ever  tire.     At  last  he  rose. 

"  I  am  a  going  easy,"  he  observed. 

Mark  entreated  him  to  take  particular  care  of 
himself. 

"  Aftre  I  go,"  he  said  sternly,  "  I  have  got  a 
lectle  word  to  say  to  you.  You  are  damnation 
'cute,  you  are." 

Mark  thanked  him  for  the  compliment. 

"  But  you  are  much  too  'cute  to  last.  I  can't 
con-ceive  of  any  spotted  Painter  in  the  bush,  iM 
ever  was  so  riddled  through  and  through  as  yoa 
•/ill  be,  I  het." 

"  VVh:it  f.r?"  asked  Mark. 

"We  must  be  craeked-up.  Sir,"  retorted  Choi, 
lop,  in  a  tone  of  menace.  "  You  are  not  now  ia 
A  despotic  land.  We  are  a  model  to  the  airth, 
and  must  be  jist  cracked-up,  I  tell  you." 

"What,  I  speak  too  free,  do  I?"  cried  Mark, 

"  I  have  draw'd  u[)on  A  man,  and  fired  upon  A 
man  for  less,"  said  Chollop,  frowning.  "  I  have 
know'd  strong  men  ohleeged  to  make  themselves 
uncommon  skase  for  less.  I  have  know'd  strong 
men  Lynched  lor  less,  and  beaten  into  punkin'- 
sarse  for  less,  by  an  enlightened  people.  We  are 
the  intellect  and  virtue  ot'the  airth,  the  cream  Of 
human  natnr',  and  the  flower  Of  moral  force 
Our  hacks  is  easy  ris.  We  must  be  cracked-up,  or 
they  rises,  and  we  snarls.  We  shows  our  teeth, 
I  tell  you,  fierce.  You  'd  better  crack  us  up,  you 
had  !" 

After  the  delivery  of  this  caution,  Mr.  Chollop 
departed;  with  Ripper,  Tickler,  and  the  revolvers, 
all  ready  for  action  on  the  shortest  notice. 

"Come  out  from  under  the  blanket.  Sir,"  said 
Mark,  "lie's  gone.  What's  this  I"  he  addtd 
softly:  kiietling  down  to  look  into  his  partner's 
face,  and  taking  his  hot  hand.  "  What's  come 
of  all  that  chattering  and  swaggering?  He's 
wandering  in  his  mind  to-night,  and  don't  know 
me !" 

Martin  indeed  was  dangerously  ill ;  very  near 
his  death.  He  lay  in  that  state  niiiny  days,  dur- 
ing which  time  Mark's  [loor  friends,  reganiless 
of  themselves,  attended  him.  Mark,  I'atigucii  in 
mind  and  body;  working  all  the  day  and  silting 
up  at  night ;  worn  with  hard  living  and  ihc  uiuic- 
customed  toil  of  his  new  life;  surrounded  hy  I'is. 
mal  and  discouraging  circumstances  ol'  every 
kind;  never  complained  or  yielded  in  the  least 
degree.  If  ever  he  had  thought  Martin  selfish 
or  inconsiderate,  or  had  deemed  him  energciio 
only  by  fits  and  starts,  and  then  too  pasaivc  fol 


MARTIN   C  fl  U  Z  Z  L  E  \V  1  T. 


205 


•their  desperate  fortunes,  he  now  forgot  it  all.  He 
r«inen)bere(i  notliii)^  but  the  better  qualities  of 
his  fellow-wanderer,  and  was  devoted  to  him,  heart 
and  hand. 

Many  weeks  elapsed  before  Martin  was  stroti]ff 
enough  to  move  about  with  the  help  of  a  stick 
and  Mark's  arm  ;  and  even  then  his  recoviry,  for 
want  of  wholesome  air  and  proper  nourishment, 
was  very  slow.  He  was  yet  in  a  feeble  and  weak 
condition,  whin  the  misfortune  he  hud  so  much 
dreaded  fell  upon  them.     Mark  was  taken  ill. 

Mark  foiijrl.l  aj.'-ainst  it;  but  the  malady  fought 
harder,  and  his  efforts  vvere  in  vain. 

"  Floored  for  the  present^  Sir,"  he  said  one 
morning,  sinking  back  upon  his  bed;  "  but  jol- 
ly 1" 

Floored  indeed,  and  by  a  heavy  blow  I  As  any 
one  but  Martin  might  have  known  beforeliand. 

If  Mark's  friends  had  been  kind  to  Martin 
(and  they  had  been  very),  they  were  twenty  times 
kinder  to  Mark.  And  now  it  was  Martin's  turn 
to  work,  and  sit  beside  the  bed  and  watch,  and 
listen  through  the  long,  long  nights,  to  every 
sound  in  the  gloouiy  wilderness  ;  and  hear  poor 
Mr.  Tapley,  in  his  wandering  fancy,  playing  at 
skittles  in  the  Dragon,  making  love-remonstrances 
to  Mrs.  Lupin,  getting  iiis  sea-legs  on  board  the 
Screw,  travelling  with  old  Tom  Pinch  on  English 
roads,  and  burning  stumps  of  trees  in  Eden,  all 
at  once. 

But  whenever  Martin  gave  him  drink  or  medi- 
cine, or  tetijid  him  in  any  way,  or  came  into  the 
house  returning  fro'"  some  drudgeiy  without,  the 
patient  Mr.  Tapley  brightened  up,  and  cried : 
"  I  'm  jolly,  Sir :  I  'm  jolly  I" 

Now,  when  Martin  began  to  think  of  this,  and 
to  look  at  Mark  as  he  lay  there ;  never  reproach- 
ing liim  by  so  much  as  an  expression  of  regret ; 
never  murmuring;  always  striving  to  be  manful 
and  staunch ;  he  began  to  think  how  was  it  that 
this  man  who  had  had  so  few  advantages,  was  so 
much  better  than  he  who  had  had  so  many  ?  And 
attendance  upon  a  sick  bed,  but  especially  tlie  sick 
bed  of  one  whom  we  have  been  accustomed  to  see 
in  full  activity  and  vigour,  being  a  gre:it  breeder 
of  reflection,  he  began  to  ask  himself  in  what 
tliey  differed. 

He  was  assisted  in  coming  to  a  conclusion  on 
this  head  by  the  frequent  presence  of  Mark's 
friend,  their  fellow-passenger  across  the  ocean  : 
which  sufTgested  to  him  that  in  regard  to  having 
aided  her,  for  example,  they  had  differed  very 
much.  Somehow  he  coupled  Tom  Pinch  with 
this  tn.in  of  reflection;  and  thinking  that  Tom 
svould  be  very  likely  to  have  struck  up  the  same 
sort  of  acqu  lintance  under  similar  circumstances, 
began  to  think  in  what  respects  two  people  so  ex- 
tremely different  were  like  each  other,  and  were 
unlike  liim.  At  first  sight  there  was  nothing 
Very  distressing  in  these  meditations,  but  they  did 
undoubtedly  distress  him  for  all  that. 

Martin's  nature  was  a  frank  and  generous  one  ; 
but  he  had  been  bred  up  in  his  grandfather's 
house;  and  it  will  usually  be  found,  that  the 
meaner  domestic  vices  propagate  themselves  to 
be  their  own  antagonists.  Selfishness  does  this 
especially;  so  do  suspicion,  cunning,  stealth,  and 
Covetous  propensities.  Martin  had  unconsciously 
reasoned  as  a  child,  "  My  guardian  takes  so  much 
thought  of  himself,  that  unless  I  do  the  like  by 


myself,  I  shall  be  forgotten."  So  he  had  grown 
selfish. 

But  he  had  never  known  it.  If  any  one  had 
taxed  him  with  the  vice,  he  would  have  indignant- 
ly re[)elled  the  accusation,  and  conceived  iiimself 
unworthily  as[)ersed.  He  never  would  hive  kn()wn 
it,  but  that  being  newly  risen  fnim  a  bed  of  dan- 
gerous  sickness,  to  watch  by  such  another  couch, 
he  felt  how  nearly  Self  had  dropped  into  the 
grave,  and  what  a  poor,  dependent,  miserable 
thing  it  was. 

It  was  natural  for  him  to  reflect — he  had  months 
to  do  it  in — upon  his  own  escape,  and  Mark's  ex. 
tremity.  This  led  him  to  consider  which  of  them 
could  be  the  better  spared,  and  why?  Then  the 
curtain  slowly  rose  a  very  little  way ;  and  Self, 
Self,  Self,  was  shown  below. 

He  asked  liimseff,  besides,  when  dreading 
Mark's  decease  (as  all  men  do  and  must,  at  such 
a  time),  whether  he  had  done  his  duty  by  him, 
and  had  deserved  and  made  a  good  response  to 
his  fidelity  and  zeal.  No.  Short  as  their  com- 
panionship  had  been,  he  felt  in  many,  many  in. 
stances,  that  there  was  blame  against  Iiimself'; 
and  still  inquiring  why,  the  curtain  slowly  rose  a 
little  more,  and  Self,  Self,  Self,  diluted  on  the 
scene. 

It  was  long  before  he  fixed  the  knowledge  of 
himself  so  tirinly  in  his  mind  that  he  could  tho. 
roughly  discern  the  truth  ;  but  in  the  hideous  soli- 
tude of  that  most  hideous  place,  with  Hope  so  far 
removed.  Ambition  quenched,  and  Death  beside 
him  rattling  at  the  very  door,  reflection  came,  as 
in  a  plague-beleagured  town  ;  and  so  he  felt  and 
knew  the  failing  of  his  life,  and  saw  distinctly 
what  an  ugly  spot  it  was. 

Eden  was  a  hard  school  to  learn  so  hard  a  len- 
son  in  ;  but  there  were  teachers  in  the  swunp  and 
thicket,  and  the  pestilential  air,  who  had  a  searcfi- 
ing  method  of  their  own. 

Ho  made  a  solemn  resolution  that  when  his 
strength  returned  he  would  not  dispute  tiie  point 
Of  resist  the  conviction,  but  would  look  upon  it  as 
an  established  fict,  that  selfishness  was  in  his 
breast,  and  must  be  rooted  out.  He  was  so  doubt- 
ful (and  with  justice)  of  his  own  character,  that 
he  determined  not  to  say  one  word  of  vain  regiet 
or  good  resolve  to  Mark,  but  steadily  to  keep  liia 
purpose  before  his  own  eyes  solely  ;  and  there  waS 
not  a  jot  of  pride  in  this;  nothing  but  humility 
and  steadfastness  :  the  best  armour  he  could  weir. 
So  low  had  Eden  brought  him  down.  So  iiiah 
had  Eden  raised   hiin  up. 

After  a  long  and  lingering  illness  (in  certain 
forlorn  stages  of  which,  when  too  far  gone  to 
speak,  he  had  feebly  written  "jully  I"  on  a  slafe,) 
Mark  showed  some  symptoms  of  returnirii;  lieahli. 
They  came,  and  went,  and  flickered  I.t  a  lime; 
but  he  began  to  mend  at  last  decidedly  ;  and  after 
that,  continued  to  improve  from  day  to  day. 

As  soon  as  he  was  well  enough  to  talk  without 
fatigue,  Martin  consulted  him  upon  a  project  he 
had  in  his  mind,  and  which  a  few  months  back 
lie  would  have  carried  into  execution  v.'ithoul 
troubling  anybody's  head  but  his  own. 

"  Ours  is  a  desperate  case,"  s  lid  Martin 
"Plainly.  The  place  is  deserted  ;  its  fiilure  niusi 
have  become  known  ;  and  selling  what  we  have 
bought  to  any  one,  for  anything,  is  hopelrss,  even 
if  it  were  honest.    We  left  home  on  a  rnad  enter. 


206 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


prise,  and  have  failed.  Tlie  (jnly  hope  left  us: 
Ine  only  one  end  ibr  which  we  liave  ikav  to  try, 
is  to  quit  this  settlement  fur  ever,  and  get  back  to 
England.  Any  how  !  by  any  ni->ans  1  Only  to 
get  back  there,  Mark." 

"Thai's  all,  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Tapley,  with 
a  significant  stress  upon  the  words  :  "  only  thut  1" 
"  Now,  upon  this  tide  of  the  water,"  said  Mar- 
tin, "  wc  have  but  one  friend  who  can  help  us, 
and  that  is  Mr.  Bevan." 

"  I  thought  of  him  when  you  was  ill,"  said  Mark. 
"  But  for  the  time  that  would  be  lost,  I  would 
even  write  to  my  grandfather,"  Martin  went  on 
to  say,  "and  implore  him  for  money  to  free  us 
from  this  trap  into  which  we  were  so  cruelly  de- 
coyed.    Shall  I  try  Mr.  Btvan  first  ?" 

"  He  's  a  very  pleasant  sort  of  a  gentleman," 
said  Mark.     "  1  think  so." 

"The  few  goods  we  bnuglit  here,  and  in  which 
we  spent  our  money,  would  produce  something  if 
sold,"  resumed  Martin:  "and  whatever  they  real- 
ize shall  he  paid  him  instantly.  But  they  can't 
be  sold  here." 

**  There  's  nobody  but  corpses  to  buy  'em,"  said 
Mr.  Tapley,  shaking  his  head  with  a  rueful  air, 
"  and  pigs." 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  so,  and  only  ask  him  for  mo- 
ney enough  to  enable  us  by  the  cheapest  means  to 
reach  New  York,  or  any  port  from  which  we  may 
hope  to  get  a  passage  home,  by  serving  in  any  ca- 
pacity ?  Explaining  to  him  at  the  same  time  how 
I  am  connected,  and  that  I  will  endeavour  to  re- 
pay him,  even  through  my  grandfather,  immedi- 
ately on  our  arrival  in  England  ?" 

"Why  to  be  sure,"  said  Mark:  "he  ran  only 
Bay  no,  "iid  he  may  say  yes.     If  you  don't  mind 

trying  him.  Sir " 

"  Mind  I"  exclaimed  Martin.  "  I  am  to  blame 
Gir  coming  here,  and  I  would  do  anything  to  get 
away.  1  grieve  to  think  of  the  past.  If  I  had 
taken  your  opinion  sooner,  Mai  k,  we  never  should 
have  been  here,  I  am  certain." 

Mr.  Tapley  was  very  rnucli  surprised  at  tliis  ad- 
mission, hut  protested  with  great  vi  liemence,  tliat 
they  would  have  bein  there  all  tie  same;  and 
that  he  had  set  his  heart  upon  coming  to  Eden, 
from  the  first  word  he  had  ever  heard  of  it. 

Martin  then  read  iiiiii  a  letter  to  Mr.  Bevan, 
which  he  had  already  prefiarcd.  It  was  frankly 
and  ingen.uously  written,  and  desTibed  their  situ- 
ation without  tlie  least  concealment ;  plainly  stat- 
ed the  miseries  they  had  undergone;  and  prefer- 
red their  request  in  nlode^l  but  straiglit-iorward 
terms.  Mark  highly  commeiided  it;  and  they 
determined  to  despi.tch  it  by  the  next  steam-boat 
going  the  right  way,  that  miglit  call  to  take  in 
wood  at  Eden, — where  there  was  plenty  of  wood 
to  spare.  Not  knowing  how  to  address  Mr.  Be- 
van at  his  own  place  ol  aliode,  Martin  superscribed 
it  to  the  care  of  the  memorable  Mr.  Norris  of 
New  York,  and  wrote  upon  the  cover  an  entreaty 
that  it  might  be  forwarded  without  delay. 

More  than  a  week  elapsed  before  a  boat  appear- 
ed ;  but  at  length  th(!y  were  awakened  very  early 
one  morning  by  the  high-pressure  snorting  of  the 
^  Esau  Slodge  :"  named  alter  out'  of  the  most  re- 
markable men  in  the  country,  who  had  been  very 
eminent  somewhere.  Hurrying  down  to  the  land- 
ing-place, they  got  it  safe  on  board  ;  and  waiting 
•oxiously  to  sec  the  boat  depart,  stopped  up  the 


gangway:  an  instance  of  neglect  which  caused 
the  "Capting"  of  the  Esau  Slodge  to  "wish  ho 
might  be  sifted  fine  as  flour,  and  whittled  small  as 
chips;  that  if  they  didn't  come  off  that  there  fix- 
ing,  right  smart  too,  he  'd  spill  'em  in  the  drink  :** 
whereby  the  Capting  metaphorically  said  he'd 
throw  them  in  the  river. 

They  were  not  likely  to  receive  an  answer  for 
eight  or  ten  weeks  at  the  earliest.  In  the  nieatu 
time  they  devoted  such  strength  as  they  had  to 
the  attempted  improvement  of  their  land  ;  to  clear, 
ing  some  of  it,  and  preparing  it  for  useful  pur- 
poses. Monstrously  defective  as  their  farminj; 
was,  still  it  was  better  than  their  neighbours' ;  for 
Mark  had  some  practical  knowledge  of  such  mat- 
ters, and  Martin  learned  of  him  ;  whereas  the 
other  settlers  who  remained  upon  the  putrid  swamp 
(a  mere  handful,  and  those  withered  by  disease), 
appeared  to  have  wandered  there  with  the  idea 
that  hu.=!handry  was  the  natural  gift  of  all  man- 
kind. They  helped  each  other  after  their  own 
manner  in  these  struggles,  and  in  all  others  ;  but 
they  worked  as  hopelessly  and  sadly  as  a  gang 
of  convicts  in  a  penal  settlement. 

Often  at  night  when  Mark  and  Martin  were 
alone,  and  lying  down  to  sleep,  they  spoke  of 
home,  familiar  places,  houses,  roads,  and  people 
whom  they  knew,  sometimes  in  the  lively  hope 
of  seeing  them  again,  and  sometimes  with  a  sor- 
rowful tranquillity,  as  if  that  hope  were  dead.  It 
was  a  source  of  great  amazement  to  Mark  Tap- 
ley  to  find,  pervading  all  these  conversations,  a 
singular  alteration  in  Martin. 

"I  don't    know  what    to    make    of  him,"   he 
thought  one  night,  "he  ain't  what   I    supposed. 
He  don't  think  of  himself  half  as  much.    1  '11  try 
him  again.     Asleep,  Sir?" 
"No,  Mark." 

"Thinking  of  home.  Sir?" 
"Yes,  Mark." 

"So  was  I,  Sir.     I   was   wondering   how  Mr. 
Pinch  and  Mr.  Pecksniff  gets  on  now." 
"Poor  Tom  I"  paid  Martin,  thoughtfully. 
"Weak-minded  man.  Sir,"  observed  Mr.  Tap- 
ley.     "  Plays  the  organ  for  nothing.  Sir.     Takes 
no  care  of  himself?" 

"  I   wish  he  took    a  little  more,  indeed,"  said 
Martin.     "Though  I  don't  know  why  I  should. 
We  shouldn't  like  him  half  as  well,  perhaps." 
"lie  gets  put  upon.  Sir,"  hinted  Mark. 
"Yes,"  said  Martin,  after  a  short  silence.     "7 
know  that,  Mark." 

He  spoke  so  regretfully,  that  his  partner  nhan 
doncd  the  theme,  and  was  silent  for  a  short  time 
until  he  had  thought  of  another. 

"Ah,  Sir!"  said  Mark,  with  a  sigh.  "Dear 
me  !  You  'vc  ventured  a  good  deal  for  a  young 
lady's  love  I" 

"  I  tell  you  what.  I  'm  not  so  sure  of  that, 
Mark,"  was  the  reply  :  so  hastily  and  energeti- 
cally s|)oken,  that  Martin  sat  up  in  liis  bed  to  give 
it.  "  I  begin  to  he  far  from  clear  upon  it.  You  may 
depend  upon  it,  she  is  very  unhappy.  She  has 
sacrificed  her  peace  of  mind;  she  has  endangered 
her  interests  very  much  ;  she  can't  run  away  from 
those  who  are  jealous  of  her,  and  opposed  to  her, 
as  I  have  done.  She  has  to  endure,  Mark  :  to  en- 
dure without  the  possibility  of  action,  poor  girl ! 
I  begin  to  think  she  has  more  to  bear  than  evei 
I  have  had.     Upon  my  soul  I  do  1" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


207 


Mr.  Taplcy  oponod  his  eyes  wide,  in  the  dark; 
hit  did  ni)t  interrupt, 

"  And  I  '11  tell  you  a  secret,  Mark,"  said  Mar- 
tin,  "  since  we  are  upon  this  subject.  That 
ring " 

"  Wliicli  ring^,  Sir?"  Mark  inquired:  opening 
his  eyes  still  wider. 

**  Tint  ring-  she  gave  mc  when  we  parted,  Mark. 
She  bought  it;  bought  it;  knowing  I  was  poor 
and  proud  (Iloaven  help  me!  Proud  I)  and  v  ant- 
ed money." 

"  Who  says  so.  Sir  ?"  asked  Mark. 

"  I  say  so.  I  know  it.  I  thought  of  it,  my 
good  fellow,  hundreds  of  times,  while  you  were 
lying  ill.  And  like  a  beast,  I  took  it  from  her 
hand,  and  wore  it  on  my  own,  and  never  dreamed 
of  this  even  at  the  moment  when  I  parted  with 
It,  when  some  faint  glimmering  of  the  truth  might 
surely  have  possessed  me  I  But  it's  late,"  said 
Martin,  cheeking  himself,  "and  you  are  weak 
and  tired,  I  know.  You  only  talk  to  cheer  nie 
up.     Good  night !  God  bless  you,  Mark  I" 

"  God  bless  you.  Sir  !  But  I  'm  reg'larly  de- 
frauded," thought  Mr.  Tapley,  turning  round, 
with  a  happy  face.  "It's  a  swindle.  I  never 
entered  for  this  sort  of  service.  There  '11  be  no 
credit  in  being  jolly  with  hirn  !" 

The  time  wore  on,  and  other  steam-boats  com- 
ing from  the  point  on  which  their  hopes  were  fix- 
ed, arrived  to  take  in  wood  ;  but  still  no  answer 
to  the  letter.  Rain,  heat,  foul  slime,  and  noxious 
vapour,  with  all  the  ills  and  filthy  things  tlity  bred, 
prevailed.  'l"he  earth,  the  air,  the  vegetation,  and 
the  water  that  they  drank,  all  teemed  with  deadly 
properties.  Their  fellow. passenger  had  lost  two 
cJiildren  long  before ;  and  buried  now  her  last. 
Such  things  are  much  too  common  to  be  widely 
known  or  cared  for.  Smart  citizens  grow  rich,  and 
friendless  victims  smart  and  die,  and  are  forgot- 
teo.     That  is  alL 


At  last,  a  boat  came  panting  up  the  ugly  river 
and  stopped  at  Eden.  Mark  was  waiting  at  the 
wood-hut,  when  it  came,  and  had  a  letter  handed 
to  him  from  on  board.  He  bore  it  oflf  to  Marun. 
They  looked  at  one  another,  trembling. 

"  It  feels  heavy,"  faltered  Martin.  And  open 
ing  it,  a  little  roll  of  dollar-notes  fell  out  upon  the 
ground. 

What  either  of  them  said,  or  did,  or  felt,  at 
first,  neither  of  them  knew.  All  Mark  could  ever 
tell  was,  that  he  was  at  the  river's  bank  agiin 
out  of  breath,  before  the  boat  had  gone,  iiKjuir- 
ing  when  it  would  retrace  its  track,  and  put  in 
there. 

The  answer  was,  in  ten  or  twelve  days :  not- 
withstanding  which,  they  began  to  jjet  their  goods 
together  and  to  tie  them  up,  that  very  nigiit 
Wlien  this  stage  of  excitement  was  pissed,  each 
of  them  believed  (they  found  this  out,  in  talking 
of  it  afterwards)  that  he  would  surely  die  before 
the  boat  returned. 

They  lived,  however,  and  it  came,  afl-r  the 
lapse  of  three  long  crawling  weeks,  Al  sunrise, 
on  an  aututnn  day,  they  stood  upon  I'er  deck. 

"Courage  I  We  shall  meet  again  I"  cried  Mar 
tin,  waving  his  hand  to  two  thin  figures  on  the 
bank.     "  In  the  old  world  !" 

"Or  in  the  next  one,"  added  Mark  below  hia 
breath.  "  To  see  them  standing  side  by  side,  so 
quiet,  is  a'most  the  worst  of  all  I" 

They  looked  at  one  another,  as  the  vessel  moved 
away,  and  then  looked  backward  at  the  spot  from 
which  it  hurried  fast.  The  log-house,  with  the 
open  door,  and  drooping  trees  about  it ;  the  stag- 
nant  morning  mist,  and  red  sun,  dimly  seen  be- 
yond; the  vapour  rising  up  from  land  and  river; 
the  quick  stream  making  the  loathsome  banks  it 
washed  more  flat  and  dull :  how  often  they  re- 
turned in  dreams  !  How  often  it  was  happiness  to 
wake,  and  find  them  Shadows  that  had  vanished 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


IN  WHICH  THE  TRAVELLERS  MOVE  HOMEWARD,  AND   ENCOUNTER   SOME 
DISTINGUISHED  CHARACTERS  UPON  THE  WAY. 


Among  the  passengers  on  board  the  steam-boat, 
there  was  a  faint  gentleman  sitting  on  a  low  camp- 
stool,  with  his  legs  on  a  high  barrel  of  flour,  as  if 
he  were  looking  at  the  propect  with  his  ankles; 
who  attracted  their  attention  speedily. 

He  had  straight  black  hair,  parted  up  the  mid- 
dle of  his  head,  and  hanging  down  upon  his  coat ; 
a  little  fringe  of  hair  upon  his  chin;  wore  no 
neckcloth  ;  a  white  hat;  a  suit  of  black,  long  in 
the  sleeves,  and  short  in  the  legs;  soil.'d  brown 
stockings,  and  laced  shoes.  His  complexion,  nat- 
urally muddy,  was  rendered  muddier  by  too  strict 
an  econon^y  of  soap  and  water;  and  the  same 
ctiservation  will  apply  to  the  washable  part  of  his 
attire,  which  he  might  have  changed  with  com- 
fort to  himself,  and  gratification  to  his  friends. 
Ufe  was  about  fivc-and-thiny ;  was  crushed  and 


jammed  up  in  a  heap,  under  the  shade  of  a  large 
green  cotton  umbrella;  and  ruminated  over  his 
tob.icco-plu.r  like  a  cow. 

He  was  not  singular,  to  be  sure,  in  these  re- 
spects  ;  tor  every  gentleman  on  board  appeared  ta 
have  had  a  ditftTence  with  his  laundress,  and  to 
have  lert  off  washing  himself  in  early  youtli. 
Every  gentleman,  too,  was  perfectly  stopped  up 
with  tight  plugging,  and  was  dislocated  in  th« 
greater  part  of  his  joints.  But  about  this  gentle- 
man there  was  a  peculiar  air  of  sagacity  ar,d 
wisdom,  which  convinced  Martin  that  he  was  no 
common  character ;  and  this  turned  out  to  bo  ll»e 
case 

"  How  do  you  do,  Sir  ?"  said  a  Toice  in  Martin'i 
ear. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Sir  7"  said  Mai'tin. 


208 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


It  wns  a  tall,  thin  gentleman  who  spoke  to  him, 
with  a  carpet-c;ip  on,  and  a  long,  loose  coat  ot 
green-baize,  ornamented  about  the  pockets  with 
black  velvet. 

"  You  air  from  Europe,  Sir  ?" 

"  I  am,"  said  Martin. 

"  You  air  fortunate,  Sir." 

Martin  thought  »o,  too  :  but  he  soon  discovered 
that  the  gentleman  and  he  attached  different  mean- 
ings to  this  remark. 

"  You  air  fortunate,  Sir,  in  having  an  opportu- 
nity of  he-holding  our  Elijah  Pogram,  Sir." 

"Your  Elijahpogram;"  said  Martin,  thinking 
it  was  all  one  word,  and  a  building  of  some  sort. 

"  Yes  Sir." 

Martin  tried  to  look  as  if  he  understood  him, 
but  he  couldn't  make  it  out 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  repeated  the  gentleman,  "  Our 
Elijah  Pogram,  Sir,  is,  at  this  minute,  identically 
Bettin'  by  the  en-gine  biler." 

The  gentleman  under  the  umbrella  put  his 
right  forefinger  to  his  eyebrow,  as  if  he  were  re- 
volving schemes  of  state. 

"That  is  Elijah  Pogram,  is  it?"  said  Martin. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  the  other.  "  That  is  Elijah 
Pogram." 

"  Dear  me  !"  said  Martin.  "  I  am  astonished." 
But  he  had  not  the  least  idea  who  this  Elijah  Po- 
gram was ;  having  never  heard  the  name  in  all 
his  life. 

"  If  the  biler  of  this  vessel  was  Toe  bust,  Sir," 
said  his  new  acquaintance,  "  and  Toe  bust  now, 
this  would  be  a  fesTival  day  in  the  calendar  of 
despotism  ;  pretty  nigh  cquallin',  Sir,  in  its  effects 
upon  the  human  race,  our  Fourth  of  glorious  July. 
Yes,  Sir,  that  is  the  Honourable  Elijah  Pogram, 
Member  of  Congress ;  one  of  the  master-minds 
of  our  country.  Sir.   There  is  a  brow,  Sir,  there  !" 

"Quite  remarkable,"  said  Martin. 

"Yes,  Sir.  Our  own  immortal  Chiggle,  Sir,  is 
said  to  have  observed,  when  he  made  the  celebrat- 
ed Pogram  stutter  in  marble,  which  rose  so  much 
con-test  and  pr(ju-dice  in  Europe,  that  the  brow 
was  more  than  mortal.  This  was  before  the  Po- 
gram Defiance,  and  was,  therefore,  a  pre-diction, 
cruel  smart." 

"  What  is  the  Pogram  Defiance  ?"  asked  Mar- 
tin, thinking,  perhaps,  it  was  the  sign  of  a  public- 
house. 

"  An  o-ration.  Sir,"  returned  his  friend, 

"  Oh  I  to  Uv  sure,"  crit:d  Martin.  "  What  am 
I  thinking  ofl   It  defied " 

"  It  defied  the  world,  Sir,"  said  the  other  grave- 
ly. "  Dufied  the  world  in  genral  to  com-pete  with 
our  country  upon  any  honk  ;  and  deveilop'd  our 
internal  resources  for  making  war  upon  the  uni- 
versal airlh.  You  would  like  to  know  Elijah  Po- 
gram, Sir?" 

"  If  you  please,"  said  Martin. 

"  Mr.  Pogram,"  said  the  stranger — Mr.  Pogram 
having  overheard  every  word  of  the  dialogue — 
"this  is  a  gentleman  from  F^urope,  Sir;  from 
England,  Sir.  But  gen'rous  ene-mies  may  meet 
upon  the  neutral  siie  of  private  life,  I  think." 

The  languid  Mr.  Pogram  shook  hands  with 
Martin,  like  a  clock-work  figure  that  was  just 
running  down.  Rut  he  made  amends  by  chewing 
like  one  that  was  just  wound  up. 

"  Mr  Pogram,"  said  the  introducer,  "is  a  pub- 


lic servant,  Sir.  When  Cnntrress  is  recesse<1,  h« 
makes  hicnself  acquainted  with  those  free  United 
States,  of  which  he  is  tiie  gifled  son." 

It  occurred  to  Martin,  that  if  the  Honourable 
Elijah  Pogram  had  staid  at  home,  and  sent  his 
shoes  upon  a  tour,  they  would  have  answered  l\ie 
same  purpose;  for  they  were  the  only  part  of  him 
in  a  situation  to  see  anything. 

In  course  of  time,  however,  Mr.  Pogram  ro?e ; 
and  having  ejected  certain  plugging  consequences 
which  would  have  impeded  his  articul.idon,  t(  f;k 
up  a  position  where  there  was  something  to  le^n 
against,  and  began  to  talk  to  Martin  :  shading 
himself  with  the  green  umbrella  all  the  time. 

As  he  began  with  the  words,  "How  do  you 
like ?"  Martin  took  him  np,  and  said  : 

"  The  country,  I  presume  ?" 

"Yes,  Sir,"  said  Elijah  Pogram.  A  knot  of 
passengers  gathered  round  to  hear  whit  followed  ; 
and  Martin  heard  his  friend  say,  as  he  whispered 
to  another  friend,  and  rubbed  his  liands,  "  Pogram 
will  smash  him  into  sky-blue  fits,  I  know  I" 

"  Why,"  said  Martin,  after  a  moment's  hesita 
tion,  "  I  have  learned  by  experience,  that  you  take 
an  unfair  advantage  of  a  stranger,  when  you  ask 
that  question.  You  don't  mean  it  to  be  answered, 
except  in  one  way.  Now,  I  don't  choose  to  an- 
swer it  in  that  way,  for  I  cannot  honestly  answer 
it  in  that  way.  And  therefore,  I  would  rather  not 
answer  it  at  all." 

But  Mr.  Pogram  was  going  to  make  a  great 
speech  in  the  next  session  about  foreign  relations, 
and  was  going  to  write  strong  articles  on  the 
subject;  and  as  he  greatly  favoured  the  free  and 
independent  custom  (a  very  harmless  one)  of  pro- 
curing information  of  any  sort  in  any  kind  of 
confidence,  and  afterwards  perverting  it  publicly 
in  any  manner  that  happened  to  suit  him,  he  had 
determined  to  get  at  Martin's  opinions  somehow 
or  other.  For,  if  he  could  have  got  nothing  out 
of  him,  he  would  have  had  to  invent  it  for  him, 
and  that  would  have  been  laborious.  He  made  a 
mental  note  of  his  answer,  and  went  in  again. 

"  You  are  from  Eden,  Sir?  How  did  you  like 
Eden  ?" 

Martin  said  what  he  thought  of  that  part  of 
the  country,  in  pretty  strong  terms. 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Pogram,  looking  round 
upon  the  group,  "this  hatred  of  our  country,  and 
her  Institutions !  I'his  national  antipathy  i» 
deeply  rooted  in  the  British  mind  !" 

"Good  Heaven,  Sir !"  cried  Martin.  "la  the 
Eden  Land  Corporation,  with  Mr.  Scaddcr  ut  its 
head ;  and  all  the  misery  it  has  worked,  at  its 
door;  an  Institution  of  America?  A  part  of  any 
form  of  government  that  ever  was  known  or  heard 
of?" 

"  I  con-sider  the  cause  of  this  to  be,"  said  Po. 
gram,  looking  round  again,  and  taking  himself 
up  where  Martin  had  interrupted  him,  "  partly 
jealousy  and  preju-dice,  and  partly  the  n.it'ral 
unfitness  of  the  British  people  to  appreciate  the 
ex-altcd  Institutions  of  our  native  land.  I  expect, 
Sir,"  turning  to  Martin  again,  "that  a  gentleman 
named  Chollop  hapjiened  in  upon  you  during  your 
lo-cation  in  the  town  of  Eden  ?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Martin  •  "  but  my  friend  can 
answer  this  better  than  I  can,  for  I  was  very  ill 


MARTIN  C  H  TT  Z  Z  r.  E  W  I  T. 


200 


Ht  the  time.     Mark  !  the  gentleman  is  speaking 
.>r  Mr.  Chollop.'' 

"Oh.  Yes,  Sir.  Yes.  7 see  him,"  observed 
Mark. 

"  A  splendid  example  of  our  na-tive  raw  mate- 
rial. Sir?"  said  Pognim,  interrogatively. 

"  Indeed,  Sir  !"  cried  Mark. 

The  Honourable  Elijah  Pogram  glanced  at  his 
friends  as  thougfh  he  would  have  said,  "  Observe 
litis  !  See  what  follows  !"  and  they  rendered  tri- 
bute to  the  Pogram  genius,  by  a  gentle  murmur. 

"Our  fellow-countryman  is  a  model  of  a  man, 
iiuite  fresh  from  Natur's  mould  !"  said  Pogram, 
with  enthusiasm.  "  He  is  a  true-born  child  of 
lliis  hemisphere!  Verdant  as  the  mountains  of 
our  country  ;  bright  and  flowing  as  our  mineral 
Licks;  unspiled  by  withering  conventionalities  as 
air  our  broad  and  boundless  Perearers  !  Rough 
he  may  be  so.  So  air  our  Barrs.  Wild  he  may 
be.  So  air  our  Buffalers.  But  he  is  a  child  of 
Natur',  and  a  child  of  Freedom  ;  and  his  boastful 
answer  to  the  Despot  and  the  Tyrant  is,  that  his 
bright  home  is  in  the  Settin  Sun." 

Part  of  this  referred  to  Chollop,  and  part  to  a 
western  postmaster,  who,  being  a  public  defaulter 
not  very  long  before  (a  character  not  at  all  un- 
common in  America),  had  been  removed  from 
office ;  and  on  whose  behalf  Mr.  Pogram  (he  vot- 
ed for  Pogram)  had  thundered  the  last  sentence 
from  his  seat  in  Congress,  at  the  head  of  an  un- 
popular President.  It  told  brilliantly ;  for  the 
bystanders  were  delighted,  and  one  of  them  said 
to  Martin,  "  that  he  guessed  he  had  now  seen 
iomething  of  the  eloquential  aspect  of  our  coun- 
try,  and  was  chawed  up  pritty  small." 

Mr.  Pogram  waited  until  his  hearers  were  calm 
Sgain,  before  he  said  to  Mark : 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  coincide.  Sir  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  Mark,  "  I  didn't  like  him  much  ; 
and  that's  t!ie  truth.  Sir.  I  thought  he  was  a 
bully;  and  I  didn't  admire  his  carryin'  them 
murderous  little  persuaders,  and  being  so  ready 
to  use  'em." 

"It's  singler !"  said  Pogram,  lifting  his  um- 
brella high  enough  to  look  all  round  from  under 
it.  "  It 's  strange !  You  observe  the  settled  op- 
position to  our  institutions  which  pervades  the 
British  mind  I" 

"  What  an  extraordinary  people  you  are  !"  cried 
Martin.  "  Are  Mr.  Chollop  and  the  class  he 
represents,  an  Institution  here  ?  Are  pistols  with 
revolving  barrels,  sword-sticks,  bowie-knives,  and 
such  things,  Institutions  on  which  you  pride  your- 
selves  ?  Are  bloody  duels,  brutal  combats,  savage 
assaults,  shootings  down  and  stabbing  in  the 
streets,  your  Institutions  I  Why,  I  shall  hear 
next,  that  Dishonour  and  Fraud  are  among  the 
Institutions  of  the  great  republic  !" 

The  moment  the  words  passed  his  lips,  the 
Honourable  Elijah  Pogram  looked  round  again. 

"This  morbid  hatred  of  our  Institutions,"  he 
oDserved,  "  is  quite  a  study  for  the  physchological 
observer.     He  's  alludin  to  Repudiation  now  1" 

"Oh!  You  may  make  anything  an  Institution 
if  you  like,"  said  Martin,  laughing,  "  and  I  con- 
fess you  had  me  there,  for  you  certainly  havr 
made  that,  one.  But  the  greater  part  of  these 
things  are  one  Institution  with  us,  and  we  call  it 
by  the  generic  name  of  Old  Bailey  1" 
97 


The  hell  beinj^  rung  for  dinner  at  this  moment, 
ovrryboilv  ran  away  into  the  cabiii,  whither  the 
Honourable  Elijnh  Poc^ram  fled  with  such  p<-''- 
cipitation  that  he  forgot  his  umbrella  was  uj),  ami 
fixed  it  so  tightly  in  the  cabin-door  that  it  could 
neither  be  let  down  nor  got  out.  For  a  minut« 
or  so  this  accident  created  a  pcrfec«;  rel)cl!i<in 
among  the  hungry  passengers  behind,  who,  seo- 
ing  the  dishes  and  hearing  the  knives  and  forki 
at  work,  well  knew  what  would  happen  unless 
they  got  there  instantly,  and  were  nearly  mad  : 
while  several  virtuous  citizens  at  the  table  were 
in  deadly  peril  of  choking  themselves  in  their 
unnatural  efforts  to  get  rid  of  all  the  meat  before 
these  others  came. 

They  carried  the  umbrella  by  storm,  however, 
and  rushed  in  at  the  breach.  The  Honourable 
Elijah  Pogram  and  Martin  found  themselves, 
after  a  severe  struggle,  side  by  side,  as  they  might 
have  come  together  in  the  pit  of  a  London  thea- 
tre ;  and  for  four  whole  minutes  afterwards,  Po- 
gram was  snapping  up  great  blocks  of  everything 
he  could  get  hold  of',  like  a  raven.  When  he  hud 
taken  this  unusually  protracted  dinner,  he  began 
to  talk  to  Martin;  and  begged  him  not  to  have 
the  least  delicacy  in  speaking  with  perfect  free- 
dom to  him,  for  he  was  a  calm  philosopher. 
Which  Martin  was  extremely  glad  to  hear;  for 
he  had  begun  to  speculate  on  Elijah  being  a  dis- 
ciple of  that  other  school  of  republican  philoso- 
phy,  whose  noble  sentiments  are  carved  with 
knives  upon  a  pupil's  body,  and  written,  not  vvith 
pen  and  ink,  but  tar  and  feathers. 

"What  do  you  think  of  my  countrymen  who 
are  present,  »Sir?"  inquired  Elijah  Pcgram. 

"  Oh  I  very  pleasant,"  said  Martin. 

They  were  a  very  pleasant  party.  No  man 
had  spoken  a  word ;  every  one  had  been  intent, 
as  usual,  on  his  own  private  gorging  ;  and  the 
greater  part  of  the  company  were  decidedly  dirty 
feeders. 

The  Honourable  Elijah  Pogram  looked  at  Mar- 
tin as  if  he  thought  "  You  don't  mean  that,  I 
know  I"  And  he  was  soon  confirmed  in  this 
opinion. 

Silting  opposite  to  them  was  a  gentleman  in  a 
high  state  of  tobacco,  who  wore  quite  a  little 
beard,  composed  of  the  overflowings  of  that  weed, 
as  they  had  dried  about  his  mouth  and  chin:  so 
common  an  ornament  that  it  scarcely  attracted 
Martin's  observation  :  but  this  good  citizen,  burn- 
iniJf  to  assert  his  equality  against  all  comers,  suclu 
ed  his  knife  for  some  moments,  and  made  a  cut 
with  it  at  the  butter,  just  as  Martin  was  in  the 
act  of  taking  some.  There  was  a  juicyness 
about  the  deed  that  might  have  sickened  a  scav- 
enger. 

When  Elijah  Pogram  (to  whom  this  was  an 
every-day  incident)  saw  that  Martin  put  the  plate 
aw;iy,  and  took  no  butter,  he  was  quite  delighted, 
and  said  : 

"  Well !  The  morbid  hatred  of  you  British 
to  the  Institutions  of  our  country,  is  as-TONish- 
in  !" 

"  Upon  my  life !"  cried  Martin,  in  his  turl^ 
"this  is  the  most  wonderful  community  that  ever 
existed.  A  man  deliberately  makes  a  hog  of  him 
self,  and  that 's  an  Institution !" 


210 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


We  have  no  time  to  acquire  forms,  Sir"  said 
Elijah  Pogram. 

"Acquire!"  cried  Martin.  "But  it's  not  a 
question  of  acquiring  anything.  It's  a  question 
of  losing  the  natural  politeness  of  a  savage,  and 
that  instinctive  good  breeding  which  admonishes 
rne  man  not  to  otiend  and  disgust  another.  Don't 
you  think  that  man  over  the  way,  for  instance, 
naturally  knows  better,  but  considers  it  a  very 
fii>e  and  independent  thing  to  be  a  brute  in  small 
matters  ?" 

"  He  is  a  na-tive  of  our  country,  and  is  nat'rally 
bright  and  spry,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Pogram. 

"Now,  observe  what  this  comes  to,  Mr.  Po- 
gram," pursued  Martin.  "The  mass  of  your 
countrymen  begin  by  stubbornly  neglecting  little 
social  observances,  which  have  nothing  to  do  with 
gentility,  custom,  usage,  government,  or  country, 
but  are  acts  of  common,  decent,  natural,  human 
politeness.  You  abet  them  in  this,  by  resenting 
all  attacks  upon  their  social  offences  as  if  they 
were  a  beautiful  natural  feature.  From  disre- 
garding small  obligations  they  come  in  regular 
course  to  disregard  great  ones ;  and  so  refuse  to 
pay  their  debts.  What  they  may  do,  or  what 
they  may  refuse  to  do  next,  I  don't  know ;  but 
iny  man  may  see  if  he  will,  that  it  will  be  some- 
thing following  in  natural  succession,  and  a  part 
of  one  great  growth,  which  is  rotten  at  the  root." 

The  mind  of  Mr.  Pogram  was  too  philosophi- 
cal to  see  this  ;  so  they  went  on  deck  again,  where, 
resuming  his  former  post,  he  chewed  until  he 
was  in  a  lethargic  state,  amounting  to  insensi- 
bility. 

Afler  a  weary  voyage  of  several  days,  they  came 
again  to  that  same  wharf  where  Mark  had  been 
to  nearly  left  behind  on  the  night  of  starting  for 
Eden.  Captain  Kedgick,  the  landlord,  was  stand- 
ing there,  and  was  greatly  surprised  to  see  them 
coming  from  the  boat. 

"Why,  what  the  'tarnal!"  cried  the  captain. 
"  Well :  I  do  admire  at  this,  I  do !" 

"  We  can  stay  at  your  house  until  to-morrow, 
Captain   I  suppose?"  said  Martin. 

"  I  reckon  you  can  stay  there  for  a  twelvemonth 
if  you  like,"  retorted  Kedgick  coolly.  "  But  our 
people  won't  best  like  your  coming  back." 

"  Won't  like  it,  Captain  Kedgick  !"  said  Mar- 
tin. 

"  They  did  ex-pect  you  was  a-going  to  set- 
tle," Kedgick  answered,  as  he  shook  his  head. 
"  They  've  been  took  in,  you  can't  deny  I" 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Martin. 

"  You  didn't  ought  to  have  received  'em,"  said 
me  Captain,     "  No  you  didn't !" 

"My  good  friend,"  returned  Martin,  "did  I 
want  to  receive  them  ?  Was  it  any  act  of  mine  ? 
Didn't  you  tell  me  they  would  rile  up,  and  that  I 
should  be  flayed  like  a  wild  cat ;  and  threaten  all 
kinds  of  vengeance,  if  I  didn't  receive  them  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned  the  cap- 
tain. "  But  when  our  people's  frills  is  out,  tlicy  're 
Dtarched  up  pretty  stiff,  I  tell  you!" 

With  that,  he  fell  into  the  rear  to  walk  with 
Mark,  while  Martin  and  Elijah  Pogram  went  on 
to  the  National. 

"  We  've  come  back  alive,  you  see !"  said 
Mark. 

'  It  ain't  the  thing  '  did  expect,"  the  captain 


grumbled.  "  A  man  ain't  got  no  right  to  be  a 
public  man,  unless  he  meets  the  public  viewu. 
Our  fashionable  people  wouldn't  have  attended  his 
le-vee,  if  they  had  know'd  it." 

Nothing  mollified  the  captain,  who  persisted  in 
taking  it  very  ill  that  they  had  not  both  died  in 
Eden.  The  boarders  at  the  National  felt  strongly 
on  the  subject  too ;  but  it  happened  by  good  for- 
tune that  they  had  not  much  time  to  think  about 
this  grievance,  for  it  was  suddenly  determined  to 
pounce  upon  the  Honourable  Elijah  Pogram,  and 
give  him  a  le-vee  forthwith. 

As  the  general  evening  meal  of  the  house  was 
over  before  the  arrival  of  the  boat,  Martin,  Mark, 
and  Pogram,  were  taking  tea  and  fixings  at  the 
public  table  by  themselves,  when  the  deputation 
entered,  to  announce  this  honour :  consisting  of 
six  gentlemen  boarders,  and  a  very  shrill  boy. 

"Sir!"  said  the  spokesman. 

"  Mr.  Pogram  !"  cried  the  shrill  boy. 

The  spokesman,  thus  reminded  of  the  shrill 
boy's  presence,  introduced  him.  "  Doctor  Ginery 
Dunkle,  Sir.  A  gentleman  of  great  poetical  ele- 
ments. He  has  recently  jined  us  here,  Sir,  and 
is  an  acquisition  to  us.  Sir,  I  do  assure  you.  Yes, 
Sir.  Mr.  Jodd,  Sir.  Mr.  Izzard,  Sir.  Mr.  Julius 
Bib,  Sir." 

"Julius  Washington  Merry  weather  Bib,"  said 
the  gentleman  himself  to  himself. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sir.  Ex-cuse  me.  Mr. 
Julius  Washington  Merryweather  Bib,  Sir;  a 
gentleman  in  the  lumber  line,  Sir,  and  much  es 
teemed.  Colonel  Groper,  Sir.  Pro-fessor  Piper 
Sir.     My  own  name.  Sir,  is  Oscar  Buffum." 

Each  man  took  one  slide  forward  as  he  was 
named  ;  butted  at  the  Honourable  Elijah  Pogram 
with  his  head  ;  shook  hands,  and  slid  back  again. 
The  introductions  being  completed,  the  spokes- 
man resumed. 

"Sir!" 

"  Mr,  Pogram  !"  cried  the  shrill  boy. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  the  spokesman,  with  a  hopeless 
look,  "you  will  be  so  good.  Doctor  Ginery  Dun- 
kle, as  to  charge  yourself  with  the  execution  of 
our  little  office,  Sir  ?" 

As  there  was  nothing  the  shrill  boy  desired 
more,  he  immediately  stepped  forward. 

"  Mr.  Pogram  !  Sir  !  A  handful  Of  your  fel 
low  citizens.  Sir,  hearing  Of  your  arrival  at  the 
National  Hotel ;  and  feeling  the  patriotic  charac- 
ter Of  your  public  services  ;  wish,  Sir,  to  have  tha 
gratification  Of  beholding  you;  and  mixing  with 
you.  Sir;  and  unbending  with  you.  Sir,  in  those 
moments  which " 

"Air,"  suggested  Buffum. 

"  Which  air  so  peculiarly  the  lot,  Sir,  Of  our 
great  and  happy  country." 

"  Hear  !"  cried  Colonel  Groper,  in  a  loud  voice. 
"Good!  Hear  him  !  Good!" 

"And  therefore.  Sir,"  pursued  the  Doctor, 
"they  request;  as  A  mark  Of  their  respect;  the 
honour  of  your  company  at  a  little  le-Vec,  Sir,  in 
the  ladies'  ordinary,  at  eight  o'clock." 

Mr.  Pogram  bowed,  and  said: 

"  Fellow-countrymen  !" 

"  Good !"  cried  the  Colonel.  "  Hear  him 
Good !" 

Mr.  Pogram  bowed  to  the  Colonel  individiMlJy 
and  then  resumed : 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


211 


"  Your  approbation  of  My  labours  in  fh.,  com- 
mon cause,  goes  to  My  heart.  At  all  times  and 
in  all  places;  in  the  ladies'  ordinary,  My  friends, 
and  in  the  Buttle  Field " 

"  Good,  very  good  !  Hear  him!  Hear  him!" 
said  the  Colonel. 

"  The  name  Of  Pogram  will  be  proud  to  jine 
you.  And  may  it.  My  friends,  be  written  on  My 
tomb,  'He  was  a  member  of  the  Con-gress  of 
our  common  country,  and  was  ac-Tive  in  his 
trust.' " 

"The  Com-mittee,  Sir,"  said  the  shrill  boy, 
"will  wait  upon  you  at  five  minutes  afore  eight. 
I  take  My  leave,  Sir  !" 

Mr.  Pogram  shooli  hands  with  him,  and  every- 
body else,  once  more ;  and  when  they  came  back 
again  at  five  minutes  before  eight,  they  said,  one 
by  one,  in  a  melancholy  voice,  "  How  do  you  do, 
Sir?"  and  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Pogram  all  over 
again,  as  if  he  had  been  abroad  for  a  twelve- 
month in  the  meantime,  and  they  met,  now,  at  a 
funeral. 

But  by  this  time  Mr.  Pogram  had  freshened 
himself  up,  and  had  composed  his  hair  and  fea- 
tures after  the  Pogram  statue,  so  that  any  one 
with  half  an  eye  miglit  cry  out,  "There  he  is! 
as  he  delivered  the  Defiance !"  The  Committee 
were  embellished  also;  and  when  they  entered 
the  ladies'  ordinary  in  a  body,  there  was  much 
clapping  of  hands  from  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
accompanied  by  cries  of  "  Pogram  !  Pogram  !" 
and  some  standing  up  on  chairs  to  see  him. 

The  object  of  the  popular  caress  looked  round 
the  room  as  he  walked  up  it,  and  smiled :  at  the 
same  time  observing  to  the  shrill  boy,  that  he 
knew  something  of  the  beauty  of  the  daughters 
of  their  common  country,  but  had  never  seen  it 
in  such  lustre  and  perfection  as  at  that  moment. 
Which  the  shrill  boy  put  in  the  paper  next  day  ; 
to  Elijah  Pogram's  great  surprise. 

"  We  will  re-quest  you.  Sir,  if  you  please,"  said 
Buffum,  laying  hands  on  Mr.  Pogram  as  if  he 
were  taking  his  measure  for  a  coat,  "  to  stand  up 
with  your  back  agin  the  wall  right  in  the  furthest 
corner,  that  there  may  be  more  room  for  our  fel- 
low  cit-izens.  If  you  could  set  your  back  right 
slap  agin  that  curtain-peg.  Sir,  keepin  your  left 
leg  everlastingly  behind  the  stove,  we  should  be 
fixed  quite  slick." 

Mr.  Pogram  did  as  he  was  told,  and  wedged 
himself  into  such  a  little  corner,  that  the  Pogram 
statue  wouldn't  have  known  him. 

The  entertainments  of  the  evening  then  began. 
Gentlemen  brought  ladies  up,  and  brought  them- 
selves up,  and  brought  each  other  up;  and  asked 
Elijah  Pogram  what  he  thought  of  this  political 
question,  and  what  he  thought  of  that;  and  loolc- 
ed  at  him,  and  looked  at  one  another,  and  seemed 
Tery  unhappy  indeed.  The  ladies  on  the  chairs 
looked  at  Elijah  Pogram  through  their  glasses, 
and  said  audibly,  "I  wish  he'd  speak.  Why 
don't  he  speak.  Oh,  do  ask  him  to  speak  I"  And 
Elijah  Pogram  looked  sometimes  at  the  ladies 
and  sometimes  elsewhere,  delivering  senatorial 
opinions,  as  he  was  asked  for  them.  But  the 
great  end  and  object  of  the  meeting  seemed  to  be, 
not  to  let  Elijah  Pogram  out  of  the  corner  on  any 
account :  so  there  they  kept  him,  hard  and  fast. 

A  great  bustle  at  the  door,  in  the  course  of  the 


evening,  announced  the  arrival  of  some  remark, 
able  person;  and  immediately  afterwards  an 
elderly  gentleman,  much  excited,  was  seen  to  pre- 
cipitate himself  upon  the  crowd,  and  battle  his 
way  towards  the  Honourable  Elijah  Pogram. 
Martin,  who  had  found  a  snug  place  of  obscrv;i. 
tion  in  a  distant  corner,  where  he  stood  with  Mark 
beside  him  (for  he  did  not  so  often  forget  him  now 
as  formerly,  though  he  still  did  sometime.-;), 
thought  he  knew  this  gentleman,  but  had  no  doubt 
of  it,  when  he  cried  as  loud  as  he  could,  with  his 
eyes  starting  out  of  his  head  : 

"  Sir,  Mrs.  Hominy  !" 

"  Lord  bless  that  woman,  Mark,  She  has  turn- 
ed up  again !" 

"Here  she  comes.  Sir,"  answered  Mr.  Tapley, 
"Pogram  knows  her.  A  public  character!  Al- 
ways got  her  eye  upon  her  country.  Sir  !  If  that 
there  lady's  husband  is  of  my  opinion,  what  a 
jolly  old  gentleman  he  must  be  !" 

A  lane  was  made;  and  Mrs.  Hominy,  with  the 
aristocratic  stalk,  the  pocket-handkerchief,  the 
clasped  hands,  and  the  classical  cap,  came  slowly 
up  it,  in  a  procession  of  one.  Mr.  Pogram  testi- 
fied emotions  of  delight  on  seeing  her,  and  a  gen- 
eral hush  prevailed.  For  it  was  known  that  when 
a  woman  like  Mrs.  Hominy  encountered  a  man 
like  Pogram,  something  interesting  must  be 
said. 

Their  first  salutations  were  exchanged  in  a 
voice  too  low  to  reach  the  impatient  ears  of  tho 
throng;  but  they  soon  became  audible,  for  Mrs. 
Hominy  felt  her  position,  and  knew  what  was 
expected  of  her. 

Mrs.  H.  was  hard  upon  him  at  first;  and  pu<. 
him  through  a  rigid  catechism,  in  reference  to  a 
certain  vote  he  had  given,  which  she  had  found  it 
necessary,  as  the  mother  of  the  modern  Gracchi, 
to  deprecate  in  a  line  by  itself,  set  up  expressly 
for  the  purpose  in  German  text.  But  Mr.  Pogram 
evading  it  by  a  well-timed  allusion  to  the  star- 
spangled  banner,  which,  it  appeared,  had  the  re- 
markable peculiarity  of  flouting  the  breeze  when 
ever  it  was  hoisted  where  the  wind  blew,  she  for- 
gave him.  They  now  enlarged  on  certain  ques- 
tions of  tariff",  commercial  treaty,  boundary,  im- 
portation, and  exportation,  with  great  effect,  And 
Mrs.  Hominy  not  only  talked,  as  the  saying  is, 
like  a  book,  but  actually  did  talk  her  own  books, 
word  for  word. 

"  My  !  what  is  this  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Hominy,  open- 
ing a  little  note  which  was  handed  her  by  her 
excited  gentleman-usher.  "  Do  tell !  oh,  well, 
now  !  on'y  think  !" 

And  then  she  read  aloud,  as  follows; 

"  Two  literary  ladies  present  their  compliments 
to  the  mother  of  the  modern  Gracchi,  and  cla'in 
her  kind  introduction,  as  their  talented  country- 
woman, to  the  honourable  (and  distinguished) 
Ehjah  Pogram,  whom  the  two  L.L.'s  have  often 
contemplated  in  the  speaking  marble  of  the  soii!- 
subduing  Chiggle,  On  a  verbal  intimation  from 
the  mother  of  the  M,  G,,  that  she  will  comply 
with  the  request  of  the  two  L.L,'s,  they  will  have 
the  immediate  pleasure  of  joining  the  galaxy  as- 
sembled  to  do  honour  to  the  patriotic  conduct  of 
a  Pogram.  It  may  be  another  bond  «f  union  be 
tween  the  two  L.L.'s  and  the  mother  of  the  M  G 


212 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


to  observe,  that  the  two  L.L.'s  are  Transcenden- 
tal." 

Mrs,  Hominy  promptly  rose,  and  proceeded  to 
the  door,  whence  she  returned,  after  a  minute's 
interval,  with  the  two  L.L.'s,  whom  she  led, 
through  the  lane  in  the  crowd,  with  all  that  state- 
liness  of  deportment  which  was  so  remarkably 
her  own,  up  to  the  great  Elijah  Pogram.  It  was 
(as  the  shrill  boy  cried  out  in  an  ecstacy)  quite 
the  Last  Scene  from  Coriolanus. 

One  of  the  L.L.'s  wore  a  brown  wig  of  uncom- 
mon size.  Sticking  on  tl>e  forehead  of  the  other, 
by  invisible  means,  was  a  massive  cameo,  in  size 
and  shape  like  the  raspberry  tart  which  is  ordi- 
narily sold  for  a  peimy,  representing  on  its  front, 
the  capitol  at  Washington. 

"Miss  Toppit,  and  Miss  Codger!"  said  Mrs. 
Hominy. 

"  Codger 's  the  lady  so  often  mentioned  in  the 
English  newspapers,  I  should  think,  Sir,"  whis- 
pered Mark.  "The  oldest  inhabitant,  as  never 
'emembers  anything." 

"  To  be  presented  to  a  Pogram,"  said  Miss  Cod- 
ger, "by  a  Hominy,  indeed,  a  thrilling  moment 
is  it  in  its  impressiveness  on  what  we  call  our 
feelings.  But  why  we  call  them  so,  or  why  im- 
pressed they  are,  or  if  impressed  they  are  at  all, 
or  if  at  all  we  are,  or  if  there  really  is,  oh  gasp- 
ng  one !  a  Pogram  or  a  Hominy,  or  any  active 
principle,  to  which  we  give  those  titles,  is  a  topic 
Spirit-searching,  light-abandoned,  much  too  vast 
to  enter  on,  at  this  unlocked  for  crisis." 

"  Mind  and  matter,"  said  the  lady  in  the  wig, 
"  glide  swift  into  the  vortex  of  immensity.  Howls 
the  sublime,  and  softly  sleeps  the  calm  Ideal,  in 
the  whispering  chambers  of  Imagination,  To 
hear  it,  sweet  it  is.  But  then,  outlaughs  the  stern 
philosopher,  and  saith  to  the  Grotesque,  '  What 
ho  !  arrest  for  me  that  Agency.  Go  bring  it  here  !' 
And  so  the  vision  fadeth." 

After  this,  they  both  took  Mr.  Pogram  by  the 
hand,  and  pressed  it  to  their  lips,  as  a  patriotic 
palm.  That  homage  paid,  the  mother  of  the 
modern  Gracchi  called  for  chairs,  and  the  three 
literary  ladies  went  to  work  in  earnest,  to  bring 
poor  Pogram  out,  and  make  him  show  himself  in 
all  his  brilliant  colours. 

How  Pogram  got  out  of  his  depth  instantly, 
and  how  the  three  L.L.'s  were  never  in  theirs,  is 
a  piece  of  history  not  worth  recording.  Suffice 
it,  that  being  all  four  out  of  their  depths,  and  all 
unable  to  swim,  they  splashed  up  words  in  all  di- 
rections, and  floundered  about  famously.  On  the 
whole,  it  was  considered  to  have  been  the  severest 
mental  exercise  ever  heard  in  the  National  Hotel. 
Tears  stood  in  the  shrill  boy's  eyes  several  times ; 
and  the  whole  company  observed  that  their  heads 
ached  with  the  effort — as  well  they  might 

When  it  at  last  became  necessary  to  release 
Elijah  Pcgram  from  the  corner,  and  the  Commit- 
tee »aw  him  safely  back  again  to  the  next  room, 
they  were  fervent  in  their  admiration. 

"  Which,"  said  Mr.  Buffum,  "  must  have  vent, 
ur  It  will  bust.  Toe  you,  Mr.  Pogram,  I  am 
fraieful.  Toe-wards  you.  Sir,  I  am  inspired  with 
lofty  veneration,  and  with  deep  e-mo-tion.  The 
»entiment  Toe  which  I  would  propose  to  give  ex- 
oression,  Sir,  is  this :  '  R^ay  you  ever  be  as  firm, 


Sir,  as  your  marble  statter!  May  it  ever  be  u 
great  a  terror  Toe  its  ene-mies  as  yon.' " 

There  is  some  reason  to  suppose  that  it  wa» 
rather  terrible  to  its  friends;  being  a  statue  of  th« 
Elevated  or  Goblin  School,  in  which  tlie  Honour- 
able Elijah  Pogram  was  represented  as  in  a  very 
high  wind,  with  his  hair  all  standing  on  end,  and 
his  nostrils  blown  wide  open.  But  Mr.  Pogram 
thanked  his  friend  and  countryman  for  the  aspi- 
ration to  which  he  had  given  utterance,  and  the 
Committee,  after  another  solemn  shaking  of  hands, 
retired  to  bed,  except  the  Doctor;  who  immedi- 
ately  repaired  to  the  newspaper-office,  and  there 
wrote  a  short  poem  suggested  by  the  events  of  the 
evening,  beginning  with  fourteen  stars,  and  head- 
ed,  "  A  Fragment.  Suggested  by  witnessing  the 
Honourable  Elijah  Pogram  engaged  in  a  philo- 
sophical  disputation  with  three  of  Columbia's 
fairest  daughters.  By  Doctor  Ginery  Dunkle.  Of 
Troy." 

If  Pogram  was  as  glad  to  get  to  bed  as  Martin 
was,  he  must  have  been  well  revparded  for  his  la- 
bours. They  started  off  again  next  day  (Martin 
and  Mark  previously  disposing  of  their  goods  to 
the  store-keepers  of  whom  they  had  purchased 
them,  for  anything  they  would  bring),  and  were 
fellow-travellers  to  within  a  short  distance  of  New 
York.  When  Pogram  was  about  to  leave  them 
he  grew  thoughtful,  and  after  pondering  for  soma 
time,  took  Martin  aside. 

"  We  air  going  to  part.  Sir,"  said  Pogram. 

"Pray  don't  distress  yourself,"  said  Martin* 
"  we  must  bear  it." 

"It  ain't  that.  Sir,"  returned  Pogram,  "not  a* 
all.  But  I  should  wish  you  to  accept  a  copy  of 
My  oration." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Martin,  "you  are  very 
good.     I  shall  be  most  happy." 

"  It  ain't  quite  that.  Sir,  neither,"  resumed  Po- 
gram  :  "  air  you  bold  enough  to  introduce  a  copy 
into  your  country  ?" 

"  Certainly,"  said  Martin.     "  Why  not  ?" 

"  Its  sentiments  air  strong,  Sir,"  hinted  Pogram, 
darkly. 

"That  makes  no  difference,"  said  Martin.  "I'l. 
take  a  dozen  if  you  like." 

"No,  Sir,"  retorted  Pogram.  "Not  a  dozen. 
That  is  more  than  I  require.  If  you  are  content 
to  run  the  hazard,  Sir,  here  is  one  for  your  Lord 
Chancellor,"  producing  it,  "and  one  for  Your 
principal  Secretary  of  State.  I  should  wish  them 
to  see  it.  Sir,  as  expressing  what  my  opinions  air. 
That  they  may  not  plead  ignorance  at  a  future 
time.  But  don't  get  into  danger.  Sir,  on  my  ac- 
count !" 

"  There  is  not  the  least  danger,  I  assure  you," 
said  Martin.  So  he  put  the  pamphlets  in  his 
pocket,  and  they  parted. 

Mr.  Bevan  had  written  in  his  letter  that  at  a 
certain  time,  which  fell  out  happily  just  then,  he 
would  be  at  a  certain  hotel  in  the  city,  anxiously 
expecting  to  see  them.  To  this  place  they  re- 
paired  without  a  moment's  delay.  They  had  the 
satisfaction  of  finding  him  within;  and  of  being 
received,  by  their  good  friend,  with  his  own 
warmth  and  heartiness. 

"  I  am  truly  sorry  and  ashamed,"  said  Martin, 
"  to  have  begged  of  you.  But  look  at  us.  See 
what  we  are,  and  judge  to  what  we  are  reduced  1" 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


213 


"So  far  from  claiming  to  have  done  you  any 
service,"  returned  the  other,  "  I  reproach  myself 
with  having  been,  unwittingly,  tiie  original  cause 
of  your  misfortunes.  I  no  more  supposed  you 
would  go  to  Eden  on  such  representations  as  you 
received ;  or,  indeed,  that  you  would  do  anytliing 
but  be  dispossessed,  by  the  readiest  means,  of  your 
idea  that  fortunes  were  so  easily  made  here;  than 
I  thought  of  going  to  Eden  myself." 

"  Tiie  fact  is,  1  closed  with  the  thing  in  a  mad 
and  sanguine  manner,"  said  Martin,  "and  the 
less  said  about  it  the  better  for  me.  Mark,  here, 
hadn't  a  voice  in  the  matter." 

"  Well !  But  he  hadn't  a  voice  in  any  other 
matter,  had  he?"  returned  Mr.  Bcvan  :  l.iughing 
with  an  air  that  showed  his  understanding  of 
Mark  and  Martin  too. 

"  Not  a  very  powerful  one,  I  am  afraid,"  said 
Martin  with  a  blush.  "  But  live  and  learn,  Mr. 
Bevan  !  Nearly  die  and  learn  :  and  we  learn  the 
quicker." 

"Now,"  said  their  friend,  "about  your  plans. 
You  mean  to  return  home  at  once  ?" 

"Oh,  I  think  so,"  returned  Martin  hastily,  for 
he  turned  pale  at  the  thought  of  any  other  sug- 
gestion.    "That  is  your  opinion  too,  I  hope?" 

"Unquestionably.  For  I  don't  know  why  you 
ever  came  here  ;  though  it 's  not  such  an  unusual 
case,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  we  need  go  any  fur- 
ther  into  that.  You  don't  know  that  the  ship  in 
which  you  came  over,  with  our  friend  General 
Fladdock,  is  in  port ;  of  course  ?" 

"  Indeed  !"  said  Martin. 

"Yes.     And  is  advertised  to  sail  to-morrow." 

This  was  tempting  news,  but  tantalizing  too: 
C  r  Martin  knew  tliat  his  getting  any  employment 
on  board  a  ship  of  that  class,  was  hopeless.  The 
money  in  his  pocket  would  not  pay  one-fourth  of 
the  sum  he  had  already  borrowed,  and  if  it  had 
been  enough  for  their  passage-money,  he  could 
hardly  have  resolved  to  spend  it.  He  explained 
this  to  Mr.  Bevan,  and  stated  what  their  project 
was. 

"  Why,  that 's  as  wild  as  Eden  every  bit,"  re- 
turned his  friend.  "  You  must  take  your  passage 
like  a  Christian ;  at  least,  as  like  a  Christian  as 
a  fore-cabin  passenger  can  ;  and  owe  me  a  few 
more  dollars  than  you  intend.  If  Mark  will  go 
down  to  the  ship  and  see  what  passengers  there 
are,  and  finds  that  you  can  go  in  her,  without  be- 
ing actually  suffocated  ;  my  advice  is,  go  I  You 
and  I  will  look  about  us  in  the  meantime  (we 
won't  call  at  the  Norris's,  unless  you  like),  and 
we  will  all  three  dine  together  in  the  afternoon." 

Martin  had  nothing  to  express  but  gratitude, 
and  so  it  was  arranged.  But  he  went  out  of  the 
room  after  Mark,  and  advised  him  to  take  their 
passage  in  the  Screw,  though  they  lay  upon  the 
bare  deck;  which  Mr.  Tapley,  who  needed  no 
entreaty  on  the  subject,  readily  promised  to  do. 

When  he  and  Martin  met  again,  and  were 
alone,  he  was  in  high  spirits,  and  evidently  had 
something  to  communicate,  in  which  he  gloried 
very  much. 

"  I  've  done  Mr.  Bevan,  Sir,"  said  Mark. 

"  Done  Mr.  Bevan  1"  repeated  Martin. 

"The  cook  of  the  Screw  went  and  got  married 
yesterday  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley. 


Martin  looked  at  him  for  farther  explanation. 

"  And  when  I  got  on  board,  and  the  word  wa« 
passed  that  it  was  me,"  said  Mark,  "the  mate  he 
comes  and  asks  me  whether  1  'd  engage  to  take 
this  said  cook's  place  upon  the  passage  home. 
'  For  you  're  used  to  it,'  he  says :  '  you  were  al- 
ways a  cooking  for  everybody  on  your  passage 
out.'  And  so  I  was,"  said  Mark,  "although  I 
never  cooked  before,  I  'II  take  my  oath." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  demanded  Martin. 

"  Say  I"  cried  Mark.  "That  I'd  take  any- 
thing I  could  get.  '  If  that's  so,'  says  the  mate, 
'  why,  bring  a  glass  of  rum ;'  which  they  brought 
according.  And  my  wages.  Sir,"  said  Mark  rn 
high  glee,  "  pays  your  passage  ;  and,  I  've  put  the 
rolling-pin  in  your  berth  to  take  it  (it's  the  easy 
one  up  in  the  corner) ;  and  there  we  are.  Rule 
Britannia,  and  Britons  strike  home!" 

"  There  never  was  such  a  good  fellow  as  you 
are  I"  cried  Martin,  seizing  him  by  the  hand. 
"  But  what  do  you  mean  by  '  doing'  Mr.  Bevan, 
Mark?" 

"  Why,  don't  you  see,"  said  Mark.  "  We  don't 
tell  him,  you  know.  We  take  his  money,  but  we 
don't  spend  it,  and  we  don't  keep  it.  What  we 
do  is,  write  him  a  little  note,  explaining  this  en- 
gagement, and  roll  it  up,  and  leave  it  at  the  bar, 
to  be  given  to  him  after  we  are  gone.  Don't  you 
see  ?" 

Martin's  delight  in  this  idea  was  notinfe'tr  to 
Mark's.  It  was  all  done  as  he  proposed.  They 
passed  a  cheerful  evening;  slept  at  the  hotel ;  left 
the  letter  as  arranged ;  and  went  off  to  the  ship 
betimes  next  morning,  with  such  light  hearts,  as 
the  weight  of  their  past  misery  engendered. 

"Good  bye!  a  hundred  thousand  times  good 
bye!"  said  Martin  to  their  friend.  "How  shall  I 
remember  all  your  kindness !  How  shall  I  ever 
thank  you  !" 

"  If  you  ever  become  a  rich  man,  or  a  powerful 
one,"  returned  his  friend,  "  you  shall  try  to  make 
your  Government  more  careful  of  its  subjects 
when  they  roam  abroad  to  live.  Tell  it  what  you 
know  of  emigration  in  your  ovpn  case,  and  im- 
press upon  it  how  much  suffering  may  be  prevent- 
ed with  a  little  pains  !" 

Cheerily  lads,  cheerily  !  Anchor  weighed.  Ship 
in  full  sail.  Her  sturdy  bowsprit  pointing  true 
to  England.  America  a  cloud  upon  the  sea  be- 
hind them  ! 

"  Why  Cook !  what  are  you  thinking  of  so 
steadily  ?"  said  Martin. 

"  Why  I  was  a  thinking.  Sir,"  returned  Mark, 
"  that  if  I  was  a  painter,  and  was  called  upon  to 
paint  the  American  E:igle,  how  should  I  do  it  ?" 

"  Paint  it  as  like  an  Eagle  as  you  could,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  No,"  said  Mark.  "  That  wouldn't  do  for  me, 
Sir.  I  should  want  to  draw  it  like  a  Bat,  for  its 
short-sightedness;  like  a  Bantam,  for  its  brag-' 
ging ;  like  a  Magpie,  for  its  honesty ;  like  a  Pea- 
cock, for  its  vanity ;  like  an  Ostrich,  for  its  put- 
ting its  head  in  the  mud,  and  thinking  nobody  ', 
sees  it " 

"  And  like  a  Phoenix,  for  its  power  of  springing 
from  the  ashes  of  its  faults  and  vices,  and  soarinj; 
up  anew  into  the  sky!"  said  Martin.  "Well, 
Mark.     Let  us  hope  so." 


214 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


ARRIVING  IN  ENGLAND,  MARTIN  WITNESSES  A  CEREMONY,  FROM  WHICH 
iiE  DERIVES  THE  CHEERING  INFORMATION  THAT  HE  HAS  NOT  BEEN 
FORGOTTEN  IN  HIS  ABSENCE. 


It  was  mid-day,  and  high  water  in  the  English 
port  for  which  the  Screw  was  bound,  when,  borne 
in  gallantly  upon  the  fulness  of  the  tide,  she  let 
go  lier  anchor  in  the  river. 

Briglit  as  the  scene  was ;  fresh,  and  full  of  mo- 
tion ;  airy,  free,  and  sparkling;  it  was  nothing  to 
the  life  and  exultation  in  the  breasts  of  the  two 
travellers,  at  sight  of  the  old  churches,  roofs,  and 
darkened  chimney  stacks  of  Home.  The  distant 
roar,  that  swelled  up  hoarsely  from  the  busy 
streets,  was  music  in  their  ears;  the  lines  of  peo- 
ple gazing  from  the  wharves,  were  friends  held 
dear;  the  canopy  of  smoke  that  overhung  the 
town,  was  brighter  and  more  beautiful  to  them, 
than  if  the  richest  silks  of  Persia  had  been  wav- 
ing in  the  air.  And  though  the  water,  going  on 
its  glistening  track,  turned,  ever  and  again,  aside, 
to  dance  and  sparkle  round  great  ships,  and  heave 
them  up ;  and  leaped  from  off  the  blades  of  oars, 
a  shower  of  diving  diamonds;  and  wantoned  with 
the  idle  boats,  and  swiftly  passed,  in  many  a  spor- 
tive chase,  through  obdurate  old  iron  rings,  set 
de-ep  into  the  stone-work  of  the  quays ;  not  even 
it,  was  half  so  buoyant,  and  so  restless,  as  their 
fluttering  hearts,  when  yearning  to  set  foot,  once 
more,  on  native  ground. 

A  year  had  passed,  since  those  same  spires  and 
roof's  had  faded  from  their  eyes.  It  seemed  to 
them  a  dozen  years.  Some  trifling  changes,  here 
and  there,  they  called  to  mind;  and  wondered 
that  they  were  so  few  and  slight.  In  health  and 
fortune,  prospect  and  resource,  they  came  back 
poorer  men  than  they  had  gone  away.  But  it 
was  home.  And  though  'lome  is  a  name,  a  word, 
it  is  a  strong  one ;  stronger  than  magician  ever 
spoke,  or  spirit  answered  to,  in  strongest  conjura- 
tion. 

Being  set  ashore,  with  very  little  money  in  their 
pockets,  and  no  definite  plan  of  operation  in  their 
heads,  they  sought  out  a  cheap  tavern,  where  they 
regaled  upon  a  smoking  steak,  and  certain  flow- 
ing mugs  of  beer,  as  only  men  just  landed  from 
the  sea  can  revel  in  the  generous  dainties  of  the 
earth.  When  they  had  feasted,  as  two  grateful- 
tempered  giants  might  have  done,  they  stirred  the 
fire,  drew  back  the  glowing  curtain  from  the  win- 
.  dow,  and  making  each  a  sofa  for  himself,  by  union 
J  of  the  great  unwieldy  chairs,  gazed  blissfully  into 
the  street. 

Even  the  street  was  made  a  fairy  street,  by  be- 
ing half  hidden  in  an  atmosphere  of  steak,  and 
strong,  stout,  stand-up  English  beer.  For  on  the 
ivindow-gliiss  hung  such  a  mist,  that  Mr.  Tapley 
'^■^H  ohliir,.(i  to  rise  and  wipe  it  wi,th  his  handker- 
chief, before  the  passengers  appeared  like  cotn- 
ni'»r.  mortals.     And  even  then,  a  spiral  little  cloud 


vpent  curling  up  from  their  two  glasses  of  hot 
grog,  which  nearly  hid  them  from  each  other. 

It  was  one  of  those  unaccountable  little  rooms 
which  are  never  seen  anywliere  but  in  a  tavern, 
and  are  supposed  to  have  got  into  taverns  by  rea- 
son  of  the  facilities  afforded  to  the  architect  for 
getting  drunk  while  engaged  in  their  construc- 
tion. It  had  more  corners  in  it  than  the  brain  of 
an  obstinate  man  ;  was  full  of  mad  closets,  into 
which  nothing  could  be  put  that  was  not  specially 
invented  and  made  for  tliat  purpose ;  had  myste- 
rious shelvings  and  bulk-heads,  and  indications 
of  staircases  in  the  ceiling;  and  was  elaborately 
provided  with  a  bell  that  rung  in  the  room  itself, 
about  two  feet  from  the  handle,  and  had  no  con- 
nection whatever  with  any  other  part  of  the  estab- 
lishment. It  was  a  little  below  the  pavement,  and 
abutted  close  upon  it;  so  that  passengers  grated 
against  the  window-panes  with  their  buttons,  and 
scraped  it  with  their  baskets ;  and  fearful  boys 
suddenly  coming  between  a  thoughtful  guest  and 
the  light,  derided  him,  or  put  out  their  tongues  as 
if  he  were  a  physician;  or  made  white  knobs  on 
the  ends  of  their  noses  by  flattening  the  same 
against  the  glass,  and  vanished  awfully,  like  spec- 
tres. 

Martin  and  Mark  sat  looking  at  the  people  as 
they  passed,  debating  every  now  and  then  what 
their  first  step  should  be. 

"  We  want  to  see  Miss  Mary,  of  course,"  said 
Mark. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Martin.  "  But  I  don't  know 
where  she  is.  Not  having  had  the  heart  to  write 
in  our  distress — you  yourself  thought  silence  most 
advisable — and  consequently,  never  having  heard 
from  her  since  we  left  New  York  the  first  time, 
I  don't  know  where  she  is,  my  good  fellow." 

"  My  opinion  is.  Sir,"  returned  Mark,  "  that 
what  we've  got  to  do,  is  to  travel  straight  to  the 
Dragon.  There  's  no  need  for  you  to  go  there, 
where  you're  known,  unless  you  like.  You  may 
slop  ten  mile  short  of  it.  I  '11  go  on.  Mrs.  Lu- 
pin will  tell  me  all  the  news.  Mr.  Pinch  will  give 
me  every  information  that  we  want:  and  right 
glad  Mr.  Pinch  will  be  to  do  it.  My  proposal  is: 
To  set  olT  walking  this  afternoon.  To  stop  when 
we  are  tired.  To  get  a  lift  when  we  can.  To 
walk  when  we  can't.  To  do  it  at  once,  and  do  it 
cheap." 

"  Unless  we  do  it  cheap,  we  shall  have  some 
difficulty  in  doing  it  at  all,"  said  Martin,  pulling 
out  the  hank,  and  telling  it  over  in  his  hand. 

"  The  greater  reason  for  losing  no  time.  Sir," 
replied  l\Iaik.  "  Wlie-reas,  when  you've  seen  the 
young  lady;  and  know  what  state  of  mind  th« 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


215 


)!d  jrentleman 's  in,  and   all   about;  tlien  you'll 
know  what  to  do  next." 
"No  doubt,"  said    Martin.     "You    are    quite 

riglil-" 

They  were  raising'  their  frlasses  to  their  lips, 
when  their  hands  stopped  midway,  and  their  gaze 
was  arrested  by  a  figure,  which  slowly,  very  slow- 
ly, and  reflectively,  passed  the  window  at  that 
moment. 

Mr  Pecksniff.  Placid,  calm,  but  proud.  Ho. 
nestly  proud.  Dressed  with  peculiar  care,  smil- 
ing with  even  more  than  usual  blandness,  ponder- 
ing- on  the  beauties  of  his  art  with  a  mild  abstrac- 
tion from  all  sordid  thoughts,  and  gently  travel- 
ling across  the  disc,  as  if  he  were  a  figure  in  a 
magic  lantern. 

As  Mr.  Pecksniff  passed,  a  person  coming  in 
the  opposite  direction  stopped  to  look  after  him 
with  great  interest  and  respect:  almost  with  vene- 
ration :  and  the  landlord  bouncing  out  of  the 
house,  as  if  he  had  seen  him  too,  joined  this  per- 
son, and  spoke  to  him,  and  shook  his  he;id  grave- 
ly, and  looked  after  Mr.  Pecksniff  likewise. 

Martin  and  Mark  sat  staring  at  each  other,  as 
if  they  could  not  believe  it;  but  there  stood  the 
landlord,  and  the  other  man  still.  In  spite  of  the 
indignation  with  which  this  glimpse  of  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff had  inspired  him,  Martin  could  not  help 
laughing  heartily.     Neither  could  Mark. 

"We  must  inquire  into  this  I"  said  Martin. 
"Ask  the  landlord  in,  Mark." 

Mr.  Tapley  retired  for  that  purpose,  and  imme- 
diately returned  with  their  large-headed  host  in 
safe  convoy. 

"  Pray  landlord  !"  said  Martin,  "  who  is  that 
gentleman  who  passed  just  now,  and  whom  you 
were  looking  after?" 

The  landlord  poked  the  fire  as  if,  in  his  desire 
to  make  the  most  of  his  answer,  he  had  become 
indifferent  even  to  the  price  of  coals  ;  and  putting 
his  hands  in  his  pockets,  said,  after  inflating  him- 
self to  gfive  still  further  effect  to  his  reply : 

"That,  gentlemen,  is  the  great  Mr.  Pecksniff  I 
The  celebrated  architect,  gentlemen  I" 

He  looked  from  one  to  the  other  while  he  said 
it,  as  if  he  were  ready  to  assist  the  first  man  who 
might  be  overcome  by  the  intelligence. 

"  The  great  Mr.  Pecksniff,  the  celebrated  archi- 
tect, gentlemen,"  said  the  landlord,  "  has  come 
down  here,  to  help  lay  the  first  stone  of  a  new 
and  splendid  public  building." 

"  Is  it  to  be  built  from  his  designs  ?"  asked 
Martin. 

"  The  great  Mr.  Pecksniff,  the  celebrated  archi- 
tect, gentlemen,"  returned  the  landlord,  who  seem- 
ed to  have  an  unspeakable  delight  in  the  repeti- 
tion of  these  words,  "  carried  off  the  First  Premi- 
um, and  will  erect  the  building." 

"  Who  lays  the  stone?"  asked  Martin. 
"  Our  member  has  come  down  express,"  return- 
ed the  landlord.  "  No  scrubs  would  do  for  no 
such  a  purpose.  Nothing  less  would  satisfy  our 
Directors  than  our  member  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, who  is  returned  upon  the  Gentlemanly  In- 
terest." 

"  Which  interest  is  that  ?"  asked  Martin. 
"  What,  don't  you  know  I"  returned  the  land- 
Ard. 


always  told  him  at  election  time,  that  it  was  the 
Gentlemanly  side,  and  he  immediately  put  on  his 
top-boots,  and  voted  for  it. 

"  When  does  the  coremony  take  place  ?"  asl-ed 
Martin. 

"  This  day,"  replied  the  landlord.  Then  pull- 
ing out  his  watch,  he  added  impressively,  "almost 
this  minute." 

Martin  hastily  inquired  whether  there  wasanv 
possibility  of  getting  in  to  witness  it;  and  find, 
ing  that  there  would  be  no  objection  to  tin;  ad;nit. 
tance  of  any  decent  person,  unless  indeed  the 
ground  were  full,  hurried  off  with  Mark,  as  haid 
as  they  could  go. 

They  were  fortunate  enough  to  squeeze  them- 
selves into  a  famous  corner  on  the  ground,  where 
they  could  see  all  that  passed,  without  much  dread 
of  being  beheld  by  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  return.  They 
were  not  a  minute  too  soon,  for  as  they  were  in 
the  act  of  congratulating  each  other,  a  great  noise 
was  heard  at  some  distance,  and  everybody  looked 
towards  the  gate.  Several  ladies  prepared  their 
pocket-handJ<ernhiefs  for  waving;  and  a  stray 
teacher  belonging  to  the  charity  school  beiny 
much  cheered  by  mistake,  was  immensely  ^i'oan- 
ed  at  when  detected. 

_  "Perhaps  he  has  Tom  Pinch  with  him,"  Mar 
tin  whispered  Mr.  Tapley. 

"  It  would  be  rather  too  much  of  a  treat  for 
him,  wouldn't  it,  Sir  ?"  whispered  Mr.  Tapley  in 
return. 

There  was  no  time  to  discuss  the  probabilities 
either  way,  for  the  charity  school,  in  clean  linen, 
came  filing  in  two  and  two,  so  much  to  the  self- 
approval  of  all  the  people  present,  who  didn't  sub- 
scribe to  it,  that  many  of  them  shed  tears.  A 
band  of  music  followed,  led  by  a  conscientious 
drummer  who  never  left  off.  Then  came  a  great 
many  gentlemen  with  wands  in  their  hands,  and 
bows  on  their  breasts,  whose  share  in  the  proceed, 
ings  did  not  appear  to  be  distinctly  laid  down,  and 
who  trod  upon  each  other,  and  blocked  uo  the 
entry  for  a  considerable  period.  These  were  fol- 
lowed by  the  Mayor  and  Corporation,  all  cluster- 
ing round  the  member  for  the  Gentlemanly  Inter- 
est;  who  had  the  great  Mr.  Pecksniff,  the  eele. 
brated  architect,  on  his  right  hand,  and  conversed 
with  him  familiarly  as  they  came  along.  Then 
the  ladies  waved  their  handkerchiefs,  and  the  gen- 
tlemen their  hats,  and  the  charity  children  shriek. 
ed,  and  the  member  for  the  Gentlemanly  Interest 
bowed. 

Silence  being  restored,  the  member  for  the  Gen. 
tiemanly  Interest  rubbed  his  hands,  and  wagged 
his  head,  and  looked  about  him  pleasantly  ;  and 
there  was  nothing  this  member  did,  at  which  some 
lady  or  other  did  not  burst  into  an  ecstatic  wav 
ing  of  her  pocket. handkerchief.  When  he  looked 
up  at  the  stone,  they  said  how  graceful  !  when 
he  peeped  into  the  hole,  they  said  how  condescend- 
ing !  when  he  chatted  with  the  Mayor,  they  said 
how  easy  !  when  he  folded  his  arms,  they  cried 
with  one  accord,  how  statesman-like! 

Mr.  Pecksniff  was  observed  too  ;  closely.  When 
he  talked  to  the  Mayor,  they  said,  Oh,  really,  what 
a  courtly  man  he  was!  When  he  laid  his  hanfl 
upon  the  mason's  shoulder,  giving  him  directions, 


Ix  was  quite  clear  the  landlord  didn't.     They  |  how  pleasant  his  demeanour  to  the  working  ci.-'ss 


216 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   «F 


es :  just  the  sort  of  man  who  made  their  toil  a 
pleasure  to  them,  poor  dear  souls! 

But  now  a  silver  trowel  was  brougfht ;  and  when 
the  member  for  the  Gentlemanly  Interest,  tuckin<T 
up  his  coat-sleeve,  did  a  little  sleigfht-of-hand  with 
the  mortar,  the  air  was  rent,  so  loud  was  the  ap- 
plause. The  workman-like  manner  in  which  he 
did  it  Wds  amazing-.  No  one  could  conceive  where 
Buch  a  gfcnllemanly  creature  could  have  picked 
tne  knowledge  up. 

When  he  had  made  a  kind  of  dirt-pie  under 
the  direction  of  the  mason,  they  brought  a  little 
vase  containing  coins,  the  whicli  the  member  for 
the  Gentlen)anly  Interest  jingled,  as  if  he  were 
going  to  conjure.  Whereat  they  said  how  droll, 
how  cheerful,  what  a  flow  of  spirits !  This  put 
into  its  place,  an  ancient  scholar  read  the  inscrip- 
tion, which  was  in  Latin:  not  in  English:  that 
would  never  do.  It  gave  great  satisfaction  ;  espe- 
cially every  time  there  was  a  good  long  substan- 
tive in  the  third  declension,  ablative  case,  with  an 
adjective  to  match  ;  at  which  periods  the  assem- 
bly became  very  tender,  and  were  much  affected. 

And  now  the  stone  was  luwered  down  into  its 
place,  amidst  the  shouting  of  the  concourse. 
When  it  was  firmly  fixed,  the  member  for  the 
Gentlemanly  Interest  struck  upon  it  thrice  with 
the  handle  of  the  trowel,  as  if  inquiring,  with  a 
touch  of  humour,  whether  anybody  was  at  home. 
Mr.  Pecksniff  then  unrolled  his  Plans  (prodigious 
plans  they  were),  and  people  gathered  round  to 
look  at  and  admire  them. 

Martin,  who  had  been  fretting  himself — quite 
unnecessarily,  as  Mark  thought  —  during  the 
whole  of  these  proceedings,  cnuld  no  longer  re- 
strain his  impatience;  but  stepping  forward  among 
several  others,  looked  straight  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  unconscious  Mr.  Pecksniff,  at  the  designs 
and  plans  he  had  unrolled.  Here  turned  to  Mark, 
boiling  with  rage. 

"  Why,  what's  tl;e  matter.  Sir?"  cried  Mark. 

"Matter!  This  is  my  building." 

"  Your  building.  Sir  I"  said  Mark. 

"  My  grammar-school.  I  invented  if.  I  did  it 
all.  He  has  only  put  four  windows  in,  the  villain, 
and  spoilt  it !" 

Mark  could  hardly  b(  liuve  it  at  first,  but  being 
assured  that  it  was  really  so,  actually  held  him  to 
prevent  his  interference  foolishly,  until  his  tem- 
porary heat  was  past.  In  the  mean  time,  the 
member  addressed  the  company  on  the  gratifying 
deed  which  he  had  jusf  performed. 

He  said  that  since  he  had  sat  in  Parliament  to 
represent  the  Gentleiiianly  Interest  of  that  town  ; 
Jind  he  might  and,  the  f^ady  Interest  he  hoped, 
besides  (pocket-handkerchiefs);  it  had  been  his 
pleasant  duty  to  come  among  them,  and  to  raise 
his  voice  on  their  behalf  in  Another  Place  (pock- 
et-handkerchiefs and  laughter),  often.  But  he 
had  never  come  among  them,  and  had  never  raised 
his  voice,  with  half  such  pure,  such  deep,  such  un- 
alloyed delight,  as  now.  " 'I"he  present  occasion," 
he  said,  "  will  ever  be  niemtirable  to  me  :  not  only 
for  the  reasons  I  have  assigned,  l)ut  because  it 
hai)  afforded  me  an  oiiportunify  of  becoming  per- 
iu)nully  known  to  a  gentleman " 


Here  he  pointed  the  trowel  at  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
who  was  greeted  with  vociferous  cheering,  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  heart. 

"  To  a  gentleman  who,  1  am  happy  to  believe, 
will  reap  both  distinction  and  profit  from  this  field 
whose  fame  had  previously  penetrated  to  me — as 
to  whose  ears  has  it  not! — but  whose  intellectual 
countenance  I  never  had  the  distinguished  honour 
to  behold  until  this  day,  and  whose  intellectut.1 
conversation  I  had  never  before  the  improving 
pleasure  to  enjoy." 

Everybody  seemed  very  glad  of  this,  and  ap- 
plauded more  than  ever. 

"  But  I  hope  my  Honourable  Friend,"  said  the 
Gentlemanly  member — of  course  he  added  'if  he 
will  allow  me  to  call  him  so,'  and  of  course  Mr 
Pecksniff  bowed — "  will  give  me  many  opportu- 
nities of  cultivating  the  knowledge  of  him  ;  and 
that  I  may  have  the  extraordinary  gratification 
of  reflecting  in  after  time  that  1  laid  on  this  day 
two  first  stones,  both  belonging  to  structures 
which  shall  last  my  life!" 

Great  cheering  again.  All  this  time,  Martin 
was  cursing  Mr.  Pecksniff  up  hill  and  down 
dale. 

"  My  friends  !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  reply. 
"  My  duty  is  to  build,  not  speak  ;  to  act,  not  talk ; 
to  deal  with  marble,  stone,  and  brick  :  not  lan- 
guage. I  am  very  much  affected.  God  bless 
you!" 

This  address,  pumped  out  apparently  from  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  very  heart,  brought  the  enthusiasm  to 
its  highest  pitch.  The  pocket-handkerchiefs  were 
waved  again  ;  the  charity  children  were  admon- 
ished to  grow  up  Pecksniffs,  every  boy  among 
them  ;  the  corporation,  gentlemen  with  wands, 
member  for  the  Gentlemanly  Interest,  all  cheered 
for  Mr.  Pecksniff.  Three  "cheers  for  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff!  Three  more  for  Mr.  Pecksniff!  Three 
more  for  .Mr.  Pecksniff,  gfentlemen,  if  you  please  ! 
One  more,  gentlemen,  for  Mr.  Pecksniff,  and  let 
it  be  a  good  one  to  finish  with  ! 

In  short,  Mr.  Pecksniff'  was  supposed  to  have 
done  a  great  work,  and  was  very  kindly,  courte- 
ously, and  generously  rewarded.  When  the  pro- 
cession  moved  away,  and  Martin  and  Mark  were 
left  almost  alone  upon  the  ground,  his  merits  and 
a  desire  to  acknowledge  tliem  formed  the  common 
topic.  He  was  only  second  to  the  Gentlemanly 
member. 

"Compare  that  fellow's  situation  to-day,  with 
ours  !"  said  Martin,  bitterly. 

"Lord  bless  you.  Sir !"  cried  Mark,  "what's 
the  use  !  Some  architects  are  clever  at  making 
foundations,  and  some  architects  are  clever  al 
buildin  on  'em  when  they're  made.  But  it'll  all 
come  right  in  the  end.  Sir;  it'll  all  come  right!" 

"And  in  the  mean  time,"  began  Martin. 

"  In  the  mean  time,  os  you  say,  Sir,  wc  have 
deal  to  do,  and  far  to  go.     So  sharp's  the  word, 
and  Jolly  !" 

"  You  are  the  best  master  in  the  world,  Mark." 
said  Martin,  "and  I  will  not  be  a  bad  scholar  if  I 
can  help  it,  I  am  resolved!     So  come  !     Best  foul 
'  foremost,  old  fellow  '" 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWiT. 


317 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

rOM    PINCH  DEPARTS   TO    SEEK    HIS   FORTUxNE.  —  WHAT   HE   FINDS   AT 

STARTING. 


Oh  !  what  a  different  town  Salisbury  was  in 
Tom  Pincli's  eves  to  be  sure,  when  tlie  substan- 
tial Pecksniff  of  his  heart  melted  away  into  an 
idle  dream  1  He  possessed  the  same  faith  in  the 
wonderful  shops,  the  same  intensified  apprecia- 
tion of  tlie  mystery  and  wickedness  of  the  place; 
made  tlie  same  exalted  estimate  of  its  wealth, 
population,  and  resources ;  and  yt t  it  was  not  the 
old  city  nor  anything  like  it.  He  walked  into 
the  market  while  they  were  getting-  breaklast 
ready  for  him  at  the  Inn  :  and  though  it  was  the 
same  market  as  of  old,  crowded  by  the  same 
buyers  and  sellers  ;  brisk  with  the  same  business  ; 
noisy  with  the  same  confusion  of  tongues  and 
cluttering  of  fowls  in  coops ;  fair  with  the  same 
display  of  rolls  of  butter,  newly  made,  set  forth 
in  linen  cloths  of  dazzling  whiteness  ;  green  with 
the  same  fresh  show  of  dewy  vegetables  ;  dainty 
with  the  same  array  in  higglers'  baskets  of  small 
shaving-glasses,  laces,  braces,  trouser-straps,  and 
hardware  ;  savoury  with  the  same  unstinted  show 
ol'  delicate  pigs'-tcet  and  pies  made  precious  by 
the  pork  that  once  had  walked  upon  them  :  still 
it  was  strangely  changed  to  Tom.  For  in  the 
centre  of  tlie  market-place  he  missed  a  statue  he 
had  eet  up  there,  as  in  all  other  places  of  his  per- 
«rinal  resort ;  and  it  looked  cold  and  bare  without 
that  ornament. 

The  change  lay  no  deeper  than  this,  for  Tom 
was  far  from  being  sage  enough  to  know,  that, 
having  been  disappointed  in  one  man,  it  would 
have  been  a  strictly  rational  and  eminently  wise 
proceeding  to  have  revenged  himself  uj^in  man- 
kind in  general,  by  mistrusting  them  one  and  all. 
Indeed  this  piece  of  justice,  though  it  is  upheld 
by  the  authority  of  divers  profound  poets  and 
honourable  men,  bears  a  nearer  resemblance  to 
the  justice  of  that  good  Vizier  in  the  Thousand, 
and-one  Nights,  who  issues  orders  for  the  destruc- 
tion of  all  the  Porters  in  Bagdad,  because  one  of 
that  unfortunate  fraternity  is  supposed  to  have 
misconducted  himself,  than  to  any  logical,  not  to 
say  Christian  system  of  conduct,  known  to  the 
world  in  later  times. 

Tom  had  so  long  been  used  to  steep  the  Peck- 
sniff of  his  fancy  in  his  tea,  and  spread  him  out 
upon  his  toast,  and  take  him  as  a  relish  with  his 
beer,  that  he  made  but  a  poor  breakfast  on  the 
first  morning  after  his  expulsion.  Nor  did  he 
much  improve  his  appetite  for  dinner  by  seriously 
considering  his  own  affairs,  and  taking  counsel 
thereon  with  his  friend  the  organist's  assistant. 

The  organist's  assistant  gave  it  as  his  decided 
0(rinion  that  whatever  Tom  did,  he  must  go  to 
London  ;  for  there  was  no  place  like  it.  Which 
may  be  true  in  the  main,  though  hardly  perhaps, 
in  itself,  a  sufficient  reason  for  Tom's  going  there. 

But  Tom  had   thought  of  London   before,  and 

had  coupled  with  it  thoughts  of  his  sister,  and  of 

his  old  friend  John  VV'esilock,  whose  advice  he 

Daturally  felt  disposed  to  seek  in  this  important 

2S 


crisis  of  his  fortunes.  To  London,  therefore,  lie 
resolved  to  go  ;  and  he  went  away  to  the  coach- 
office  at  once,  to  secure  his  place.  The  coach 
being  already  full,  he  was  obliged  to  postpone  his 
departure  until  the  next  night;  but  even  this  cir- 
cumstance had  its  bright  side  as  well  as  its  dark 
one,  for  though  it  threatened  to  reduce  his  poor 
purse  with  unexpected  country-charges,  it  afford- 
ed him  an  opportunity  of  writing  to  Mrs.  Lupin 
and  appointing  his  box  to  be  brought  to  the  old 
tinger-post  at  the  old  time;  which  would  enable 
him  to  take  that  treasure  with  him  to  the  metro- 
polis, and  save  the  expense  of  its  carriage.  "  So," 
said  Tom,  comforting  himself,  "  it 's  very  nearly 
as  broad  as  it 's  long." 

And  it  cannot  be  denied,  that,  when  he  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  even  this  extent,  he  felt  an 
unaccustomed  sense  of  freedom — a  vague  and  in- 
distinct impression  of  holiday-making  —  which 
was  very  luxurious.  He  had  his  moments  of 
depression  and  anxiety,  and  they  were,  with  good 
reason,  pretty  numerous;  but  still,  it  was  won- 
derfuUy  pleasant  to  reflect  that  he  was  his  own 
master,  and  could  plan  and  scheme  for  himself. 
It  was  startling,  thrilling,  vast,  difficult  to  under- 
stand ;  it  was  a  stupendous  truth,  teeming  with 
responsibility  and  self-distrust;  but,  in  spite  of 
all  his  cares,  it  gave  a  curious  relish  to  the  viands 
at  the  Inn,  and  interposed  a  dreamy  haze  between 
him  and  his  prospects,  in  which  they  sometimes 
showed  to  magical  advantage. 

In  this  unsettled  state  of  mind,  Tom  went  once 
more  to  bed  in  the  low  four-poster,  to  the  same 
immoveable  surprise  of  the  effigies  of  the  former 
landlord  and  the  fat  ox;  and  in  this  condition, 
passed  the  whole  of  the  succeeding  day.  When 
the  coach  came  round  at  last,  with  "  London" 
blazoned  in  letters  of  gold  upon  the  boot,  it  gave 
Tom  such  a  turn,  that  he  was  half  disposed  to 
run  away.  But  he  didn't  do  it ;  for  he  took  his 
seat  upon  the  box  instead,  and  looking  down  upon 
the  four  grays,  felt  as  if  he  were  another  gray 
himself,  or,  at  all  events,  a  part  of  the  turn-out; 
and  was  quite  confused  by  the  novelty  and 
splendour  of  his  situation. 

And  really  it  might  have  confused  a  less  modest 
man  than  Tom  to  find  himself  sitting  next  that 
coachman  ;  for  of  all  the  swells  that  ever  flourish, 
ed  a  whip,  professionally,  he  might  have  been 
elected  emperor.  He  didn't  handle  his  gloves 
like  another  man,  but  put  them  on  —  even  when 
he  was  standing  on  the  pavement,  quite  detached 
from  the  coach — as  if  the  four  grays  were,  some- 
how or  other,  at  the  ends  of  the  fingers.  It  was 
the  same  with  his  hat.  He  did  things  with  his 
hat,  which  nothing  but  an  unlimited  knowledge 
of  horses  and  the  wildest  freedom  of  the  road, 
could  ever  have  made  him  perfect  in.  Valuable 
little  parcels  were  brought  to  him  with  particular 
instructions,  and  he  pitched  them  into  this  bat 
and  stuck  it  on  again ;  as  if  the  laws  of  gravity 


218 


LIFE    AND   ADVr.nTURES   OF 


did  not  admit  of  such  an  event  as  its  being 
knocked  off,  or  blown  otT,  and  nothing  like  an 
accident  could  betiil  it.  The  guard,  too  !  Seventy 
breezy  miles  a-day  were  written  in  his  very 
whiskers.  Ilis  manners  were  a  canter;  his  con- 
versation a  round  trot.  He  was  a  fast  couch  upon 
a  down-hill  turnpike  road;  he  was  all  pace.  A 
wagon  couldn't  have  moved  slowly,  with  that 
guard  and  his  kiy-buglc  on  the  top  of  it. 

These  were  ail  foreshadowings  of  London,  Tom 
thought,  :s  he  sat  upon  the  box,  and  looked  about 
iilm.  Such  a  coachman,  and  such  a  guard,  never 
could  have  exis-ted  between  Salisbury  and  any 
other  place.  The  couch  was  none  of  your  steady. 
going,  yokel  coaches,  but  a  swaggering,  rakisli, 
dissipated,  London  coach  ,  up  all  night,  and  lying 
by  all  day,  and  leading  a  devil  of  a  life.  It  cared 
no  more  for  Salisbury  than  if  it  had  been  a  ham- 
let. It  rattled  noisily  through  the  best  streets, 
defied  the  Cathedral,  took  the  worst  corners 
sharpest,  went  cutting  in  everywhere,  making 
everything  get  out  of  its  way ;  and  spun  along 
the  open  country-road,  blowing  a  lively  defiance 
out  of  its  key-bugle,  as  its  last  glud  parting 
legacy. 

It  was  a  charming  evening.  Mild  and  bright. 
And  even  with  the  weight  upon  his  mind  which 
arose  out  of  the  immensity  and  uncertainty  of 
London,  Tom  could  not  resist  the  captivating 
sense  of  rapid  motion  through  the  pleasant  air. 
The  four  grays  skimmed  along,  as  if  they  liked  it 
r;uite  as  well  as  Tom  did  ;  the  bugle  was  in  as 
high  spirits  as  the  grays;  the  coachman  chimed 
in  sometimes  with  his  voice;  the  wheels  hummed 
chcerrully  in  unison ;  the  brass-work  on  the  har- 
ness was  an  orchestra  of  little  bells;  and  thus,  as 
they  went  clinking,  jingling,  rattling,  smoothly 
on,  the  whole  concern,  from  the  buckles  of  the 
leaders'  coupling-reins,  to  the  handle  of  the  hind 
boot,  was  one  great  instrument  of  music. 

Yoho,  past  hedges,  gates,  and  trees;  past  cot- 
tages and  barns,  and  people  going  home  from 
work.  Yoho,  past  donkey-chaises,  drawn  aside 
into  the  ditch,  und  empty  carts  with  rampant 
horses,  whipped  up  at  a  bound  upon  the  little 
watercourse,  and  laid  by  struggling  carters  close 
to  the  five-barred  gate,  until  -he  coach  had  passed 
the  narrow  turning  in  the  road.  Yoho,  by  churches 
dropped  down  by  tin  mselves  in  quiet  nooks,  with 
rustic  burial-grounds  about  them,  where  the  graves 
are  green,  and' daisies  sleep  —  for  it  is  evening  — 
on  the  bosoms  of  the  dead.  Yoho,  past  streams, 
in  which  the  cattle  cool  their  feet,  and  where  the 
rushes  grow ;  past  paddock-fences,  farms,  and 
rick-yards;  past  last  year's  stacks,  cut,  slice  by 
slice,  away,  and  showing,  in  the  waning  light, 
like  ruined  gables,  old  and  brown.  Yoho,  down 
the  pebbly  dip,  and  through  the  merry  water- 
splaslr,  and  up  at  a  canter  to  the  level  road  again. 
Yoho!  Yoho! 

Was  the  box  there,  when  they  came  up  to  the 
old  finger-post?  'I'he  box!  Was  Mrs.  Lupin 
herself?  Had  she  turned  out  magnificently  as  a 
hostess  should,  in  her  own  chaise-cart,  and  was 
she  sitting  in  a  mahogany  chair,  driving  her  own 
■.ior«e  Dragon  (who  ought  to  have  been  called 
Dumplinj.';,  and  locikiiig  lovely?  Dki  the  stage- 
coach pull  up  beside  her,  shaving  her  very  wheel, 
«nd  even  while  the  guard  lielped  her  man  up  with 
''le  trunk,  did  he  8cnd  the  glad  echoes  of  his  bugle 


careering  down  the  chimneys  of  the  distant  Peck 
sniff,  as  if  the  coach  expressed  its  exultation  in 
the  rescue  of  Tom  Pinch  ? 

"This  is  kind  indeed!"  said  Tom,  bending 
down  to  shake  hands  with  her.  "1  didn't  meau 
to  give  you  this  trouble." 

"Trouble,  Mr.  Pinch  !"  cried  the  hostess  of  the 
Dragon. 

"  Well !  It 's  a  pleasure  to  you,  I  know,"  siid 
Tom,  squeezing  her  hand  heartily.  "  Is  there 
any  news  ?" 

The  hostess  shook  her  head. 

"  Say  you  saw  me,"  said  Tom,  "  and  that  I  wa* 
very  bold  and  cheerful,  and  not  a  bit  down-heart- 
ed ;  and  that  I  entreated  her  to  be  the  same,  for 
all  is  certain  to  come  right  at  last.     Good  bye  !" 

"  You  '11  write  when  you  get  settled,  Mr.  Pinch  V 
said  Mrs.  Lupin. 

"When  I  get  settled  !"  cried  Tom,  with  an  in- 
voluntary opening  of  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  yes,  1  '11 
write  when  I  get  settled.  Perhaps  I  had  better 
write  before,  because  I  may  find  that  it  takes  a 
little  time  to  settle  myself:  not  having  too  much 
money,  and  having  only  one  friend.  I  shall  give 
your  love  to  the  friend,  by  the  way.  You  weFe 
always  great  with  Mr.  Westlock,  you  know. 
Good  bye  1" 

"  Good  bye!" said  Mrs. Lupin,  hastily  producing 
a  basket  with  a  long  bottle  sticking  out  of  it. 
"  7'ake  this.     Good  bye  !" 

"  Do  you  want  me  to  carry  it  to  London  for 
yon  ?"  cried  Tom.  She  was  already  turning  the 
chaise-cart  round. 

"  No,  no,"  said  Mrs.  Lupin.  "  It 's  only  a  little 
something  for  retreshmcnt  on  the  road.  Sit  fast, 
Jack.     Drive  on,  sir.     All  right !     Good  bye  I" 

She  was  a  quarter  of  a  mile  off,  before  Tom 
collected  himself;  and  then  he  was  waving  his 
hand  lustily;  and  so  was  she, 

"And  that's  the  last  of  the  old  finger-post," 
thought  Tom,  straining  his  eyes,  "where  I  ha\"e 
so  often  stood,  to  see  this  very  coach  go  by,  and 
where  I  have  parted  with  so  many  companions! 
I  used  to  compare  this  coach  to  some  great  mon 
ster  that  appeared  at  certain  ti.mcs  to  bear  my 
friends  away  into  the  world.  And  now  it's  bear- 
ing me  away,  to  seek  my  fortune.  Heaven  knows 
where  and  how  !" 

It  made  Tom  melancholy  to  picture  himself 
walking  up  the  lane  and  back  to  Pecksniffs  ujj 
of  old ;  and  being  melancholy,  he  looked  down- 
wards at  the  basket  on  his  knee,  which  he  had 
for  the  moment  forgotten.  ^-.^.s 

"She  is  the  kindest  and  most  considerate  crea- 
ture in  the  world,"  thought  Tom.  "Now  I  know 
that  she  particularly  told  that  man  of  her's  not  to 
look  at  me,  on  purpose  to  prevent  my  throwing 
liim  a  shilling!  I  had  it  ready  for  liim  all  the 
lime,  and  he  never  once  looked  towards  me ; 
whereas  that  man  naturally  (l()r  I  know  him  very 
well),  would  have  done  nothing  but  grin  and 
stare.  Upon  my  word,  the  kindness  of  people 
perfectly  melts  me." 

Here  he  caught  the  coachman's  eye,  Tbtt 
coachman  winked.  "Remarkable  fine  wonua 
for  lier  time  of  life,"  said  the  coachman. 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,"  returned  Tom.  "So 
she  is." 

"  Finer  than  many  a  young  one,  I  mean  to 
say,"  observed  the  coachman.     "  £h  ?" 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT 


219 


"Tlian  many  a  young  one,"  Tom  assented. 

"  I  don't  care  for  'em  myself  when  they  're  too 
young',"'  remarked  the  coachman. 

This  was  a  matter  of  taste,  which  Tom  did  not 
feel  himself  called  upon  to  discuss. 

"  You  '11  seldom  find  'em  possessing  correct 
opinions  about  refreshment,  for  instance,  when 
tiiey 're  too  young,  you  know,"  said  the  coach- 
man :  "  a  woman  must  have  arrived  at  maturity, 
before  her  mind  's  equal  to  coming  provided  with 
a  basket  like  that." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  know  what  it  con- 
tains ?"  said  Tom,  smiling. 

As  the  coachman  only  laughed,  and  as  Tom 
was  curious  himself,  he  unpacked  it,  and  put  the 
articles,  one  by  one,  upon  the  footboard.  A  cold 
roast  fowl,  a  packet  of  ham  in  slices,  a  crusty  loaf, 
a  piece  of  cheese,  a  paper  of  biscuits,  half-a-dozen 
apples,  a  knife,  some  butter,  a  screw  of  salt,  and 
a  bottle  of  old  sherry.  There  was  a  letter  besides, 
which  Tom  put  in  his  pocket. 

The  coachman  was  so  earnest  in  his  approval 
of  Mrs.  Lupin's  provident  habits,  and  congratu- 
lated Tom  so  warmly  on  his  good  fortune,  that 
Tom  felt  it  necessary,  for  the  lady's  sake,  to  ex- 
plain that  the  basket  was  a  strictly  Platonic  bas- 
ket, and  had  merely  been  presented  to  him  in  the 
way  of  friendship.  When  l)e  had  made  tiie  state- 
ment with  perfect  gravity ;  for  he  felt  it  incum- 
bent on  him  to  disabuse  the  mind  of  this  lax  rover 
of  any  incorrect  impressions  on  the  subject;  he 
signified  that  he  would  be  happy  to  share  the  gifts 
with  him,  and  proposed  that  they  should  attack 
tlie  basket  in  a  spirit  of  good  fellowship  at  any 
time  in  the  course  of  the  night  which  the  coach- 
man's experience  and  knowledge  of  the  road  might 
suggest,  as  being  best  adapted  to  the  purpose. 
From  this  time  they  chatted  so  pleasantly  toge- 
ther, that  although  Tom  knew  infinitely  more  of 
unicorns  than  horses,  the  coachman  informed  his 
friend  the  guard,  at  the  end  of  the  next  stage, 
"  that  rum  as  the  box-seat  looked,  he  was  as  good 
a  one  to  go,  in  point  of  conversation,  as  ever  he  'd 
wish  to  sit  by." 

Yoho,  among  the  gathering  shades ;  n)aking 
of  no  account  the  deep  reflections  of  the  trees, 
but  scampering  on  through  light  and  darkness, 
all  the  same,  as  if  the  light  of  London  fifty  miles 
away,  were  quite  enough  to  travel  by,  and  some 
to  spare.  Yoho,  beside  the  viilage-green,  where 
cricket-players  linger  yet,  and  every  little  inden- 
tation made  in  the  fresh  grass  by  bat  or  wicket, 
ball  or  player's  foot,  sheds  out  its  perfume  on  the 
night.  Away  with  four  fresh  horses  from  the 
B.ild-faced  Stag,  where  topers  congregate  about 
the  door  admiring;  and  the  last  team,  with  traces 
hansfing  loose,  go  roaming  off  towards  the  pond, 
until  observed  and  shouted  after  by  a  dozen  throats, 
while  volunteering  boys  pursue  them.  Now  with 
a  clattering  of  hoofs  and  striking  out  of  fiery 
sparks,  across  the  old  stone  bridge,  and  down 
again  into  the  shadowy  road,  and  through  the  open 
gate,  and  far  away,  away,  into  the  wold.  Yolio  I 
Yoho,  behind  there,  stop  that  bugle  for  a  mo- 
ment I  Come  creeping  over  to  the  front,  along 
the  coich-roof,  guard,  and  make  one  at  this  bas- 
ket I  Not  that  v»e  slacken  in  our  pace  tiie  while, 
not  we  :  we  rather  ps-t  the  bits  of  blood  upon  their 
mettle,  for  the  greater  glory  of  the  snack.  All  I 
It  is  i  ing  since  this  bottle  of  old  wine  was  brought 


into  contact  with  the  mellow  breath  of  night,  you 
may  depend,  and  rare  good  stuff  it  is  to  wet  a 
bugler's  whistle  with.  Only  try  it.  Don't  lie 
afraid  of  turning  up  your  finger,  Bill,  another 
pull  I  Now,  take  your  breath,  and  try  the  i)iigle. 
Bill,  There 's  music  !  There 's  a  tone  !  "  Uvur 
the  hills  and  i'ar  away,"  indeed.  Yoho!  The 
skittish  mare  is  all  alive  to-night.  Yoho!  Yo- 
ho! 

See  the  bright  moon  !  High  up  before  we  know 
it :  making  the  earth  reflect  the  objects  on  its 
breast  like  water.  Hedges,  trees,  low  C(>ttages, 
church  steeples,  blighted  stumps  and  flourishing 
young  slips,  have  all  grown  vain  upon  the  sudden, 
and  mean  to  ccmtemplate  their  own  fair  images 
till  morning.  Tiie  poplars  yonder  rustle,  that 
their  quivering  leaves  may  see  themselves  upon 
the  ground.  Not  so  the  oak;  trembling  doea 
not  become  liirn ;  and  he  watches  himself  in  his 
stout  old  burly  steadfastness,  without  the  motion 
of  a  twig.  The  moss-grown  gate,  ill-poised  upon 
its  creaking  hinges,  crippled  and  decayed,  s-wings 
to  and  fro  before  its  glass,  like  some  fantastic 
dowager;  while  our  own  ghostly  likeness  travels 
on,  Yoho!  Yoho!  through  ditch  and  brake,  upon 
the  ploughed  land  and  the  smooth,  along  the  steep 
hill-side  and  steeper  wall,  as  if  it  were  a  phantom- 
Hunter, 

Clouds  too !  And  a  mist  upon  the  Hollow  !  Not 
a  dull  fog  that  hides  it,  but  a  light  airy  gauze-like 
mist,  which  in  our  eyes  of  modest  admiration 
gives  a  new  charm  to  the  beauties  it  is  spread 
belbre  ;  as  real  gauze  has  done  ere  now,  and  would 
again,  so  please  you,  though  we  were  the  Pope. 
Yoho!  Why  now  we  travel  like  the  Moon  her- 
self. Hiding  this  minute  in  a  grove  of  trees ;  next 
minute  in  a  patch  of  vapour  ;  emerging  now  upon 
our  broad  clear  course;  withdrawing  now,  but 
always  dashing  on,  our  journey  is  a  counterpart 
of  hers.  Yoho  I  A  match  against  the  Moon,  Y»- 
ho,  yoho ! 

'J'he  beauty  of  the  night  is  hardly  felt,  when 
Day  comes  leaping  up.  Yoho  !  Two  stages,  and 
the  country  roads  are  almost  changed  to  a  continu- 
ous street,  Yoho,  past  market-gardens,  rows  of 
houses,  villas,  crescents,  terraces,  and  squares; 
past  wagons,  coaches,  carts  ;  past  early  workmen, 
late  stragglers,  drunken  men,  and  sober  carriers 
of  loads  ;  past  brick  and  mortar  in  its  every  shape  ; 
and  in  among  the  rattling  pavements,  where  a 
jaunty-seat  upon  a  coach  is  not  so  easy  to  pre- 
serve !  Yoho,  down  countless  turnings,  and 
through  countless  mazy  ways,  until  an  old  Inn- 
yard  is  gained,  and  Tom  Pinch,  getting  dowu, 
quite  stunned  and  giddy,  is  in  London  ! 

"Five  minutes  before  the  time,  too!"  said  the 
driver,  as  he  received  his  fee  of  Tom, 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  Tom,  "  I  should  not 
have  minded  very  much,  if  we  had  been  five  hours 
aflerk;  for  at  this  early  hour  I  don't  know  where 
to  go,  or  what  to  do  with  myself," 

"  Don't  they  expect  you  then  ?"  inquired  the 
driver, 

"Who?"  said  Tom, 

"  Why,  them,"  returned  the  driver. 

His  mind  was  so  clearly  running  on  the  assumj. 
tion  of  Tom's  having  come  to  town  to  see  an  ex 
tensive  circle  of  anxious  relations  and  friends, 
that  it  would  hnve  been  pretty  hard  work  to  un 
deceive  him.     Tom  did  not  try.     He  cheerfuUy 


220 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


evaded  the  subject,  and  going  into  the  Inn  fell 
fast  asleep  betorc  a  fire  in  one  of  the  [jublic  rooms 
opening  from  the  yard.  When  he  awoke,  the 
people  in  the  house  were  all  astir,  so  he  washed 
and  dressed  himself;  to  his  great  refreshment 
after  the  journey ;  and,  it  being  by  that  time 
eight  o'clock,  went  forth  at  once  to  see  his  old 
friend  John. 

John  Westlock  lived  in  Furnivdl's  Inn,  High 
Holborn,  which  was  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour's 
walk  of  Tom's  starting  point,  but  seemed  a  long 
way  off,  by  reason  of  his  going  two  or  three  miles 
out  of  the  straight  road  to  make  a  sliort  cut. 
When  at  last  he  arrived  outside  John's  door,  two 
stories  up,  he  stood  faltering  with  his  hand  upon 
the  knocker,  and  trembled  from  head  to  foot.  For 
he  was  rendered  very  nervous  by  the  thought  of 
having  to  relate  what  had  fallen  out  between  him- 
self and  Pecksniff;  and  he  had  a  misgiving  that 
John  would  exult  fearfully  in  the  disclosure. 

"  But  it  must  be  made,"  tiiought  Tom,  "  sooner 
or  later ;  and  I  had  better  get  it  over." 

Rat  tat. 

"I  am  afraid  that's  not  a  London  knock," 
thought  Tom.  "It  didn't  sound  bold.  Perhaps 
that's  the  reason  why  nobody  answers  tlie  door." 

It  is  quite  certain  that  nobody  came,  and  that 
Tom  stood  looking  at  the  knocker :  wondering 
whereabouts  in  the  neighbourhood  a  certain  gen- 
tleman resided,  who  was  roaring  out  to  somebody 
"Come  in  !"  with  all  his  might. 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  thought  Tom  at  last.  "  Per- 
haps he  lives  here,  and  is  calling  to  me.  I  never 
thought  of  that.  Can  I  open  tlie  door  from  the 
outside,  I  wonder.     Yes,  to  be  sure  I  can." 

To  be  sure  he  could,  by  turninfir  the  handle: 
and  to  be  sure  when  he  did  turn  it,  the  same  voice 
came  rushing  out,  crying  "  Why  don't  you  corne 
in?  Come  in,  do  you  hear?  What  are  you 
standing  there  for?"  quite  violently. 

Tom  stepped  from  the  little  passage  into  the 
room  from  which  these  sounds  proceeded,  and  had 
barely  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  gentleman  in  a 
dressing-gown  and  slippers  (with  his  boots  beside 
him  ready  to  put  on),  sitting  at  his  breakfast  with 
a  newspaper  in  his  hand,  when  the  said  gentle- 
man, at  the  imminent  hazard  of  oversetting  his  tea 
table,  made  a  plunge  at  Tom,  and  hugged  him. 

"  Why,  Tom,  my  boy  !"  cried  the  gentleman. 
"  Tom  I" 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  see  you,  Mr,  Westlock  !" 
said  'I'om  Pinch,  shaking  both  his  hands,  and 
trembling  more  than  ever.  "  How  kind  you  are  !" 

"Mr.  Westlock!"  repeated  John,  "  what  do 
you  mean  by  that.  Pinch  ?  You  have  not  forgot- 
ten my  Christian  name,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No  John,  no.  I  have  not  forgotten  it,"  said 
Thomas  Pinch.  "  Good  gracious  me,  how  kind 
you  are  !" 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  fellow  in  all  my  life  !" 
cncd  John.  "  What  do  you  mean  by  saying  that 
over  and  over  again  ?  WiiJit  did  you  expect  me  to 
be,  I  u'Mider'  Here,  sit  down  Tom,  and  be  a 
reasonat  "e  creature.  How  are  you,  my  hoy?  I 
om  delig^-t('d  to  sec  you  I" 

"And  .   im  delighted  to  see  ymi,"  said  Tom. 

"  It 's  niLtual  of  course,"  rrlurned- John.  "  It 
•  iways  wr.a,  '  hope  If  I  had  known  you  had 
oeen  coming  Tom,  I  would  have  had  something 
St  break  fas'      I  would   rather  have  such  a  sur- 


prise  than  the  best  breakfast  in  the  world,  myself 
but  yours  is  another  case,  and  I  have  no  doubt 
you  are  as  hungry  as  a  hunter.  You  must  make 
out  as  well  as  3'ou  can,  Tom,  and  we  '11  recom- 
pense ourselves  at  dinner  time.  You  take  sugar 
I  know  :  I  recollect  the  sugar  at  Pecksniff's.  Ha, 
ha,  ha!  How  is  Pecksniff?  When  did  you  comf; 
to  town  ?  Do  begin  at  something  or  other,  Tom. 
There  are  only  scraps  here,  but  they  are  not  at 
all  had.  Boar's  Head  potted.  Try  it  Tom  !  Make 
a  beginning  whatever  you  do.  What  an  old 
Blade  you  are!     I  am  delighted  to  see  you." 

While  he  delivered  himself  of  these  words  in  a 
state  of  great  commotion,  John  was  constantly 
running  backwards  and  forwards  to  and  from  the 
closet,  bringing  out  all  sorts  of  things  in  pots, 
scooping  extraordinary  quantities  of  tea  out  of  the 
caddy,  dropping  French  rolls  into  his  boots,  pour- 
ing hot  water  over  tlie  butter,  and  making  a  va- 
riety of  similar  mistakes  without  disconcerting 
himself  in  the  least. 

"There  I"  said  John,  sitting  down  for  the  filli 
eth  time,  and  instantly  starting  up  again  to  make 
some  otlier  addition  to  the  breakfast.  "  Now  we 
are  as  well  off  as  we  are  likely  to  be  till  dinner. 
And  now  let  us  have  the  news  Tom.  Imprimis, 
How  's  Pecksniff?" 

"  I  don't  know  how  he  is,"  was  Tom's  grave 
answer. 

.Tohn  Westlock  put  the  tea-pot  down,  and  look- 
ed at  him,  in  astonishment. 

"  I  don't  know  how  he  is,"  said  Thomas  Pinch  , 
"and  saving  that  I  wish  him  no  ill,  I  don't  care. 
I  have  left  him,  .lohn.     I  have  left  him  for  ever." 

"  Voluntarily  ?" 

"  Why  no,  for  he  dismissed  me.  But  I  had 
first  found  out  that  I  was  mistaken  in  him;  and 
I  could  not  have  remained  with  him  under  any 
circumstances.  I  grieve  to  say  that  you  were 
right  in  your  estimate  of  his  character.  It  may 
be  a  ridiculous  weakness,  John,  but  it  has  been 
very  painful  and  bitter  to  me  to  find  this  out,  I  do 
assure  you." 

Tom  had  no  need  to  direct  that  appealing  look 
towards  his  tVicnd,  in  mild  and  gentle  deprecation 
of  his  answering  with  a  laugh.  John  Westlock 
would  as  soon  have  thought  of  striking  him  down 
upon  the  floor. 

"  It  was  all  a  dream  of  mine,"  said  Tom,  "  and 
it  is  over.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  happened,  at  some 
other  time.  Bear  with  my  folly,  John.  I  donoi, 
just  now,  like  to  think  or  speak  about  it." 

"  I  swear  to  you,  Tom,"  returned  his  friend, 
with  great  earnestness  of  manner,  after  remain, 
ing  silent  for  a  few  moments,  "  that  when  I  see, 
as  I  do  now,  how  deeply  you  feel  this,  I  don't 
know  whether  to  bo  glad  or  sorry,  that  you  have 
made  the  discovery  at  last.  I  reproach  myself 
with  the  thought  that  I  ever  jested  on  the  sub- 
ject; I  ought  to  have  known  better." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Tom,  extending  his 
hand,  "  it  is  very  generous  and  gallant  in  you  tc 
receive  me  and  my  disclosure  in  this  spirit;  it 
niak(!s  me  blush  to  think  that  I  should  have  felt  a 
moment's  uneasiness  as  I  came  along.  You  can't 
think  what  a  weight  is  lifted  off  my  mind,"  said 
Tom,  taking  up  his  knife  and  fork  again,  and 
lookiuir  very  cheerful.  "  I  shall  punish  the  Boar'* 
Mend  dreadfully," 

The  host,  thus  reminded  of  his  duties,  instantly 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


22! 


betook  himself  to  piling  up  all  kinds  of  irrecon- 
cilable and  contradictory  viands  in  Tom's  plate, 
and  a  very  capital  breakfast  Tom  made,  and  very 
much  the  better  tor  it,  Tom  felt. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  John,  after  contem- 
plating  liis  visitor's  proceedings  with  infinite  sat- 
isfaction. "  Now,  about  our  plans.  You  are 
going  to  stay  with  nie,  of  course.  Where's  your 
box  ?" 

"It's  at  the  Inn,"  said  Tom.  "I  didn't  in- 
tend  ."  . 

"Never  mind  what  you  didn't  intend,"  John 
Westlock  interposed.  "  What  you  did  intend  is 
more  to  tlie  purpose.  You  intended,  in  coming 
here,  to  ask  my  advice,  did  you  not  Tom  ?" 

"Certainly." 

"  And  to  take  it  when  I  gave  it  to  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Tom,  smiling,  "  if  it  were  good 
advice,  which,  being  yours,  I  have  no  doubt  it 
will  be." 

"  Very  well.  Then  don't  be  an  obstinate  old 
humbug  in  the  outset,  Tom,  or  I  shall  shut  up 
shop  and  dispense  none  of  that  invaluable  com- 
modity. You  are  on  a  visit  to  me.  I  wisli  I  had 
an  organ  for  you,  Tom  !" 

"  So  do  the  gentlemen  down  stairs,  and  the  gen- 
tlemen overhead,  I  have  no  doubt,"  was  Tom's 
reply. 

"  Let  me  see.  In  the  first  place,  you  will  wish 
to  see  your  sister  this  morning,"  pursued  his 
friend,  "and  of  course  you  will  like  to  go  there 
alone.  I  '11  walk  part  of  the  way  with  you ;  and 
ice  about  a  little  business  of  my  own,  and  meet 
you  here  qgain  in  the  afternoon.  Put  that  in 
your  pocket,  Tom.  It's  only  the  key  of  the  door. 
If  you  come  home  first,  you  '11  want  it." 

"Really,"  said  Tom,  "quartering  one's  self 
upon  a  triend  in  this  way — " 

"  Why,  there  are  two  keys,"  interposed  John 
Westlock.  "  I  can't  open  the  door  with  them 
both  at  once,  c;.n  I  ?  What  a  ridiculous  fellow 
you  are,  Tom !  Nothing  particular  you  'd  like 
tor  dinner,  is  there  ?" 

"Oh  dear  no,"  said  Tom. 

"Very  well,  then  you  may  as  well  leave  it  to 
me.     Have  a  glass  of  cherry  brandy,  Tom  ?" 

"  Not  a  drop !  What  remarkable  chambers 
these  are?"  said  Pinch,  "there's  everything  in 
'em  !" 

"  Bless  your  soul,  Tom,  nothing  but  a  few 
bachelor  contrivances  1  the  sort  of  impromptu  ar- 
rangements that  might  have  suggested  themselves 
to  Philip  Quarll  or  Robinson  Crusoe:  that's  all. 
What  do  you  say  ?  Shall  we  walk  ? 

"  By  all  means,"  cried  Tom.  "  As  soon  as  you 
like." 

Accordingly,  John  Westlock  took  the  French 
rolls  out  of  his  boots,  and  put  his  boots  on,  and 
dressed  himself:  giving  Tom  the  paper  to  read  in 
the  mearwhile.  When  he  returned,  equipped  for 
walking,  he  found  Tom  in  a  brown  study  with  the 
paper  in  his  hand. 

"  Dreaming,  Tom  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Pinch,  "  No.  I  have  been 
loo'^ing  over  the  advertising  sheet,  thinking  there 
:night  be  something  in  it,  which  would  be  likely 
tn  suit  me.  But,  as  I  often  think,  the  strange 
thing  seems  to  be  that  nobody  is  suited.  Here  are 
all  kinds  of  employers  WHnting  all  sorts  of  ser-  ; 
'ants,  dnd  all  sorts  of  servants  wanting  all  kinds  ^ 


of  employers,  and  they  never  seem  to  come  to- 
gether. Here  is  a  gentleman  in  a  public  office  in 
a  position  of  temporary  ditiiculty  who  wants  to 
borrow  five  hundred  pounds;  and  in  the  very  next 
advertisement  here  is  another  gentleman  who  has 
got  exactly  that  sum  to  lend.  But  he  '11  never 
lend  it  to  him,  John,  you '11, find.  Here  is  a  ladv 
possessing  a  moderate  independence,  who  wants  to 
board  and  lodge  with  a  quiet,  cheerful  family ; 
and  here  is  a  family  describing  themselves  in 
those  very  words,  'a  quiet,  cheerful  family,'  who 
want  exactly  such  a  lady  to  come  and  live  with 
them.  But  she  'II  never  go,  John.  Neither  do 
any  of  these  single  gentlemen  who  want  an  airy 
bedroom,  with  the  occasional  use  of  a  parlour, 
ever  appear  to  come  to  terms  with  these  other 
people  who  live  in  a  rural  situation,  remarkable 
for  its  bracing  atmosphere,  within  five  minutes' 
walk  of  the  Royal  Exchange.  Even  those  letters 
of  the  alphabet,  who  are  always  running  away 
from  their  friends  and  being  entreated  at  t'he  tops 
of  columns  to  come  back,  never  do  come  back,  if 
we  may  judge  from  the  number  of  times  they  are 
asked  to  do  it,  and  don't.  It  really  seems,"  said 
Tom,  relinquishing  the  paper,  with  a  thoughtful 
sigh,  "as  if  people  had  the  same  gratification  in 
printing  their  complaints  as  in  making  them 
known  by  word  of  mouth  ;  as  if  they  found  it  a 
comfort  and  consolation  to  proclaim  '  I  want  such 
and  such  a  thing,  and  I  can't  get  it,  and  I  don't 
expect  I  ever  shall  !'  " 

John  Westlock  laughed  at  the  idea,  and  they 
went  out  together.  So  many  years  had  passed 
since  Tom  was  last  in  London,  and  he  had  known 
so  little  of  it  then,  that  his  interest  in  all  he  saw 
was  very  great.  He  was  particularly  anxious, 
among  other  notorious  localities,  to  have  those 
streets  pointed  out  to  him  which  were  appropriated 
to  the  slaughter  of  countrymen ;  and  was  quite 
disappointed  to  find,  after  half-an-hour's  walking, 
that  he  hadn't  had  his  pocket  picked.  But  on 
John  Westlock's  inventing  a  pickpocket  for  his 
gratification,  and  pointing  out  a  highly  respecta- 
ble stranger  as  one  of  that  fraternity,  he  was  much 
delighted. 

His  friend  accompanied  him  to  within  a  short 
distance  of  Camberwell,  and  having  put  him  be- 
yond the  possibility  of  mistaking  the  wealthy 
brass-and-copper  founder's,  left  him  to  make  his 
visit.  Arriving  before  the  great  bell-handle,  Tom 
gave  it  a  gentle  pull.     The  porter  appeared. 

"  Pray  does  Miss  Pinch  live  here  ?"  said  Tom 

"  Miss  Pinch  is  Governess  here,"  replied  the 
porter. 

At  the  same  time  he  looked  at  Tom  from  head 
to  foot,  as  if  he  would  have  said,  '  You  are  a  nice 
man,  you  are  ;  where  did  you  come  from  I' 

"  It 's  the  same  young  lady,"  said  Tom.  "  It's 
quite  right.     Is  she  at  home  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  rejoined  the  porter. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  have  the  goodness  to 
ascertain  ?"  said  Tom.  He  had  quite  a  delicacy 
in  offering  the  suggestion,  for  the  possibilitv  ofsuch 
a  step  did  not  appear  to  present  itself  to  the  por- 
ter's mind  at  all. 

The  fact  was  that  the  porter  in  answering  the 
gate-bell  had,  according  to  usage,  rang  the  house- 
bell  (for  it  is  as  well  to  do  these  things  in  the 
Baronial  style  while  ynu  are  about  it),  and  that 
there  the  functions  of  his  ofKce  had  ceased.     Be 


222 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


'ng  hired  to  open  and  shut  the  i?ate,  and  not  to 
explain  himself  to  strangers,  he  left  this  little  in- 
cident to  be  developed  by  the  footman  with  the 
tags,  who,  at  this  juncture,  called  out  from  the  door 
eteps : 

"  Hollo,  there  !  wot  are  you  up  to  I  This  way, 
young  man ! 

"  Oh  !"  said  Tom,  hurrying  towards  him.  "  I 
didn't  observe  that  there  was  anybody  else.  Pray 
is  Miss  Pinch  at  home  ?" 

"She's  in,"  replied  the  footman.  As  much  as 
to  say  to  Tom  :  '  But  if  you  think  she  has  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  proprietorship  of  tliis  place, 
foa  had  better  abandon  that  idea.' 

'*  1  wish  to  see  her  if  you  please,"  said  Tom. 
The  footman  being  a  lively  young  man,  hap- 
pened to  have  his  attention  caught  at  that  moment 
by  the  flight  of  a  pigeon,  in  which  he  took  so 
warm  an  interest,  that  his  gaze  was  riveted  on 
the  bird  until  it  was  quite  out  of  sight.  He  then 
invited  Tom  to  come  in,  and  showed  him  into  a 
parlour. 

"  Hany  neem  ?"  said  the  young  man,  pausing 
languidly  at  the  door. 

It  was  a  good  thought :  because  without  pro- 
viding the  stranger,  in  case  he  should  happen  to 
be  of  warm  temper,  with  a  sufficient  excuse  for 
knocking  him  down,  it  implied  this  young  man's 
estimate  of  his  quality,  and  relieved  his  breast  of 
the  oppressive  burden  of  rating  him  in  secret  as  a 
nameless  and  obscure  individual. 

"Say  her  brother,  if  you  please,"  said  Tom. 
"  Motiier  ?"  drawled  the  footman. 
"  Brother,"  repeated  Tom,  slightly  raising  his 
voice.  "And  if  you  will  say,  in  the  first  instance, 
a  gentleman,  and  then  say  her  brother,  I  shall  be 
obliged  to  you,  as  she  does  not  expect  me,  or 
know  I  am  in  London,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  startle 
her." 

The  young  man's  interest  in  Tom's  observations 
had  ceased  long  before  this  time,  but  he  kindly 
waited  until  now ;  when  shutting  the  door,  he 
withdrew. 

"Dear  me!"  said  Tom.  "This  is  very  disre- 
spectful and  uncivil  behaviour.  I  hope  these  are 
new  servants  here,  and  that  Ruth  is  very  different- 
ly treated." 

His  cogitations  were  interrupted  by  the  sound 
of  voices  in  the  adjoining  room.  They  seemed  to 
be  engaged  in  high  dispute,  or  in  indignant  repri- 
mand of  some'  offender ;  and  gathering  strength 
occasionally,  broke  out  into  a  perfect  whirlwind. 
It  was  in  one  of  these  gusts,  as  it  appeared  to 
Tom,  that  the  footman  announced  him  ;  for  an 
abrupt  and  unnatural  calm  took  place,  and  then  a 
dead  .silence.  He  was  standing  before  the  win- 
dow, wondering  what  domestic  quarrel  might  have 
caused  these  sounds,  and  hoping  Ruth  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  when  the  door  opened,  and  his  sister 
ran  into  his  arms. 

"Why,  bless  my  soul!"  said  Tom,  looking  at 
her  will,  great  p'-ide,  whi  n  lliey  had  tenderly  cm- 
braced  each  other,  "how  altered  you  are,  Ruth! 
I  should  scarcely  have  known  you,  rny  love,  if  I 
had  seen  you  anywhere  else,  I  declare!  You  are 
n«i  improved,"  said  Toin,  with  inexpressible  de- 
i.if  ht :  "you  are  so  womanly;  you  are  so  —  posi- 
•.ivrlv,  yod  know,  ymi  arc  no  liaiidsome  !" 
"  ]\'  i/iiit  lliitik  so,  'I'om — " 
"Oh,  but  everybody  must  think  so,  you  know," 


said  Tom,  gently  smoothing  down  her  hair,  "It's 
matter  of  fuct;  not  opinion.  But  what's  the  mat 
tcr?"  said  'lorn,  looking  at  her  more  intentlv, 
"how  flushed  you  are  !  and  you  have  been  crying." 

"No,  I  have  not,  Tom." 

"  Nonsense,"  said  her  brother  stoutly.  "  That's 
a  story.  Don't  tell  tne  !  I  know  better  What  is 
it,  dear?  I'm  not  with  Mr.  Pecksniff"  now;  I  am 
going  to  try  and  settle  myself  in  London;  and  if 
you  are  not  happy  here  (as  I  very  much  fear  you 
are  not,  for  I  begin  to  think  you  have  been  deceiv- 
ing  me  with  the  kindest  and  most  affectionate  in- 
tention) you  shall  not  remain  here." 

Oh  !  Tom's  blood  was  rising;  mind  that  Per- 
haps tlie  Boar's  Head  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  but  certainly  the  footman  had.  So  had  the  sight 
of  his  pretty  sister  —  a  great  deal  to  do  with  it. 
Tom  could  bear  a  good  deal  himself,  but  he  was 
proud  of  her,  and  pride  is  a  sensitive  thing.  He 
began  to  think,  "  there  are  more  Pecksniff''s  than 
one,  perhaps,"  and  by  all  the  pins  and  needles  that 
run  up  and  down  in  angry  veins,  Tom  was  in  a 
most  unusual  tingle  all  at  once. 

"  We  will  talk  about  it,  Tom,"  said  Ruth,  giv. 
ing  him  another  kiss  to  pacify  him.  "I  am  afraid 
I  cannot  stay  here." 

"Cannot!"  replied  Tom.  "Why  then,  you  shall 
not,  rny  love.  Heyday  !  You  are  not  an  object  of 
charity  !  Upon  my  word  !" 

Torn  was  stopped  in  these  exclamations  by  the 
footman,  who  brought  a  message  from  his  master 
importing  that  he  wished  to  speak  with  him  be- 
fore he  went,  and  with  Miss  Pinch  also. 

"Show  the  way,"  said  Tom.  "  I'll  wait  ujwn 
him  at  once." 

Accordingly  they  entered  the  adjoining  room 
from  which  the  noise  of  altercation  had  proceeded  ; 
and  there  tliey  found  a  middle-aged  gentleniiin, 
with  a  pompous  voice  and  manner,  and  a  middle- 
aged  lady,  with  what  may  be  termed  an  excise- 
able  face,  or  one  in  which  starch  and  vinegir 
were  decidedly  employed.  There  was  likewise 
present  that  eldest  pupil  of  Aliss  PiiK-li,  wlidm 
Mrs.  Todgers,  on  a  previous  occasion,  had  called 
a  syrup,  and  who  was  now  weeping  aid  sobbing 
spitefully. 

"  My  brother,  sir,"  said  Ruth  Pincn,  limidly 
presenting  Tom. 

"  Oil !"  cried  the  gentleman,  surveying  Tom 
attentively.  "You  really  are  Miss  Pinch's  brother, 
I  presume  ?  You  will  excuse  my  asking.  I  don't 
observe  any  resemblance." 

"  Miss  Pinch  has  a  brother,  I  know,"  observed 
the  lady. 

"  Miss  Pinch  is  always  talking  about  her  bro. 
ther,  when  she  ought  to  be  engaged  upon  nif 
education,"  sobbed  the  pupil. 

"Sophia!  Hold  your  tongue!"  observed  the 
gentleman.  "Sit  down,  if  you  please,"  addressing 
Torn. 

Tom  sat  down,  looking  from  one  face  to  an- 
other, in  mute  surprise. 

"Remain  here,  if  you  please.  Miss  Pinch," 
pursued  the  gentleman,  looking  slightly  over  his 
shoulder. 

Tom  interrupted  him  here,  by  rising  to  placa 
a  chair  for  his  sister.  Having  done  which,  he  sal 
down  apnin. 

"  I  am  glad  you  chance  to  have  called  to  see 
your  sister  to-day,  sir,"  resumed  the  brass  and  cop- 


MARTTN   C  FiaZZLEVVIT. 


22» 


per  founder  "  For  although  I  do  not  approve,  as  | 
a  oriiiciple,  of  any  young  person  engaged  in  my 
family,  in  the  capacity  of  a  governess,  receiving 
nsitors,  it  liappens  in  this  case  to  be  well-timed. 
I  am  sorry  to  inform  you  that  we  are  not  at  all 
Batisfied  with  your  sister." 

"  We  are  very  much  6?issatisfied  with  her,"  ob- 
■erved  the  lady. 

"  I'd  never  say  another  lesson  to  Miss  Pinch  if 
1  was  to  be  beat  to  death  for  it !"  sobbed  the  pupil. 

"Sophia!"  cried  her  father.  "Hold  your 
tongue  !" 

"Will  you  allow  me  to  inquire  what  your 
ground  of  dissatisfaction  is?"  asked  Tom. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  will.  I  don't 
recognise  it  as  a  right;  but  I  will.  Your  sister 
has  not  the  slightest  innate  power  of  commanding 
respect.  It  has  been  a  constant  source  of  differ- 
ence between  us.  Altliough  she  lias  been  in  this 
family  for  some  time,  and  although  the  young  lady 
who  is  now  present,  has  almost,  as  it  were,  grown 
up  under  her  tuition,  that  young  lady  has  no 
respect  for  her.  Miss  Pinch  has  been  perfectly 
unable  to  command  my  daughter's  respect,  or  to 
win  my  daughter's  confidence.  Now,"  said  the 
gentleman,  allowing  the  p:ilm  of  his  hand  to  fill 
gravely  down  upon  thf;  table:  "I  maintain  that 
there  js  something  radically  wrong  in  that !  You, 
as  her  brother,  may  be  disposed  to  deny  it — " 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Tom.  "I  am 
not  at  all  disposed  to  deny  it.  I  am  sure  that 
there  is  something  radically  wrong:  radically 
monstrous :  in  that." 

"Good  Heavens  !"  cried  the  gentleman,  looking 
round  the  room  with  dignity,  "  what  do  I  find  to 
be  the  case !  what  results  obtrude  themselves 
upon  me  as  flowing  from  this  weakness  of  charac- 
ter on  the  part  of  Miss  Pinch  !  What  are  my  feel- 
ings as  a  fatliLT,  when,  after  my  desire  (repeatedly 
e.xpressed  to  Miss  Pinch,  as  I  tiiink  she  will  not 
venture  to  deny)  that  my  daughter  should  be 
choice  in  her  expressions,  genteel  in  her  deport- 
ment, as  becomes  her  station  in  life,  and  politely 
distant  to  her  inferiors  in  society,  I  find  her,  only 
this  very  morning,  addressing  Miss  Pinch  herself, 
as  a  beggar  I" 

"  A  beggarly  thing,"  observed  the  lady,  in  cor- 
rection. 

"  Which  is  worse,"  said  the  gentleman,  tri- 
umphantly ;  "  which  is  worse.  A  beggarly  thing  ! 
A  low,  coarse,  despicable  expression  I" 

"  Most  despicable,"  cticd  Tom.  "  I  am  glad  to 
find  that  there  is  a  just  appreciation  of  it  here." 

"So  just,  sir,"  said  the  gentleman,  lowering  his 
voice  to  be  tiie  more  impressive.  "So  just,  that, 
but  for  my  knowing  Miss  Pinch  to  be  an  unpro- 
tected young  person,  an  orphan,  and  without 
friends,  I  would,  as  I  assured  Miss  Pinch,  upon 
my  veracity  and  personal  character,  a  few  minutes 
ago,  I  would  have  severed  the  connection  between 
us  at  that  moment  and  from  that  time." 

"  Bless  my  soul,  sir  !"  cried  Tom,  rising  from 
his  seat ;  for  he  was  now  unable  to  contain  him- 
self any  longer;  "don't  allow  such  considerations 
as  those  to  influence  you,  pray.  They  don't  exist, 
sir.  Siie  is  not  unprotected.  She  is  ready  to  de- 
part this  instant,  Ruth,  my  dear,  get  your  bon- 
aet  on !" 

•* Oh,  a  pretty  family  !"  cried  the  kdy.     "Oh, 


he's    her    brother  1      There's    no    doubt    about 
that !" 

"As  little  doubt,  madam,"  said  Tom,  "as  thai 
the  young  lady  yonder  is  the  child  of  your  teaeli- 
ing,  and  not  my  sister's.  Ruth,  my  dear,  get  your 
bonnet  on  !" 

"  When  you  say,  young  man,"  interposed  tlie 
brass-and-copper  founder,  haughtily,  "  with  that 
impertinence  which  is  natural  to  you,  and  which 
I  therefore  do  not  condescend  to  notice  further, 
that  the  young  lady,  my  eldest  daughter,  has  been 
educated  by  any  one  but  Miss  Pinch,  you — 1 
needn't  proceed.  You  comprehend  me  fully.  1 
htfve  no  doubt  you  are  used  to  it." 

"  Sir !"  cried  Tom,  after  regarding  him  in 
silence  for  some  little  time.  "If you  do  not  un- 
derstand what  I  mean,  I  will  tell  you.  If  you  do 
understand  what  I  mean,  I  beg  you  not  to  repeat 
that  mode  of  expressing  yourself  in  answer  to  it. 
My  meaning  is,  that  no  man  can  expect  his 
children  to  respect  what  he  degrades." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !"  laughed  the  gentleman.  "Cant! 
cant!  The  common  cant !" 

"  The  common  story,  sir  !"  said  Tom  ;  "  the 
story  of  a  common  mind.  Your  governess  can- 
not win  the  confidence  and  respect  of  your  chil 
dren,  forsooth  !  Let  her  begin  by  winning  yours 
and  see  what  happens  then." 

"  Miss  Pinch  is  getting  her  bonnet  on,  I  trust 
my  dear?"  said  the  gentleman, 

"  I  trust  she  is,"  said  Tom,  forestalling  the  re- 
ply. "  I  have  no  doubt  she  is.  In  the  meantime, 
I  address  myself  to  you,  sir.  You  made  youi 
statement  to  me,  sir ;  you  required  to  see  me  for 
that  purpose;  and  I  have  a  right  to  answer  it.  I 
am  not  loud  or  turbulent,"  said  Tom,  which  was 
quite  true,  "  though  I  can  scarcely  say  as  much 
for  you,  in  your  manner  of  addressing  yourself  to 
me.  And  I  wish,  on  my  sister's  behalf,  to  state 
the  simple  truth." 

"  You  may  state  anything  you  like,  yaung 
man,"  returned  the  gentleman,  affecting  to  yawn 
"  My  dear  !    Miss  Pinch's  money." 

"  When  you  tell  me,"  resumed  Tom,  who  was 
not  the  less  indignant  for  keeping  himself  quiet, 
"  that  my  sister  has  no  innate  power  of  com- 
manding the  respect  of  your  children,  I  must  tell 
you  it  is  not  so;  and  that  slie  has.  She  is  as  well 
bred,  as  well  taught,  as  well  qualified  by  nature 
to  command  respect,  as  any  hirer  of  a  governess 
you  know.  But  when  you  place  her  at  a  disad- 
vantage in  reference  to  every  servant  in  your 
house,  how  can  you  suppose,  if  you  have  the  git> 
of  common  sense,  that  she  is  not  in  a  tenlold 
worse  position  in  reference  to  your  daughters  ?" 

"  Pretty  well  I  Upon  my  word,"  exclaimed  the 
gentleman,  "  this  is  pretty  well  !" 

"  It  is  very  ill,  sir,"  said  Tom.  "  It  is  very  bad 
and  mean,  and  wrong  and  cruel.  Respect '  I 
believe  young  people  are  quick  enough  to  obser«e 
and  imitate;  and  why  or  how  should  they  respeM 
whom  no  one  else  respects,  and  every  bou_)  slights  ' 
And  very  partial  they  must  grow:  oh,  very  par 
tial :  to  their  studies,  wiien  they  see  to  what  a 
pass  proficiency  in  those  same  tasks  lias  brought 
their  governess!  Respect!  Put  anything  the 
most  deserving  of  respect  before  your  daugiittrb 
in  the  light  in  which  you  place  her,  and  you  wji 
bring  it  down  as  low,  no  matter  what  it  is  '** 


224 


LIFE   AND   ADVKNTURES   OF 


"  You  speak  with  extreme  impertinence,  young 
man,"  observed  the  gentleman. 

"I  speak  without  passion,  but  with  extreme  in- 
dignation and  contempt  tor  such  a  course  of  treat- 
ment, and  for  ail  who  practise  it,"  said  'I'om. 
"Why,  how  can  you,  as  an  lionest  gentleman, 
profess  displeasure  or  surprise,  at  your  daugiitcr 
telling  my  sister  siie  is  sometliing  beggarly  and 
liunibie,  when  you  are  for  ever  telling  her  the 
same  thing  yourself  in  filly  plain,  out-speaking 
ways,  lh(-ugh  not  in  words  ;  and  when  your  very 
porter  and  footman  make  the  same  delicate  an- 
nouncement to  all  comers  ?  As  to  your  suspicion 
and  distrust  of  her:  even  of  her  word  :  if  she  is 
not  above  their  reach,  you  liave  no  right  to  employ 
her." 

"No  right  I"  crirdthe  brass-and-copper  founder. 

"  Distinctly  not,"  Tom  answered.  "  If  you 
imagine  that  the  payment  of  an  annual  sum  of 
money  givts  it  to  you,  you  immensely  exaggerate 
its  power  and  value.  Your  money  is  the  least 
part  of  your  bargain  in  such  a  case.  You  may 
be  punctual  in  that  to  half  a  second  on  the  clock, 
and  yet  be  Bankrupt.  I  have  nothing  more  to 
say,"  said  Tom,  much  flushed  and  flustered,  now 
that  it  was  over,  "except  to  crave  permission  to 
stand  in  your  garden  until  my  sister  is  ready." 

Not  waiting  to  obtain  it,  Tom  walked  out. 

Before  he  had  well  begun  to  cool,  his  sister 
joined  him.  S!ie  was  crying;  and  Tom  could 
not  bear  that  any  one  about  the  house  should  see 
her  doing  that. 

"They  will  think  you  are  sorry  to  go,"  said 
Tom.     "  You  are  not  sorry  to  go  ?" 

"  No,  Tom,  no.  I  have  been  anxious  to  go  for 
a  very  long  time." 

"  Very  well,  then  !    Don't  cry  I"  said  Tom. 

"  I  aia  so  sorry  for  you,  dear,"  sobbed  Tom's 
Biater. 

"  But  you  ought  to  be  glad  on  my  account," 
said  Tom.  "  I  shall  be  twice  as  hapjjy  with  you 
for  a  companion.  Hold  up  your  head.  There  I 
Now  we  go  out  as  we  ought.  Not  blustering, 
you  know,  but  firm  and  confident  in  ourselves." 

The  idea  of  Tom  and  his  sister  blustering, 
under  any  circumstances,  was  a  splendid  absur- 
dity. But  Tom  was  very  fiir  from  feeling  it  to  be 
so,  in  his  excitement;  and  passed  out  at  the  gate 
with  such  severe  determinatinn  written  in  his  face 
th;tt  the  porter  hardly  knew  him  again. 

It  was  not  until  they  had  walked  some  short 
distance,  and  Tom  found  himself  getting  cooler 
and  more  collected,  that  he  was  quite  restored  to 
himself  by  an  inquiry  from  his  sister,  who  said  in 
her  pleasant  little  voice  : 

"  Where  are  we  going,  Tom  ?" 

"  Dear  me  I"  said  Tom,  stopping,  "  I  don't 
know." 

"  Don't  you — don't  you  live  anywhere,  dear  ?" 
nsked  Tom's  sister,  looking  wistfully  in  his  face. 

"  No,"  said  Tom.  "  Not  at  present.  Not 
ox  ictly.  I  only  arrived  this  morning.  We  must 
'iav<i  some  lodijings." 

He  didn't  tdl  her  that  he  had  been  going  to 
stay  with  nis  fricnii  John,  and  could  on  no  ac- 
count think  of  billeting  two  inmates  upon  him,  of 
whom  one  was  a  young  lady  ;  for  lie  knew  that 
would  make  her  uncomfortable,  and  would  cause  her 
lO  regard  herself  as  being  an  inconvenience  to  him. 


Neither  did  he  like  to  leave  her  anywhere  wh'le 
he  called  on  John  and  told  him  of  this  cliange  in 
his  arrangements;  lor  he  was  delicate  of  seemiiig 
to  encroach  upon  the  generous  and  liospitable 
nature  of  his  friend.  Therefore  he  said  again, 
"  We  must  have  some  lodgings,  of  course  ;"  and 
said  it  as  stoutly  as  if  he  had  been  a  perlect 
Directory  and  Guide-Book  to  all  the  lodgings  in 
London. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  and  look  for  'em  ?"  said 
Tom,  "  What  do  you  think  .'" 

Tom's  sister  was  nut  much  wiser  on  such  a 
topic  than  he  was.  So  she  squeezed  her  little 
purse  into  his  coat-pocket,  and  iblding  the  little 
iiand  with  which  she  did  so  on  the  other  littlt 
hand  with  wliich  she  clasped  his  arm,  said  i\o 
tiling. 

"  It  ought  to  be  a  cheap  neighbourhood,"  said 
Tom,  "  and  not  too  far  Irom  London.  Let  me  see 
Should  you  think  Islington  a  good  place?" 

"  1  should  think  it  was  an  excellent  place, 
Tom  ?" 

"  It  used  to  be  called  Merry  Islington,  once 
upon  a  time,"  said  Tom.  "Perhaps  it's  merry 
now;  if  so,  it 's  all  the  better.     Eh  V" 

"  If  it's  not  too  dear,"  said  Tom's  sister. 

"Of  course,  if  it 's  not  too  dear,"  assented  Tom. 
"Well,  where  is  Islington.'  We  can't  do  belter 
than  go  there,  I  should  think.     Let's  go!" 

Tom'.s  sister  would  have  gone  anywhere  with 
him;  so  they  walked  oflT,  arm  in  arm,  as  comfort- 
ably as  possible.  Finding  presently  that  Islington 
was  not  in  that  neighbourhood,  Tom  made  inqui 
ries  respecting  a  public  conveyance  thither 
which  they  soon  obtained.  As  they  rode  along 
they  were  very  lull  of  conversation  indeed,  Tom 
relating  what  had  happened  to  him,  a-iid  Tom's 
sister  relating  what  had  happened  to  her,  and  both 
finding  a  great  deal  more  to  say  than  time  to  sty 
it  in  :  for  they  had  only  just  begun  to  talk,  in  com- 
parison  with  what  they  had  to  tell  each  othes, 
v/lien  they  reached  their  journey's  end. 

"  Now,"  said  Tom,  "we  must  first  look  out  tor 
some  very  unpretending'Ktreets,  and  then  look  cut 
for  bills  in  the  windows." 

So  they  walked  off  again,  quite  as  happily  as  if 
they  had  just  stepped  out  of  a  snug  little  boils' 
of  their  own,  to  look  for  lodgings  on  account  of 
somebody  else.  Tom's  simplicity  was  unabated, 
Heaven  knows;  but  now  that  he  had  somebody  to 
rely  upon  liim,  he  was  stimulated  to  rely  a  little 
more  upon  himself,  and  was,  in  his  own  opinion, 
quite  a  desperate  fellow. 

After  roaming  up  and  down  for  hours,  lookmg 
at  some  scores  of  lodgings,  they  began  to  find  it 
rather  fatiguing,  especially  as  they  saw  n.)ne 
which  were  at  all  adapted  to  their  purpose.  At 
length,  however,  in  a  singular  little  old-fashioned 
house,  up  a  blind  street,  they  discovered  two  small 
bed-rooms  and  a  triangular  parlour,  which  pro. 
mised  to  suit  Ihem  well  enough.  Their  desiring 
to  take  possession  immediately  was  a  suspicinui 
circumstance,  but  even  this  was  surmounted  by 
the  payment  of  their  first  week's  rent,  and  a  re. 
flrence  to  John  Westloek,  Esquire,  Furnival's 
Inn,  High  Holborn. 

All  !  It  was  a  goodly  sight,  when  this  imjwrt. 
ant  point  was  settled,  to  behold  Tom  and  his  sis- 
ter trotting  round  to  tlie  baker's,  and  the  butcher's 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEVVIT. 


22b 


and  fiic  ^locer's,  with  a  kind  of  dreadful  delight 
til  the  unaccustomed  cares  of  houseiieepiiig ;  tak- 
ing secret  counsel  toirether  as  they  gave  their 
small  orders,  and  distracted  by  the  least  sugges- 
tion on  tlie  part  of  the  shopkeeper!  Wiien  they 
gi/t  back  to  tlie  trianguhir  parlour,  and  Tom's  sis- 
ter, bustling  to  and  t'ro,  busy  about  a  thousand 
pl.:asaiit  notliings,  stopped  every  now  and  then 
jo  give  old  I'oin  a  kiss,  or  smile  upon  him; 
Tom  rubbed  liis  hands,  as  if  all  Islington  were 
(lis. 

It  was  late  in  the  ailernoon  now,  though,  and 
high  time  far  Tom  to  keep  his  appointment.  So, 
«tter  agreeing  with  his  sister  that  in  consideration 
of  not  Jiavijig  diiied,  they  would  venture  on  the 


extravagance  of  cliops  for  supper  at  nine,  he 
walked  out  again  to  narrate  these  marvello'ia 
occurrences  to  John. 

"  I  am  quite  a  family  man  all  at  once,"  tljough! 
Tom.  "  If  I  can  only  get  sometliiiig  to  rio,  hoi* 
comfortable  Ruth  and  I  may  be  !  All,  that  u"! 
But  it 's  of  no  use  to  despond.  I  can  hut  do  tint 
when  I  have  tried  everything  and  failed  ;  ;u;d 
even  then  it  won't  serve  me  much.  Upon  my 
word,"  thought  Tom,  quickening  his  pace,  "  I 
don't  know  what  John  will  think  has  become  of 
me.  He'll  begin  to  be  afraid  I  have  strayed  into 
one  of  those  streets  where  the  countrymen  are 
murdered ;  and  that  I  have  been  made  meat-pies 
of,  or  some  horrible  thing." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

TOM  PINCH,  GOING  ASTRAY,  FINDS  THAT  HE  IS  NOT  THE  ONLY  PERSON 
IN   THAT  PREDICAMENT.     HE  RETALIATES  UPON  A  FALLEN  FOE. 


Tom's  evil  genius  did  not  lead  him  into  the 
dens  of  any  of  those  preparers  of  cannibalic  pas- 
try, who  are  represented  in  many  standard  coun- 
try legends,  as  doing  a  lively  retail  business  in  the 
Metropolis ;  nor  did  it  mark  him  out  as  the  prey 
of  ring-droppers,  pea  and  thimble-riggers,  duft'ers, 
touters,  or  any  of  those  bloodless  sharpers,  who 
are,  perhaps,  a  little  better  known  to  the  Police. 
He  fell  into  conversation  with  no  gentleman,  who 
took  him  into  a  public-house,  where  there  hap- 
pened to  be  another  gentleman,  who  swore  he  had 
more  money  than  any  gentleman,  and  very  soon 
proved  he  had  more  money  than  one  gentleman, 
by  taking  his  away  from  him  :  neither  did  he 
fall  into  any  other  of  the  numerous  man-traps 
which  are  set  up,  without  notice,  in  the  public 
grounds  of  tliis  city.  But  he  lost  his  way.  He 
very  soon  did  that;  and  in  trying  to  find  it  again, 
he  lost  it  more  and  more. 

Now  Tom,  in  his  guileless  distrust  of  London, 
thought  himself  very  knowing  in  coming  to  the 
determination  that  he  would  not  ask  to  be  directed 
to  Furnival's  Inn.  if  he  could  help  it;  unless,  in- 
deed, he  shou'd  happen  to  find  himself  near  the 
Mint,  or  \he  Bank  of  England;  in  which  case,  he 
would  step  in,  and  ask  a  civil  question  or  two, 
confiding  in  the  perfect  respectability  of  the  con- 
cern. So  1)11  he  Went,  looking  up  all  the  streets 
he  came  near,  and  going  up  half  of  them  ;  and 
thus,  by  dint  of  not  being  true  to  Goswell  Street, 
and  filing  off  into  Aldermanbury,  and  bewildering 
himself  in  Barbicm,  and  being  constant  to  the 
wrong  point  of  tlie  compass  in  London  Wall,  and 
then  getting  himself  crosswise  into  Thames 
Street,  by  an  instinct  that  would  have  been  mar- 
vellous if  he  had  had  the  least  desire  or  reason  to 
en  there,  he  found  himself",  at  last,  hard  by  the 
Monument. 

The  Man  in  the  Monument  was  quite  as  mys- 
terious a  being  to  Tom  as  the  Man  in  the  Moon. 
It  immediately  occurred  to  him  that  the  lonely 
ereature  who  held  himself  aloof  from  all  man- 
20 


kind  in  that  pillar,  like  some  old  hermit,  was  the 
very  man  of  whom  to  ask  his  way.  Cold,  he 
might  be;  little  sympathy  he  had,  perhaps,  with 
human  passion — the  column  seemed  too  '.all  f!  r 
that ;  but  if  Truth  didn't  live  in  the  htiao  of  tlie 
Monument,  notwithstanding  Pope's  coujiUt  about 
the  outside  of  it,  where  in  London  (Tom  thought) 
was  she  likely  to  be  found ! 

Coming  close  below  the  pillar,  it  was  a  grnat 
encouragement  to  Tom  to  find  that  the  Man  in  tlse 
Monument  had  simple  tastes ;  that  stony  and  arti. 
ficial  as  his  residence  was,  he  still  preserved  sc  ne 
rustic  recollections;  that  he  liked  plants,  hung  up 
bird-cages,  was  not  wholly  cut  off  troui  fresh 
groundsel,  and  kept  young  trees  in  tiios.  Ttie 
Man  in  the  Monument,  himself,  was  silting  out- 
side  the  door — his  own  door  :  the  Monument, 
door;  what  a  grand  ideal — and  was  actually 
yawning,  as  if  there  were  no  Monument  to  stop 
liis  mouth,  and  give  him  a  perpetual  interest  in 
his  own  existence. 

Tom  was  advancing  towards  this  remarkable 
creature,  to  inquire  the  way  to  Furnivul's  Inn, 
when  two  people  came  to  see  the  MonumenL 
They  were  a  gentleman  and  a  lady ;  and  the 
gentleman  said,  "  How  much  a-piece  ?" 

The  Man  in  the  Monument  replied,  "A  Tanner." 

It  seemed  a  low  expression,  compared  with  t'^e 
Monument. 

The  gentleman  put  a  shilling  into  his  hand, 
and  the  Man  in  the  Monument  opened  a  dark  lit- 
tle door.  When  the  gentleman  and  lady  had 
passed  out  of  view,  he  shut  it  again,  and  carne 
slowly  back  to  his  chair. 

He  sat  down  and  laughed. 

"  They  don't  know  what  a  many  steps  there 
is  I"  he  said.  "  It 's  worth  twice  the  money  to  stop 
here.     Oh,  my  eye  !" 

The  Man  in  the  Monument  was  a  Cynic  ;  a 
worldly  man  !  Tom  couldn't  ask  his  way  of  him. 
He  was  prepared  to  put  no  confidence  in  anytlunj 
he  saia. 


226 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


•My  Gracious!"  cried  a  well-known  voice  be- 
hind Mr.  Pinch.     "  Why,  to  be  sure  it  is  I" 

At  the  same  time  he  was  poked  in  the  back  by 
&  parasol.  Turning-  round  to  inquire  into  tliis 
■aJute,  he  beheld  the  eldest  daughter  of  his  late 
jm'ron 

"  Miss  Pecksniff!"  said  Tom. 

"  Why,  tny  goodness,  Mr.  Pinch  !"  cried  Cherry. 
"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?" 

"  I  have  rather  wandered  from  my  way,"  said 
Tom.     "I—" 

"  I  hope  you  have  run  away,"  said  Charity.  "  It 
would  be  quite  spirited  and  proper  if  you  had, 
when  my  Papa  so  far  forgets  himself." 

"  I  have  lefl  him,"  returned  Tom.  "  But  it  was 
perfectly  understood  on  Loth  sides.  It  vias  not 
done  clandestinely." 

"  Is  he  married  ?"  asked  Cherry,  with  a  spas- 
modic shake  of  her  chin. 

"No,  not  yet,"  said  Tom,  colouring:  "to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  don't  think  he  is  likely  to  be,  if — 
if  Miss  Graham  is  the  object  of  his  passion." 

"Tcha,  Mr.  Pinch  I"  cried  Charity,  with  sharp 
impatience,  ■"you''re  very  easily  deceived.  You 
don't  know  the  arts  of  which  such  a  creature  is 
capable.     Oh  J  ifs  a  wicked  world." 

"You  are  ixrt  married  ?"  Tom  hinted,  to  divert 
the  conversatiosQ. 

"  No — no  I"  said  Cherry,  tracing  nut  one  parti- 
cular paving  stone  in  Monument  Yard  with  the 
end  of  her  paraso2.  "  I — but  really  it's  (jiiite  iin- 
oossible  to  explain.     Won't  you  walk  in  /" 

"  You  live  here,  then  ?"  said  Tom. 

"  Yea,"  returned  Miss  Pecksniff",  pointing  witli 
her  parasol  toTodgers's:  "  I  reside  with  this  lady, 
at  prrsent." 

The  great  stress  on  the  two  last  words  suggest- 
ed to  Tom  that  he  was  expected  to  say  sometliing 
in  reference  to  them.     So  he  said  : 

"Only  at  present  I  Are  you  going  home  again. 
Boon  ?" 

"  No,  Mr.  Pinch,"  returned  Charity,  "  No, 
thank  you.  No!  A  mother-in-law  who  is  younger 
Uian — I  mean  to  say,  who  is  as  nearly  as  possible 
about  the  same  age  as  one's  self,  would  not  quite 
Buit  my  spirit.  Not  quite  !"  said  Cherry,  with  a 
spiteful  shiver. 

"  I  thought  from  your  saying  at  present" — Tom 
observed. 

"  Really  upon  my  word !  I  had  no  idea  you 
would  press  me  so  very  closely  on  the  subject, 
Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Charity,  blushing,  "  or  I  should 
not  have  been  so  foolish  as  to  allude  to  —  Oh 
really  !  —  won't  you  walk  in  ?" 

Tom  mentioned,  to  excuse  himself,  that  he  had 
an  appointment  in  Furnival's  Inn,  and  that  com- 
ing from  Islington  he  had  taken  a  few  wron;^ 
turnings,  and  arrived  at  the  Monument  instead. 
Miss  Pecksniff  simpered  very  much  when  he 
asked  her  if  she  knew  the  way  to  Furnival's  Inn, 
and  at  length  found  courage  to  reply  : 

"  A  gentleman  who  is  a  friend  of  mine,  or  at 
least  who  is  not  exactly  a  friend  so  much  as  a 
6ort  of  ac<)uaiiitance  —  Oh,  upon  my  word,  1 
hardly  know  what  I  say,  Mr.  Pinch;  you  must  n't 
KUppose  there  is  any  engagement  between  us  ;  or 
•t  least  if  there  is,  that  it  is  at  all  a  sc'ttled  thing 
as  yet  —  is  going  to  F^uriiival's  Inn  inimediatilv, 
I  believe  upon  a  little  liu.-iness,  mid  I  ;irn  sure  Ik- 
would  be  very  glad  to  accuinpany  yuu,  so  as  to 


prevent  your  going  wrong  agiin.  You  had  bftfei 
walk  in.  You  will  very  liliely  find  my  sister 
Merry  here,"  she  said,  with  a  curious  toss  of  her 
head,  and  anything  but  an  agreeable  snjile. 

"Then,  1  tiiirik,  I'll  endeavour  to  tind  my  wa^ 
alone,"  said  Tom;  "fur  I  tear  she  would  no!  be 
very  glad  to  see  me.  That  unfortunate  ocr  urrtnc* 
in  relation  to  which  you  and  I  had  some  annca 
ble  words  together,  in  private,  is  not  likely  to  liavt 
impressed  her  with  any  friendly  tceliiig  towardi 
me.     Though  it  really  w.hs  not  my  tiiult." 

"She  has  never  heard  of  that,  you  may  de 
pend,"  said  Cherry,  gathering  up  the  corners  ol 
iier  mouth,  and  nodding  at  Tom.  "  I  am  'ai 
from  sure  that  she  woidd  bear  you  any  mighty 
ill  will  for  it,  if  she  had." 

"You  don't  say  so?"  cried  Tom,  who  was 
really  concerned  by  tliis  insinuation. 

"1  say  nothing,"  said  (Charity.  "  If  I  had  not 
already  known  what  shocking  things  tre.ici.ery 
and  deceit  are  in  themselves,  Mr.  Pinch,  I  miglit 
fierhaps  have  learnt  it  from  the  success  they  meet 
with — from  the  success  they  meet  with."  Hire 
she  smiled  as  before.  "  But  I  don't  say  anything 
On  the  contrary,  I  should  scorn  it.  You  had 
belter  vialk  in  I" 

There  was  something  hidden  here,  which  piqued 
Tom's  interest  and  troubled  his  tender  heart. 
When,  in  a  moment's  irresolution  he  looked  at 
Charity,  he  could  not  but  observe  a  struggle  in 
her  face  between  a  sense  of  triumph  and  a  sense 
of  shame;  nor  could  he  but  ninark  how,  meeting 
even  his  eyes,  which  she  cared  so  little  tor,  she 
turned  away  her  own,  for  all  the  splenetic  defi- 
ance in  her  manner. 

An  uneasy  thought  entered  Tom's  head ;  a 
shadowy  misgiving  that  the  altered  relations  be- 
tween himself  and  Pecksniff,  were  somehow  to 
involve  an  altered  knowledge  on  his  jjart  of  other 
people,  and  were  to  give  him  an  insight  into  much 
of  which  he  had  had  no  previous  suspicion.  And 
vet  he  [)ut  no  definite  construction  upon  C'harity's 
proceedings.  He  certainly  had  no  idea  tliat  as  lie 
had  been  the  audience  and  spectator  of  her  mor- 
tification, she  grasped  with  eager  delight  at  any 
opportunity  of  reproacliing  her  sister  with  his 
presence  in  her  lar  deeper  niistry;  tor  he  knew 
nothing  of  it,  and  only  pictured  lliat  sister  as  the 
same  giddy,  careless,  trivial  creature  she  always 
had  bet  n,  with  the  same  slight  esliuiiition  of  him- 
self which  she  had  never  been  at  tlie  least  |)aiiis 
to  conceal.  In  short,  he  had  merely  a  contused 
impression  tliat  Miss  Peeksiiilf  was  not  qiiitt 
sisterly  or  kind;  and  being  curious  to  set  it  nglit, 
accompanied  her,  as  sl;e  desired. 

I'he  house-door  being  opened,  she  went  in  be 
fore  Tom,  requesting  him  to  follow  her;  and  led 
the  wav  to  the  parlour  door. 

"Oh,  Merry  !"  she  said,  looking  in,  "  I  am  s« 
gliid  you  have  not  gone  home.  Who  do  you  think 
I  have  met  in  the  street,  and  broUL'ht  to  see  you  ! 
.Mr.  I'ineh  I  There.  Now  you  aie  surprised,  1 
am  sure  !" 

Not  more  surprised  than  Tom  was,  when  ha 
looki  d  upon  her.  Not  so  much.  Not  half  so  much 

"  Mr.  Pinch  has  lelt  Pupa,  my  dear,"  said 
Cherry,  "and  his  iirosjiects  are  quite  flourishing 
[  have  promised  that  Augustus,  who  is  going 
that  vvay,  shall  escort  him  to  the  place  ho  wunt» 
Augustus,  my  child,  where  are  you?" 


MARTIN   CHUZ^LEWIT. 


227 


With  wtiich  Miss  Pecksniff  screamed  out  of 
the  parlour,  ciilliu^  on  Auy^ustus  Moddle  to  ap- 
pear ;  uiid  left  Tom  Pinch  alone  with  her. 

If  she  had  always  been  his  kindest  friend;  if 
she  had  treated  him  through  all  his  servitude  with 
such  consideration  as  was  never  yet  received  by 
Btriijfjjiirijj  man  ;  if  she  had  ligi)tened  every  mo- 
ment of  those  many  years,  and  had  ever  spared 
end  never  wounded  him  ;  liis  honest  heart  could 
not  have  swelled  before  her  with  a  deeper  pity,  or 
a  purer  freedom  from  all  base  remembrance  than 
it  did  then. 

"  My  gracious  me!  You  are  really  the  last 
person  in  the  world  I  should  have  thought  of 
meing,  I  am  sure  !" 

Toiri  was  sorry  to  hear  her  speaking  in  her  old 
manner.  Ho  had  not  expected  that.  Yet  he  did 
not  feel  it  a  contradictiorr  that  lie  should  be  sorry 
to  see  her  so  unlike  her  old  self,  and  sorry  at  the 
same  time  to  hear  her  speaking  in  her  old  man- 
ner.    The  two  things  seemed  quite  natural. 

"  I  wonder  you  find  any  gratification  in  com- 
ing to  see  me.  I  can't  think  what  put  it  in  your 
head.  I  never  had  much  in  seeing  you.  There 
was  no  love  lost  between  us,  Mr.  Pinch,  at  any 
time,  I  think." 

Her  bonnet  lay  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  and  she 
was  very  busy  with  the  ribbons  as  she  spoke. 
Much  too  busy  to  be  conscious  of  the  work  her 
fingers  did. 

"  We  never  quarrelled,"  said  Tom. — Tom  was 
right  in  that,  for  one  person  can  no  more  quarrel 
without  an  adversary,  than  one  person  can  play 
at  chess,  or  fight  a  duel.  "  I  hoped  you  would  be 
glad  to  shake  hands  with  an  old  friend.  Don't 
let  us  rake  up  byegones,"  said  Tom.  "  If  I  ever 
offended  you,  forgive  me." 

She  looked  at  liim  lor  a  moment j  dropped  her 
bonnet  from  her  hands;  spread  them  before  her 
altered  face ;  and  burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Pinch  !"  she  said,  "  although  I  never 
used  you  well,  I  did  believe  your  nature  was  for- 
giving.    I  did  not  think  you  could  be  cruel." 

She  spoke  as  little  like  her  old  self  now,  for 
certain,  as  Tom  could  possibly  have  wished.  But 
she  seemed  to  be  appealing  to  him  reproachfully, 
and  he  did  not  understand  her. 

"I  seldom  showed  it  —  never — I  know  that. 
But  I  had  that  belief  in  you,  that  if  I  had  been 
a'-ked  to  name  the  person  in  tlie  world  least  likely 
to  retort  upon  me,  I  would  have  named  you,  con- 
fidenily." 

"  Would  have  named  me  I"  Tom  repeated. 
"  Yes,"  she  said  with  energy,  "  and  I  have  often 
thonjjht  so." 

After  a  moment's  reflection,  Tom  sat  himself 
upon  a  chair  beside  her. 

"  Do  you  believe,"  said  Tom,  "  oh,  can  you 
think,  that  what  I  said  just  now,  I  said  with  any 
but  the  true  and  plain  intention  which  my  words 
professed  ?  I  mean  it,  in  the  spirit  and  the  letter. 
If  I  ever  offended  you,  forgive  me;  I  may  have 
done  so,  many  times.  You  never  injured  or 
offended  me.  How,  then,  could  I  possibly  retort, 
if  even  I  were  stern  and  bad  enough  to  wish  to 
do  it!" 

After  a  little  while  she  thanked  him,  through 
her  tears  and  sobs,  and  told  him  she  hnd  never 
been  at  once  so  sorry  and  so  comforted,  since  siie 


left  home.  Rtil!  slie  wept  bitterly  ;  and  it  was 
the  greater  pain  to  Tom  to  see  her  weejiiug,  from 
her  standing  in  espucial  need,  just  then,  of  sym- 
pathy and  tLndernes;^ 

"Come,  eouie  !"  s.iid  Tom,  "you  used  to  he  ua 
cheerful  as  the  day  was  lung." 

"  Ah  1  used  1"  she  cried,  in  such  a  tone  as  rent 
Tom's  heart. 

"  .\nd  will  be  again,"  said  Tom. 
"  No,  never  more.     No,  never,  never  more.     If 
you  should  t.lk  with  old  Mr.ChuzzIewit,  at  any 
time,"  she  added,  looking  hurriedly  inlo  his  face 
—  "I  Sometimes  liiouglit  he  liked  you,  but  sup- 
pressed it  —  will  3-ou  promise  me  to  tell  him  that 
you  saw  me  here,  and  that  I  said  I  bore  in  mind 
the  time  we  talked  together  in  the  churchyard  " 
Tom  promised  that  he  would. 
"Many  times  since  then,  when  I  have  wished 
I  had  been  carried  tliere  before  that  day,  I  have 
recalled  his  words.     I  wish  tliat  he  should  know 
how  true  they  were,  although  the  least  acknow- 
ledgnient  to  that  etfeet  has  never  passed  my  lips, 
and  never  will." 

Tom  promised  this,  conditionally,  too.  He  did 
not  tell  her  how  improbable  it  was  that  he  and 
tlie  old  man  would  ever  meet  again,  because  he 
thought  it  might  disturb  her  more. 

"  If  he  should  ever  know  this,  through  your 
means,  dear  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Mercy,  "  tell  him 
tliat  I  sent  the  message,  not  for  myself,  but  that 
he  might  be  more  forbearing,  and  more  patient, 
and  more  trustful  to  some  other  person,  in  some 
other  time  of  need.  Tell  him  that  if  he  could 
know  how  my  heart  trembled  in  t.ie  balance  that 
day,  and  what  a  very  little  would  nave  turned  the 
scale,  his  own  would  bleed  with  pity  for  me." 
"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Tom,  "  I  will." 
"  When  I  appeared  to  him  the  most  unworthy 
of  his  help,  I  was  —  I  know  I  was,  for  I  have 
often,  often,  thought  about  it  since — the  most  in- 
clined to  yield  to  what  he  showed  me.  Oh!  If 
he  had  relented  but  a  little  more ;  if  he  had 
thrown  himself  in  my  way  for  but  one  other 
quarter  of  an  hour ;  if  he  had  extended  his  com- 
passion for  a  vain,  unthinking  miserable  girl  in 
but  the  least  degree  ;  he  might,  and  I  believe  hi; 
would,  have  saved  her!  Tell  him  that  I  don't 
blame  him,  but  am  grateful  for  the  effort  that  he 
made ;  but  ask  him  for  the  love  of  God,  and 
youth,  and  in  a  mercithl  consideration  for  the 
struggle  which  an  ill-advised  and  unawakened 
nature  makes  to  hide  the  strength  it  thinks  its 
weakness  —  ask  him  never,  never  to  forget  this, 
when  he  deals  with  one  again  I" 

Although  Tom  did  not  hold  the  clue  to  her  full 
meaning,  he  could  gin,'ss  it  pretty  nearly.  Touch- 
ed to  the  quick,  he  took  her  hand  and  said,  or 
meant  to  say,  some  words  of  consolation.  She 
felt  and  understood  them,  whether  they  were 
spoken  or  no.  He  was  not  quite  certain  after- 
wards but  that  she  had  tried  to  kneel  down  at  hii 
feet,  and  bless  him. 

He  found  that  he  was  not  alone  in  the  room 
when  she  had  lefl  it.  Mrs.  Todgers  was  there, 
shaking  her  head.  Tom  had  never  seen  Mrs 
Todgers,  it  is  needless  to  say,  but  he  had  a  per 
ception  of  her  being  the  lady  of  the  house;  an<J 
he  saw  some  genuine  compassion  in  her  ejei^ 
that  won  his  good  opinion. 


228 


LIFE   AND   ADVEx\TURES   OF 


••  Ah,  Sir :  You  are  an  old  friend,  I  see,"  said 
Mrs.  Todgers. 

"Yes,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  yet,"  quolh  Mrs.  Todgers,  shuttina  tlie 
door  soltly,  "she  h^.sii'l  told  you  what  he;-  trou- 
bles are,  I  'in  certaiu." 

Tom  was  struck  by  these  words,  for  they  were 
uite  true.     "  Indeed,"  he  said,  "  she  has  not." 

"  And  never  would,"  said  Mrs.  Todgers,  "  if 
you  saw  her  daily.  She  never  makes  the  least 
complaint  to  me,  or  utters  a  single  word  of  expia- 
tion or  reproach.  But  I  know,"  said  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers, drawing  in  her  breath,  "/  know  !" 

Tom  nodded  sorrowfully,  "  so  do  I." 

"  I  fully  believe,"  said  Mrs,  Todgers,  taking  her 
pocket-handkerchief  from  the  flat  reticule,  "  tliut 
nobody  can  tell  one  half  of  what  that  poor  young 
creature  has  to  undergo.  But  tliough  she  comes 
here,  constantly,  to  ease  her  poor  full  heart  with- 
out  his  knowing  it;  and  saying,  '  Mrs.  Todgers, 
I  am  very  low  to-day ;  I  think  that  I  shall  soon 
be  dead,'  sits  crying  in  my  room  until  the  fit  is 
past ;  I  know  no  more  from  her.  And,  I  believe," 
said  Mrs.  Todgers,  putting  back  her  handkerchief 
again,  "  that  she  considers  me  a  good  friend  too." 

Mrs.  Todgers  might  have  said  her  best  friend. 
Commercial  gentlemen  and  gravy  had  tried  Mrs. 
Todgers's  temper;  the  main  chance — it  was  such 
a  very  small  one  in  her  case,  that  she  might  have 
been  excused  for  looking  sharp  after  it,  lest  it 
should  entirely  vanish  from  her  sight — had  taken 
a  firm  hold  on  Mrs.  Todgers's  attention.  But  in 
some  odd  nook  of  Mrs.  Todgers's  breast,  up  a 
great  many  steps,  and  in  a  corner  easy  to  be  over- 
looked, there  was  a  secret  door,  with  "  Woman" 
written  on  the  spring,  which  at  a  touch  from  Mer- 
cy's hand  had  flown  wide  open,  and  admitted  her 
for  shelter. 

When  boarding-house  accounts  are  balanced 
witii  all  other  ledgers,  and  the  books  of  the  Re- 
cording Angel  are  made  up  for  ever,  perhaps  there 
may  be  seen  an  entry  to  thy  credit,  lean  Mrs.  Tod- 
gers, which  shall  make  thee  beautiful  ! 

She  was  growing  beautiful  so  rapidly  in  Tom's 
eyes,  for  he  saw  that  she  was  poor,  and  that  this 
good  had  sprung  up  in  her  from  among  the  sordid 
strivings  of  tier  life  ;  that  she  might  have  been  a 
very  Venus  in  a  minute  more,  if  Miss  Pecksnitf 
had  not  entered  with  her  friend. 

"  Mr.  Thomas  Pinch,"  said  Charity,  perform- 
ing the  ceremony  of  introduction  with  evident 
pride,  "  Mr.  Moddle.     Where's  my  sister?" 

"Gune,  Miss  Pecksniff,"  Mrs.  Todgers  answer- 
ed.    "  She  had  appointed  to  be  home." 

"Ah  I"  sighed  Charity,  looking  at  Tom.  "Oh, 
dear  me  I" 

"Slio's  greatly  altered  since  she's  been  An- 
o'.h —  since  she's  been  married,  Mrs.  Todgers  I" 
observed  Moddle. 

"My  dear  Augustus  I"  said  Miss  Pecksniff",  in 
a  lovv  voice,  "I  verily  believe  yon  have  said  that 
/.rty  thousand  times,  in  my  hearing.  What  a 
Prose  you  are  !" 

This  WU8  succeeded  by  some  trifling  love  pas- 
sages, which  appeared  to  originate  with,  if  not  to 
he  wholly  curried  on  by.  Miss  Pecksniff'.  At  any 
rate,  Mr.  Moddle  was  much  slower  in  his  responses 
than  is  customary  with  young  lovers,  and  exhib- 


ited a  lowness  of  .spirits  which  was  quite  oppres. 
sive. 

He  did  not  improve  at  all  when  Tom  and  he 
were  in  the  .streets,  but  sighed  so  dismally  that  il 
was  dreadful  to  hear  him.  As  a  means  of  cheer- 
ing him  up,  I'om  told  him  that  he  wished  hinv 
joy. 

"  Joy  !"  cried  Moddle.     "  Ha,  ha  !" 

"  What  an  extraordinary  young  man  1"  thought 
Tom. 

"  The  Scorner  has  not  set  his  seal  upon  you. 
You  care  what  becomes  of  you  .'"  said  Moddle. 

Tom  admitted  that  it  was  a  subject  in  which 
he  certainly  felt  some  interest. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Mr.  Moddle.  "  The  elements 
may  have  me  when  they  please.     I  'm  ready." 

Tom  inferred  from  these,  and  other  expressions 
of  the  saj'ie  nature,  that  he  was  jealous.  Tliere- 
fore  he  allowed  him  to  take  his  own  course ;  which 
was  such  a  gloomy  one,  that  he  felt  a  load  remov- 
ed from  his  mind  when  they  parted  company  at 
the  gate  of  Furnival's  Inn. 

It  was  now  a  couple  of  hours  past  John  West- 
lock's  dinner-lime ;  and  he  was  walking  up  and 
down  the  room,  quite  anxious  for  Tom's  safety. 
Tlie  table  was  spread  ;  the  wine  was  carefully 
decanted  ;  and  the  dinner  smelt  delicious. 

"Why,  Tom,  old  boy,  where  on  earth  have  you 
been  ?  Your  box  is  here.  Get  your  boots  off 
"nstantly,  and  sit  down  !" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  can't  stay,  John,"  replied 
Tom  Pinch,  who  was  breathless  with  the  haste 
he  had  made  in  running  up  stairs. 

"Can't  stay!" 

"  If  you  '11  go  on  with  your  dinner,"  said  Ton\ 
"I'll  tell  you  my  reason  the  while.  I  mustn't 
eat  myself,  or  I  shall  have  no  appetite  for  the 
chops." 

"There  are  no  chops  here,  my  good  fellow." 

"  No.     But  tliere  are,  at  Islington,"  said  Tom. 

John  Westlock  was  perfectly  confounded  by 
this  reply,  and  vowed  he  would  not  touch  a  mor- 
sel until  Tom  had  explained  himself  fully.  So 
Tom  sat  down,  and  told  him  all ;  to  which  he  lis- 
tened  with  the  greatest  interest. 

He  knew  Tom  too  well,  and  respected  his  deli- 
cacy loo  much,  to  ask  him  why  he  had  taken 
these  measures  without  communicating  with  him 
first.  Ilf  quite  concurred  in  the  expediency  of 
Tom's  immediately  returning  to  his  sister,  as  ho 
knew  so  little  of  the  place  in  which  he  had  lef\ 
her;  and  good-limnouredly  jjroposed  to  ride  back 
with  him  in  a  cab,  in  which  he  might  convey  his 
box.  Tom's  proposilioii  tliat  he  should  sup  with 
tliem  that  night,  he  fl  itly  rejected,  but  made  an 
a|>poinfni(nt  with  him  fiir  the  morrow.  "  And  now, 
Tom,"  he  said,  as  tiiey  rode  al' iig,  "I  iiave  a 
ques-lion  to  ask  vou,  to  which  I  ex[)cct  a  manly 
and  straight-forward  answer.  Do  you  want  ai\F 
money  ?     I  am  pretty  sure  you  do." 

"  J  dr)n't  indeed,"  said  Tom. 

"  1  believe  you  are  deceiving  me." 

"No.  Willi  many  thanks  to  yon,  I  am  quite 
in  earnest,"  Tom  replied.  ".My  sister  has  some 
money,  and  so  have  I.  If  I  had  nothing  else, 
John  I  have  a  five-pound  note,  which  that  good 
creature,  .Mrs.  Lupin,  of  the  Dragon,  handed  up 
to  me  outside  the  coach,  in  a  letter,  begging  cru 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


229 


tv.  borrow  it ;  and  then  drove  off  as  hard  as  she 
couki  go  " 

"And  a  ble^'sing'  on  every  dimple  in  her  hand- 
tome  luce,  say  I  ?"  cried  John,  "  though  why  you 
bhould  give  her  the  preference  over  me,  I  don't 
know.     Never  mind.     I  bide  my  time,  Tom." 

"And  I  hoi>e  you'll  continue  to  bide  it,"  returned 
Tom  gaily.  "  For  I  owe  you  more  already,  in  a 
liuiidred  other  ways,  tlian  I  can  ever  hope  to 
pay." 

They  parted  at  the  door  of  Tom's  new  resi- 
dence. John  Westlock,  sitting  in  the  cab,  and, 
catching  a  glimpse  of  a  blooming  little  busy  crea- 
ture darting   out  to  kiss  Tom  and   to  help  him 


with  his  box,  would  not  have  had  the  least  objec 
tion  to  change  places  with  hmi. 

Well !  she  was  a.  cheerful  httle  tiling;  :infl  hdil 
a  quaint,  brigiit  quietness  about  her,  th  .1  w-m 
infinitely  pleasant.  Surely  she  was  the  best  sauce 
for  chops  ever  invented.  The  potatoes  seemed  to 
take  a  pleasure  in  sending  up  their  grateful  steam 
belbre  her;  the  froth  upon  the  pint  ot  porter  pouted 
to  attract  her  notice.  But  it  was  all  in  v;iin.  She 
saw  nothing  but  Tom.  Tom  was  the  first  and 
last  thing  in  the  world. 

As  she  sat  opposite  to  Tom  at  supper,  fingering 
one  of  Tom's  pet  tunes  upon  the  table-cloth,  and 
smiling  in  his  fece,  he  had  never  been  so  liappy 
in  his  life. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 


SECRET  SERVICE. 


In  walking  from  the  City  with  his  sentimental 
friend,  Tom  Pinch  had  looked  into  the  face,  and 
brushed  against  the  threadbare  sleeve,  of  Mr. 
Nadgetl,  man  of  mystery  to  the  Anglo-Bengalee 
Disinterested  Loan  and  Life  Insurance  Company. 
Mr.  Nudgett  naturally  passed  away  from  Turn's 
remembrance,  as  he  pussed  out  of  his  view  ;  for  he 
didn't  know  him,  and  had  never  heard  his  name. 

As  there  are  a  vast  number  of  people  in  the 
huge  metropolis  of  England  who  rise  up  every 
morning,  not  knowing  where  their  heads  will  rest 
at  night,  so  there  are  a  multitude  who  shooting 
arrows  over  houses  as  tiieir  daily  business,  never 
know  on  whom  they  fall.  Mr.  Nadgett  might 
have  passed  Tom  Pinch  ten  thousand  times ; 
might  even  have  been  quite  familiar  with  his  face, 
his  name,  pursuits,  and  character;  yet  never  once 
have  dreamed  that  Tom  had  any  interest  in  any 
act  or  mystery  of  his.  Tom  might  have  done  the 
like  by  iiim,  of  course.  But  tlie  same  private 
man  out  otall  the  men  alivo,  was  in  the  mind  of 
each  at  the  same  moment;  was  prominently  con- 
nected, tiiough  in  a  diffi-rent  manner,  with  the 
day's  adventures  of  both  ;  and  formed,  when  they 
passed  each  other  in  the  street,  the  one  absorbing 
topic  of  their  thoughts. 

Why  Tom  iiad  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  in  his  mind 
requires  no  explanation.  Why  Mr.  Nudgett  should 
have  had  Jonas  Chuzzlewit  in  iiis,  is  quite  another 
thing. 

But  somehow  or  other  that  amiable  and  worthy 
orphan  had  become  a  part  of  the  mysterv  of  Mr. 
Njdgutt's  existence.  I\Ir.  Nudgett  took  an  interest 
in  Iiis  lightest  proceedings ;  and  it  never  Hagged 
or  wavered.  He  watched  him  in  and  out  of  the 
Insuriiiice  Office,  where  he  was  now  formally 
jiistalh  d  as  a  Director;  he  dogged  his  footsteps  in 
tne  streets;  he  st'.od  listening  when  he  talked; 
he  sat  ii;  colTve-runms  entering  his  name  in  the 
great  pocke'-book,  over  and  over  again  ;  he  wrote 
Ittlers  to  him»eif  about  him  constantly;  and  when 
he  found  thtni  in  his  pocket  put  them  in  the  fire, 
with  such  di.-lriisl  and  cautiini  tliat  he  would  bend 
down  to  watcli  the  crumpled  tinder  while  it  floated 
Dward,  as  if  iiis  mind  misgave  hiiii,  tnat    tlic 


mystery  it  had  contained  might  come  out  at  the 
chimney-pot. 

And  yet  all  this. was  quite  a  secret.  Mr.  Nad- 
gett kept  it  to  himself,  and  kept  it  close.  Jonas 
had  no  more  idea  that  Mr.  Nadgett's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  him,  than  he  had  that  he  was  living  under 
the  daily  inspection  and  report  of  a  whole  order 
of  Jesuits.  Indeed  Mr.  Nadgett's  eyes  were  sel- 
dom fixed  on  any  other  objects  than  the  ground, 
the  clock,  or  the  fire ;  but  every  button  on  his 
coat  might  have  been  an  eye:  he  saw  so  much. 

The  secret  manner  of  the  man  disarmed  sus- 
picion in  this  wise  ;  suggesting,  not  that  he  was 
watching  any  one,  but  tliat  he  thought  some  other 
man  was  watching  him.  fie  went  about  ^o 
stealthily,  and  kept  himself  so  wrapped  up  in  him- 
self, that  the  whole  object  of  his  lite  appeared  to 
be,  to  avoid  notice,  and  preserve  his  own  mystery. 
Jonas  sometimes  saw  him  in  the  street,  hovering 
in  the  outer  office,  waiting  at  the  door  for  the  m  iii 
who  never  came,  or  slinking  off  with  his  immnv- 
able  tice  and  drooping  he.td,  and  the  one  beaver 
glove  dangling  before  him;  but  he  would  as  soon 
have  thought  of  the  cross  upon  the  top  of  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral  taking  i  ote  of  what  he  did,  of 
slowly  winding  a  great  net  about  his  feet,  as  of 
Nadgett's  being  engaged  in  such  an  occuj)ation. 

Mr.  Nadgett  made  a  mysterious  change  aOout 
this  time  in  his  mysterious  life :  for  whereas  lie 
had,  until  now,  been  first  seen  every  morning 
coming  down  Cornhill,  so  exactly  like  the  Nadgett 
of  the  day  before  as  to  occasion  a  popular  beli-of 
that  he  never  went  to  bed  or  took  his  clothes  olF, 
he  was  now  first  seen  in  Hoiborn,  coming  out  of 
Kingsgate-street ;  and  it  was  soon  discovered  that 
he  uetiially  went  every  morning  to  a  barber's 
shop  in  tiiat  street  to  get  shaved  ;  and  that  the 
barbcT's  .n  ime  was  SweedlepijK;.  He  seemed  to 
make  appointments  with  the  man  who  never 
came,  to  meet  him  at  this  barber's;  for  he  would 
frequently  fake  lotig  spells  of  waiting  in  tlie  shop, 
and  would  ask  for  pen  and  ink,  and  pull  out  his 
pocket-book,  and  be  very  busy  over  it  for  an  hour 
at  a  lime.  Mrs.  Gamp  and  Mr.  Sweedlepi|»e  had 
many  deep  discouniings  on  Uie    subject  of  liiia 


230 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


mysterious  customer ;  but  they  usually  afi^reed 
tliat  he  liad  speculated  too  much  and  was  keeping 
out  of  the  way. 

He  must  have  appointed  the  man  who  never 
kept  his  word,  to  meet  him  at  another  new  place 
too ;  for  one  day  he  was  found,  for  the  first  time, 
by  the  waiter  at  the  Mourning  Coach-Horse,  the 
Houst-ot-call  for  Undertakers,  down  in  the  City 
there,  making  figuris  witli  a  pipe-stem  in  the  saw- 
dust of  a  clean  spittoon  ;  and  declined  to  call  for 
anything,  on  the  ground  of  expecting  a  gentleman 
presently.  As  the  gentleman  was  not  honourable 
ei;ough  to  keep  his  engagenients,  he  came  again 
next  (l:iy,  with  his  pocket-book  in  such  a  state  of 
dislentitin  that  he  was  regarded  in  the  bar  as  a 
man  of  large  property.  After  that,  he  repeated 
his  visits  every  day,  and  had  so  much  writing  to 
do,  tliat  he  iiia'de  nothing  of  emptying  a  capacious 
leaden  inkstand  in  two  sittings.  Although  he 
never  talked  much, still  by  being  there  among  the 
regular  customers,  he  made  their  acquaintance  ; 
and  in  course  of  time  became  quite  intimate  with 
Mr.  T.ickcr,  Mr.  Mould's  foreman ;  and  even 
with  Mr.  Mould  himself,  who  openly  said  he  was 
a  long-headed  man,  a  dry  one,  a  salt  fish,  a  deep 
file,  a  rasper  :  and  made  him  the  subject  of  many 
other  flattering  encomiums. 

At  the  same  time,  too,  he  told  the  people  at  the 
Insurance  Office,  in  his  own  mysterious  way, 
that  there  was  something  wrong  (secretly  wrong, 
of  coarse)  in  his  liver,  and  that  he  feared  he  must 
put  himself  under  the  doctor's  hands.  He  was 
delivered  over  to  Jobling  upon  this  representa- 
tion ;  and  though  Jobling  could  not  find  out  where 
his  liver  was  wrong,  wrong  Mr.  Nadgett  said  it 
was  ;  observing,  that  it  was  his  own  liver,  and  he 
hoped  he  ought  to  know.  Accordingly,  he  be- 
came Mr.  Jobling's  patient;  and  detailing  his 
syniptoms  in  his  slow  and  secret  way,  was  in  and 
oi;l  ot  that  gentleman's  room  a  dozen  times  a-day. 

As  he  pursued  all  these  occupations  at  once; 
and  all  steadily;  and  all  secretly:  and  never 
slackened  in  his  watchfulness  of  everything  that 
Mr.  Jones  said  and  did,  and  left  unsaid  and  un- 
done :  it  is  not  improbable  that  they  were,  secret- 
ly, essential  parts  of  some  great  secret  scheme 
which  Mr.  Nadgett  had  on  foot. 

It  was  on  the  morning  of  this  very  day  on 
whicli  so  much  had  happened  to  Tom  Pinch,  that 
Nadgett  suddenly  appeared  hefore  Mr.  Montague's 
house  in  Pafl  Mall — he  always  made  his  appear, 
aiico  as  if  he  had  that  moment  come  up  a  trap — 
when  the  clocks  were  striking  nine.  He  rang 
the  hell  in  a  covert  under-handed  way,  as  though 
it  were  a  treasonable  act;  and  passed  in  at  tlie 
door,  the  moment  it  was  opened  wide  enough  to 
re(  eive  his  body.  That  done,  he  shut  it  imme- 
diati'ly,  with  his  own  hands. 

Mr.  Bailey,  taking  up  his  name  without  delay, 
returned  with  a  re(|uest  that  he  would  follow  him 
into  his  fnaster's  ehnmber.  The  chairman  of  the 
Angli.-l!'  rig.ilee  Disinterested  I^oan  and  Life  In- 
81, ranee  Hoard  was  dressing,  and  received  him  as 
a  business  prrson  who  w  as  oden  backwards  and 
f>)t wards,  ;ijid  wao  received  at  all  times  for  his 
O  Jfiiness'  saki;. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Nadyett!" 

Mr.  Na(li;<'ll  put  his  hat  upon  the  ground  and 
coughed.  The  boy  havinir  withdrawn  and  shut 
the  do-ir,  he  went  to  it  softly,  examined  the  han- 


dle, and  returned  to  within  a  pace  or  two  of  Uie 
chair  in  which  Mr.  Montague  sat. 

"  Any  news,  Mr.  Nadgett  ?" 

"  I  think  we  have  some  news  at  last.  Sir." 

"  I  am  happy  to  hea  .c.  I  began  to  fear  you 
were  off  the  scent,  Mr.  Nadgett." 

"  No,  Sir.  It  grows  cold  occasionally.  It  v,  ill 
sometimes.     We  can't  help  that." 

"  You  are  Truth  itself,  Mr.  Nadgett.  Do  yoa 
report  a  great  success  ?" 

"  That  depends  upon  your  judgment  and  con- 
struction of  it,"  was  his  answer,  as  he  put  on  Ijis 
spectacles. 

"  What  do  you  tiiink  of  it  yourself?  Have  you 
pleased  yourself?" 

Mr.  Nadgett  rubbed  his  hands  slowly,  stroked 
his  chin,  looked  round  the  room,  and  said  "  Yes, 
yes,  I  think  it's  a  good  case.  I  am  disposed  to 
think  it 's  a  good  case.  Will  you  go  into  it  at 
once  ?" 

"  By  all  means." 

Mr.  Nadgett  picked  out  a  certain  chair  from 
among  the  rest,  and  having  planted  it  in  a  particu- 
lar spot,  as  carefiiliy  as  if  he  had  been  going  to 
vault  over  it,  placed  another  chair  in  front  of  it : 
leaving  room  for  his  own  legs  between  them.  He 
then  sat  down  in  chair  number  two,  and  laid  his 
pocket-book,  very  carefully,  on  chair  number  one. 
He  then  untied  the  pocket-book,  and  hung  the 
string  over  the  back  of  chair  number  one.  He 
then  drew  both  the  chairs  a  little  nearer  Mr.  Mon- 
tagup,  and  opening  the  pocket-book  spread  out  its 
contents.  Finally,  he  selected  a  certain  memo- 
randum from  the  rest,  and  held  it  out  to  his  em. 
ployer,  who,  during  the  whole  of  these  prelimi- 
nary ceremonies,  had  been  making  violent  elibrta 
to  conceal  his  impatience. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  be  so  fond  of  making 
notes,  my  excellent  friend,"  said  Tigg  Montague 
with  a  ghastly  smile.  "  I  wish  you  would  con- 
sent to  give  me  tiieir  purport  by  word  of  mouth," 

"I  don't  like  word  of  mouth,"  said  Mr.  Nad- 
gett, gravely.  "  We  never  know  who's  listening." 

Mr.  Montague  was  going  to  retort,  when  Nad- 
gett  handed  him  the  paper,  and  said,  with  quiet 
exultation  in  his  tone,  "  We'll  begin  at  the  begin, 
ning,  and  take  that  one  first,  if  you  please.  Sir."' 

The  chairman  cast  his  eyes  upon  it,  coldly,  and 
with  a  smile  which  did  not  render  any  great  hom- 
age to  the  slow  and  methodical  habits  of  his  spy. 
But  he  had  not  read  half-a-dozen  lines  when  the 
expression  of  his  face  began  to  change,  and  betore 
he  had  finished  the  perusal  of  the  paper,  it  waa 
full  of  grave  and  serious  attention. 

"  Number  Two,"  said  Mr.  Nadgett,  lianding 
him  another,  and  receiving  back  the  first.  "Read 
Number  Two,  Sir,  if  you  please.  There  is  inort 
interest  as  yon  go  on." 

Tigg  Montague  leaned  backward  in  his  chair 
and  cast  n])on  his  emissary  such  a  look  of  vacant 
wonder  (not  unmingled  with  alarm),  that  Mr.  Nad 
gett  considered  it  necessary  to  repeat  the  request 
he  had  already  twice  |)referred  :  with  the  view  ol 
recalling  his  attention  to  the  point  in  hand.  I'rc 
fiting  by  tlie  liint,  Mr.  Montague  went  on  v\  itli 
Number  Two,  and  nflerwariis  with  Numben 
Three,  and  Four,  and  Five,  and  so  on. 

These  documents  were  all  in  Mi.  Nadgctt't 
writing,  and  were  apparently  a  scries  of  memo- 
randa, jotted  down  iroin  tune  to  lime  upon  U>e 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


231 


backs  of  old  le'ters,  or  any  scrap  of  paper  that 
came  first  to  hand.  Loose  straggling  scrawls 
they  wero,  and  of  very  uninviting  exterior;  but 
thev  had  weighty  purpose  in  them,  if  the  chair- 
man's face  were  any  index  to  the  character  of 
their  contents. 

The  progress  of  Mr.  Nadgett's  secret  satisfac- 
faction  arising  out  of  the  effect  they  made,  kept 
pace  with  ti>e  emotions  of  the  reader.  At  first, 
Mr.  Nadgctt  sat  with  his  spectacles  low  down 
upon  his  nose,  looking  over  them  ut  his  employer, 
and  nervously  rubbing  his  hands.  After  a  little 
while,  he  changed  his  posture  in  his  chair  for  one 
of  greater  ease,  and  leisurely  perused  the  ne.\t  do- 
cument he  held  ready,  as  if  an  occasional  glance 
at  his  employer's  face  were  now  enough,  and  all 
(CCasion  for  anxiety  or  doubt  were  gone.  And 
finally  he  rose  and  looked  out  of  the  window, 
where  he  stood,  with  a  triumphant  air,  until  Till 
Montague  had  finished. 

"  And  this  is  the  last  Mr.  Nadgett !"  said  that 
gentleman,  drawing  a  long  breath. 

"  That,  Sir,  is  the  last." 

"  You  are  a  wonderful  man,  Mr.  Nadgett !" 

"  I  think  it  is  a  pretty  good  case,"  he  returned, 
as  he  gathered  up  his  papers.  "  It  cost  me  some 
trouble.  Sir." 

"  The  trouble  shall  be  well  rewarded,  Pvlr.  Nad- 
gett." Nadgett  bowed.  "  There  is  a  deeper  im- 
pression of  Somebody's  Hoof  here,  than  I  had 
expected,  Mr.  Nadgett.  I  may  congratulate  my- 
self upon  your  being  such  a  good  hand  at  a 
•ecret." 

"  Oh  !  nothing  has  an  interest  to  me  that's  not 
a  secret,"  replied  Nadgett,  as  he  tied  the  string 
abou-t  his  pocket-book,  and  put  it  up.  "  It  almost 
takes  away  any  pleasure  I  may  have  had  in  this 
inquiry  cvi-n  to  make  it  known  to  you." 

"  A  most  invaluable  constitution,"  Tigg  re- 
torted. "  A  great  gift  for  a  gentleman  employed 
as  you  are,  Mr.  Nadgett.  Much  better  than  dis- 
cretion :  though  you  possess  that  quality  also  in 
an  eminent  degree.  I  think  I  heard  a  double 
knock.  Will  you  put  your  head  out  of  the  window, 
and  tell  me  whether  there  is  any  body  at  the 
door  ?" 

Mr.  Nadgett  softly  raised  the  sash,  and  peered 
out  from  the  very  corner,  as  a  man  might  who 
was  looking  dovv'n  into  a  street  from  whence  a 
brisk  disciiarge  of  musketry  might  be  expected  at 
any  moment.  Drawing  in  his  head  with  equal 
'•aution,  he  observed,  not  altering  his  voice  or 
manner : 

"  Mr.  Jonas  Chuzzlewit !" 

"  I  thought  so,"  Tigg  retorted. 

"Shall  I  go?" 

'  I  tliink  you  had  hetter.  Stay  though  !  No  ! 
remain  here,  Mr.  Nadgett,  if  you  please." 

It  was  remarkable  how  pale  and  flurried  he  had 
Pennine  mi  an  instant.  There  was  nothing  to  ac- 
ct)unt  for  it.  His  eye  had  fallen  on  his  razors  : 
but  what  of  them  ! 

Mr.  Chuzzlewit  was  announced. 

"Show  him  up  directly,  Nadgett!  Don't  you 
leave  us  alone  together.  Mind  you  don't,  now  ! 
IJy  the  Lord  I"  he  added  in  a  whisper  to  himself: 
"We  don't  know  what  may  happen." 

Saying  this,  he  hurriedly  took  up  a  couple  of 
hair-brushes,  and  began  to  exercise  them  on  his 
own  he-dd.  as  if  his  toilet  had  not  been  interrupted. 


i  Mr  Nadgett  withdrew  to  the  stove  in  vvhicii  there 
I  was  a  small  fire  tor  the  convenience  of  heating 
j  curhng-irons  ;  and  taking  advantage  of  so  favour 
able  an  opportunity  fur  drying  his  pocket-hand- 
kerchieti  produced  it  without  loss  of  time.  'I'lieie 
he  stood,  during  the  whole  interview,  holding  it 
before  the  bars,  and  sometimes,  but  not  often, 
glancing  over  his  shoulder. 

"My  dear  Chuzzlewit  I"  cried  Montague,  as 
Jonas  entered  :  "you  rise  with  the  lark.  Thoutrh 
you  go  to  bed  with  the  nightingale,  you  rise  with 
the  lark.  You  have  superhuman  energy,  my  dear 
Chuzzlewit !" 

"  Ecod  I"  said  Jonas,  with  an  air  of  languor 
and  ill-humour,  as  he  took  a  chair,  "  I  should  be 
very  glad  not  to  get  up  with  the  lark,  if  I  could 
help  it.  But  I  am  a  light  sleeper  ;  and  it's  better 
to  be  up,  than  lying  awake,  counting  the  dismal 
old  church-clocks,  in  bed." 

"  A  light  sleeper  !"  cried  his  friend.  "  Now, 
what  is  a  light  sleeper?  I  often  hear  the  expres- 
sion, but  upon  my  life  I  have  not  the  least  con 
ception  what  a  light  sleeper  is." 

"Hallo!"  said  Jonas,  "  Who's  that?  Oh,  old 
what's-his-name :  looking  (as  usual)  as  if  he 
wanted  to  skulk  up  the  chimney." 

"  Ha,  lia  !  I  have  no  doubt  he  does." 

"  Well !  He's  not  wanted  here,  I  suppose.  He 
ffiy  gOi  mayn't  he  ?" 

"  Oil,  let  him  stay,  let  him  stay  !"  said  Tigg. 
"  He's  a  mere  piece  of  furniture.  He  has  been 
making  his  report,  and  is  waiting  for  further 
orders.  He  has  been  told,"  said  Tigg,  raising  his 
voice,  "  not  to  lose  sight  of  certain  friends  of  ours 
or  to  think  that  he  has  done  with  them  by  anj 
means.     He  understands  his  business," 

"  He  need,"  replied  Jonas  :  "  for  of  all  the  pre- 
cious old  dummies  in  appearance  that  ever  I  saw 
he's  about  the  worst.  He's  afraid  of  me,  I  think." 

"  It's  my  belief,"  said  Tigg,  "  that  you  are 
Poison  to  him.     Nadgett !  give  me  that  towel  I" 

He  had  as  little  occasion  for  a  towel  as  Jonas 
had  for  a  start.  But  Nadgett  brought  it  quickly  . 
and,  having  lingered  for  a  moment,  fell  back  upon 
his  old  post  by  the  fire. 

"  You    see,    my    dear    fellow,"  resumed  Tigg, 

"  you  are  too what's  the  matter  with  your  lips  ? 

How  white  they  are  !" 

"I  took  some  vinegar  just  now,"  said  Jonas. 
"  I  had  oysters  for  my  breakfast.  Where  are 
they  white  ?"  he  added,  muttering  an  oath,  and 
rubbing  them  upon  his  handkerchief.  "  I  don't 
believe  they  are  white." 

"  Now  I  look  again,  they  are  not,"  replied  hia 
friend.     "They  are  coming  right  again." 

"  Say  what  you  were  going  to  say,"  cried 
Jonas,  angrily,  "  and  let  my  face  be  I  As  long  as 
I  can  show  my  teeth  when  I  want  to  (and  1  can 
do  that  pretty  well,)  the  colour  uf  my  lips  is  not 
material." 

"Quite  true,"  said  Tigg  !  "  I  was  only  g;oing 
to  say  that  you  are  too  quick  and  active  for  our 
friend.  He  is  too  shy  to  cope  with  such  a  man  a* 
you,  but  does  his  duly  well.  Oh  very  well !  But 
what  is  a  light  sleeper  ?" 

"  Hang  a  light  sleeper !"  exclaimed  Jonaa, 
pettishly, 

"  No,  no,"  interrupted  Tigg.  No.  We'll  no! 
do  that." 

"A  light  s.eepcr  an  t  a  Ik*         •  •?,"  said  Jo<iu 


232 


LIFE  Ax\D   ADVENTURES   OF 


ill  his  sulky  way  :  "  don't  sleep  much,  and  don't 
deep  well,  and  don't  sleep  sound." 

"And  dreams,"  suid  'I'ifffr,  "and  cries  out  in 
an  ugly  nianner;  and  when  the  candle  b\irns 
down  in  the  night,  is  in  an  agony ;  and  all  that 
port  of  thing.     1  see  1" 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  time.  Then  Jonas 
spoke  : 

"Now  we've  done  with  child's  talk,  I  want  to 
have  a  word  with  you.  I  want  to  have  a  word 
with  you  before  we  meet  up  yonder  to-day.  I  am 
Hot  satisfied  with  the  state  of  alTairs." 

"Not  satisfied  I"  cried  Tigg.  "The  money 
conies  in  well." 

"  'I'he  money  comes  in  well  enough,"  retorted 
Jonas  :  "  but  it  don't  come  out  well  enough.  It 
can't  be  got  at,  easily  enough.  I  haven't  suffi- 
cient power;  it's  all  in  your  hands.  Ecod  I  what 
with  one  of  your  bye-laws,  and  another  of  your 
b\e-la\vs,  and  your  votes  in  this  capacity,  and 
your  votes  in  that  capacity,  and  your  official 
rights,  and  your  individual  rights,  and  other  peo- 
ple's rights  who  are  only  you  again,  there  are  no 
rights  left  for  me.  Everybody  else's  rights  are 
mv  wrongs.  What's  the  use  of  my  having  a 
Voice  if  it's  always  drowned?  I  might  as  well  be 
dumb,  and  it  would  be  much  less  aggravating. 
I  'm  not  going  to  stand  that,  you  know." 

"No?"  said  Tigg  in  an  insinuating  tone. 

"  No  I"  returned  Jonas,  "  I  'm  not  indeed.  I  '11 
p»ay  old  Gooseberry  with  the  office,  and  make  you 
glad  to  buy  me  out  at  a  good  high  figure,  if  you 
trj  any  of  your  tricks  with  me." 

"  I    give    you    my    honour "     Montague 

began. 

"Oh  I  confound  your  honour,"  interrupted 
Jonas,  who  became  more  coarse  and  quarrelsome 
as  the  other  remonstrated,  which  may  have  been 
B  part  of  Mr.  Montague's  intention:  "  I  want  a 
liMJc  more  control  over  the  money.  You  may 
liiive  all  tiie  honour,  if  you  like;  I'll  never  bring 
you  to  book  for  that.  But  I  'm  not  agoing  to 
ptand  it,  as  it  is  now,  L"  you  should  take  it  into 
your  honourable  head  to  go  abroad  with  the  bank, 
I  don't  see  much  to  prevent  you.  Well  I  That 
won't  do.  I  've  had  some  very  good  dinners  here, 
but  they'd  come  too  dear  on  such  terms:  and 
tlierefore,  that  won't  do." 

"  I  am  unfortunate  to  find  you  in  this  humour," 
said  Tigg,  with  a  remarkable  kind  of  smile  :  "lor 
I  was  going  to  propose  to  you — for  your  own  ad- 
Tantage  ;  solely  fur  your  own  advantage — that 
you  should  venliire  a  little  more  with  us." 

"  Was  you,  by  G —  7"  said  Jonas,  with  a  short 
laugh. 

"  Yes.  And  to  suggest,"  pursued  Montague, 
"that  surely  you  have  friends;  indeed,  I  know 
yi.u  have;  who  would  answer  our  purpose  admi- 
rably, and  whom  we  should  be  deligiited  to  re- 
Ci  ive." 

"  How  kind  of  you  !  You  'd  be  delighted  to 
receive  'cm,  would  you?"  said  Jonas,  bantering. 

"  I  give  you  my  saered  honour,  (]uitc  trans- 
ported.    As  your  friends,  observe  I" 

"Exactly,"  sai.l  Jonas:  "as  my  friends,  of 
course.  You'll  be  very  much  defighled  wh'-n 
v.iu  get  'em,  I  have  no 'flouht.  And  il  '11  he  ail 
to  my  advantage,  won't  it  ?" 

"  '•  wil!  he  very  iiiiieh  fn  ynnr  advantage,"  an- 
'•irvered  Montague,  poising  u  brush  m  uiicli  liund, 


and  looking  steadily  upon  him.     "  It  will  be  verj 
much  to  your  advantage,  I  assure  you." 

"  And  you  can  tell  me  how,"  said  Jonas,  "  can'l 
you  ?" 

"Shall  I  tell  3'ou  how  ?"  returned  the  other. 

"  I  think  you  had  belter,"  said  Jonas.  "  Strange 
things  have  been  done  in  the  Insurance  way 
before  now,  by  strange  sorts  of  men,  and  I  meaa 
to  take  care  of  myselt." 

"  Chuzzlewit  I"  replied  Montague,  leaning  for- 
ward, with  his  arms  upon  his  knees,  and  looking 
lull  into  his  lace.  "Strange  things  have  been 
done,  and  are  done  every  day ;  not  only  m  our 
way,  but  in  a  variety  of  other  ways  ;  and  no  one 
suspects  them.  But  ours,  as  you  say,  my  good 
friend,  is  a  strange  way;  and  we  strangely  hap- 
pen, sometimes,  to  come  into  the  knowledge  of 
very  strange  events." 

He  beckoned  to  Jonas  to  bring  his  chair  nearer; 
and  looking  slightl}'  round,  :«  if  to  remiiid  him 
of  the  presence  of  Nadgett,  whispered  in  his  tar. 

From  red  to  white;  from  white  to  red  again  ; 
from  red  to  yellow  ;  then  to  a  cold,  dull,  awful, 
sweat-bedabbled  blue.  In  that  short  whisper,  all 
these  changes  fell  upon  the  lace  of  Jonas  Chuz- 
zlewit; and  when  at  last  he  laid  his  hand  upon 
the  whisperer's  mouth,  appalled,  lest  any  syllable 
of  what  he  said  should  reach  the  ears  of  the  third 
person  present,  it  was  as  bloodless,  and  as  heavy 
as  the  hand  of  Death. 

He  drew  his  chair  away,  and  sat  a  spectacle 
of  terror,  misery,  and  rage.  He  was  afraid  to 
speak,  or  look,  or  move,  or  sit  still.  Abject, 
crouching,  and  miserable,  he  was  a  greater  de- 
gradation to  the  form  he  bore,  than  if  he  had  btrn 
a  loathsome  wound  from  head  to  heel. 

His  companion  leisurely  resumed  his  dresEit.g, 
and  completed  it,  glancing  sometimes  with  a  smile 
at  the  transtbrmation  he  had  effected,  but  never 
speaking  once. 

"  You  'II  not  object,"  he  said,  when  he  was 
quite  equipped,  "  to  venture  further  with  us, 
Chuzzlewit,  my  friend  ?" 

His  pale  lips  faintly  stammered  out  a  "No." 

"Well  said!  That's  like  yourself.  Do  you 
Know,  I  was  thinking  yesterday  that  your  t'atlier- 
in-law,  relying  on  your  advice  as  a  man  of  great 
sagacity  in  money  matters,  as  no  doubt  you  are, 
would  join  us,  if  tiie  thing  were  well  presented  to 
him.     He  has  money?" 

"  Yes,  he  has  money." 

"Shall  I  leave  Mr.  Pecksniff  to  you?  Will 
you  undertake  for  Mr.  Pecksnitf?" 

"  I  '11  try.     I  '11  do  my  best." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,"  replied  the  other,  clap- 
ping him  upon  the  shoulder.  "Shall  we  walk 
down  stairs?  Mr.  Nadgett  I  Follow  us,  if  you 
please." 

They  went  down  in  that  order.  Whatever 
Jonas  felt  in  relcrence  to  Montague;  whatever 
sense  he  had  of  being  caged,  and  barred,  and 
trapped,  and  having  fallen  down  into  a  pit  ul' 
dee()est  ruin;  whatever  thoughts  came  crowding 
on  his  mind  even  at  that  early  time,  of  one  tei  ri 
ble  chance  of  escape,  of  one  red  glimmer  in  a 
hkv  of  bliekTiess  ;  lie  no  more  thought  that  tou 
slinking  figure  half  a  dozen  stairs  beiiind  hitr. 
was  his  pursuing  Fate,  ami  that  the  oilier  fijjure 
at  his  side  was  hid  GooJ  Angel. 


MARTIN   CHUz>    ^iijWIT. 


233 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 


CONTAINING  SOME  FURTHER  PARTICULARS  OF  THE  DOMESTIC  ECONOMY 
OF  THE  PINCHES;  WITH  STRANGE  NEWS  FROM  THE  CITY,  NARROWLY 
CONCERNING  TOM. 


Pleasant  little  Ruth  !  Cheerful,  tidy,  bustlings, 
qniet  little  Ruth!  No  doll's-house  ever  yielded 
greater  delight  to  its  young-  mistress,  than  little 
Ruth  derived  from  her  glorious  dominion  over  the 
triangular  parlour  and  the  two  small  bed-rooms. 
To  be  Tom's  housekeeper !  What  dignity ! 
Housekeeping,  upon  the  commonest  terms,  asso- 
ciated itself  with  elevated  responsibilities  of  all 
ports  and  kinds  ;  but  liousckeeping  for  Tom,  im- 
jilied  the  utmost  complication  of  grave  trusts  and 
iiiighty  charges.  Well  might  she  take  the  keys 
out  of  the  little  chiffonnier  which  held  the  tea  and 
sugar;  and  out  of  the  two  little  damp  cupboards 
down  by  the  fire-place,  where  the  very  black  bee- 
llt;s  got  mouldy,  and  had  the  shine  taken  out  of 
Uieir  backs  by  envious  mildew  ;  and  jingle  them 
upon  a  ring  before  Tom's  eyes  when  he  came 
down  to  breakfast!  Well  might  she,  laughing 
musically,  put  them  up  in  that  blessed  little  pocket 
of  her's  with  a  merry  pride  !  For  it  was  such  a 
grand  novelty  to  be  mistress  of  anything,  that  if 
Biie  had  been  the  most  relentless  and  despotic  of 
nil  little  housekeepers,  she  might  have  pleaded  just 
that  much  for  her  excuse,  and  have  been  honour- 
ably acquitted. 

So  far  from  being  despotic,  however,  there  was 
a  coyness  about  her  very  way  of  pouring  out  the 
tea,  which  Tom  quite  revelled  in.  And  when  she 
asked  him  what  he  would  like  to  have  for  dinner, 
and  faltered  out  "chops"  as  a  reasonably  good  sug- 
gestion after  their  last  night's  successful  supper, 
Tom  grew  quite  facetious  and  rallied  her  despe- 
rotely. 

"I  don't  know  Tom,"  said  his  sister,  blushing, 
"  I  am  not  quite  confident,  but  I  think  I  could 
make  a  beef-steak  pudding,  if  I  tried,  Tom." 

"  In  the  whole  catalogue  of  cookery,  there  is 
nothing  I  should  like  so  much  as  a  beef-steak  pud- 
ding I"  cried  Tom:  slapping  his  leg  to  give  the 
greater  force  to  this  reply. 

"  Yes,  dchT,  that 's  excellent  ?  But  if  it  should 
happen  not  to  come  quite  right  the  first  time,"  his 
sister  faltered  ;  "  if  it  should  happen  not  to  be  a 
pudding  exactly,  but  should  turn  out  a  stew,  or  a 
S'>up,  or  something  of  that  sort,  you'll  not  be 
Ti'xed  Tom,  will  you  ?" 

The  serious  way  in  which  she  looked  at  Tom  ; 
the  way  in  wliich  Tom  looked  at  lier;  and  the  way 
in  which  she  gradually  broke  into  a  merry  laugh 
at  her  own  expiiise;  would  have  enciianfed  you. 
"Why,"  said  Torn,  "  tiiis  is  capital.  It  gives 
us  a  new,  and  quite  an  uncornmon  interest  in  the 
dinner.  We  put  into  a  lottery  for  a  beef-steak 
pudding,  and  it  is  impossible  to  say  what  we  may 
get.  We  may  make  some  wonderful  discovery, 
perhaps,  and  produce  such  a  dish  as  never  was 
r.nown  l»(;toro." 

"  I  shiill  ni)t  be  at  all  surprised  if  we  do,  Tom," 
returned  liis  sister,  still  liiugliiiisr  merrily,  "or  if 
it  shf>uUl  prove  to  be  spch  a  dish  as  we  shall  not 
feel  verv  anxious  lo  produce  again;  but  the  meat 


must  come  out  of  the  saucepan  at  last,  sotnelrow 
or  other,  you  know.  We  can't  cook  it  into  no- 
thing at  all ;  that 's  a  great  comfort.  So  if  you 
like  to  venture,  /will." 

"  I  have  not  the  least  doubt,"  rejoined  Tom, 
"that  it  will  come  out  an  excellent  padding;  or 
at  all  events,  I  am  sure  that  I  sh.".ll  think  it  s«. 
There  is  naturally  something  so  handy  and  brisk 
about  you,  Ruth,  that  if  you  said  you  could  make  a 
bowl  of  faultless  turtle  soup,  I  should  believe  you." 
And  Tom  was  right.  She  was  precisely  that 
sort  of  person.  Nobody  ought  to  have  been  able  to 
resist  her  coaxing  manner ;  and  nobody  had  any 
business  to  tr}'.  Yet  she  never  seemed  to  know 
it  was  her  manner  at  all.  That  was  the  best  of  it 
Well!  she  washed  uj)  the  breakfast  cups,  chat- 
ting away  the  whole  time,  and  telling  Tom  all 
sorts  of  anecdotes  about  the  brass  and  copper 
founder;  put  ev-rything  in  its  place;  made  the 
room  as  neat  as  herself; — you  must  not  suppose 
its  shape  was  half  as  neat  as  her's  though,  or  any- 
thing  like  it;  and  brushed  Tom's  old  hat  round 
and  round  and  round  again,  until  it  was  as  sleek 
as  Mr.  Pecksniff.  Then  she  discovered,  all  in  a 
moment,  that  Tom's  shirt-collar  was  frayed  at  tlie 
edge;  and  flying  up  stairs  lor  a  needle  and  thread, 
came  flying  down  again  with  her  thimble  on,  and 
set  it  right  with  wonderful  expertness  ;  never  once 
sticking  the  needle  into  his  face,  although  she  was 
humming  his  pet  tune  from  first  to  last,  and  beat- 
ing  time  with  the  fingers  of  her  left  hand  upon 
his  nsckcloth.  She  had  no  sooner  done  tliis,  than 
off  she  was  again;  and  there  she  stood  once  more, 
as  brisk  and  busy  as  a  bee,  tying  that  compact  little 
chin  of  her's  into  an  equally  compact  little  bonnet : 
intent  on  bustling  out  to  the  butcher's,  without  a 
minute's  loss  of  time;  and  inviting  Tom  to  come 
and  see  the  steak  cut,  with  his  own  eyes.  As  lo 
Tom,  he  was  ready  to  go  anywhere  :  so  off  they 
trotted, arm-in-arm, as  nimbly  as  you  please:  saying 
to  each  other  what  a  quiet  street  it  was  to  lodge  in, 
and  how  very  cheap,  and  what  an  airy  situation. 
To  see  the  butcher  slap  the  steak,  before  he  laid 
it  on  the  block,  and  gave  his  knife  a  sharpening, 
was  to  forget  breakfast  instantly.  It  was  agree- 
able, too — it  really  was  —  to  see  him  cut  it  off,  wj 
smooth  and  juicy.  There  was  nothing  savage  in 
the  act,  although  the  knife  was  large  and  keen; 
it  was  a  piece  of  art,  high  art;  there  was  delicacy 
of  touch,  clearness  of  tone,  skilful  handling  of  the 
subject,  fine  shading.  It  was  the  triumph  of  mind 
over  matti-r ;  quite. 

Perhaps  the  greenest  cabbage-leaf  ever  grown 
in  a  garden  was  wrapped  about  this  steak,  before 
it  was  delivered  over  to  Tom.  But  the  butcher  had 
a  sentiment  for  his  business,  and  knew  how  to 
refine  upon  it.  When  he  saw  Tom  putting  the 
cabbage-leaf  into  his  pocket  awkwardly,  he  beg. 
ged  to  be  allowed  to  do  it  for  him;  "for  meat," 
he  said,  with  some  emotion,  "must  be  humoured 
not  droYe." 


334 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Back  they  went  to  the  lodgings  again,  after  lliey 
had  bought  some  eggs,  and  flour,  und  sucli  small 
uiatters  ;  and  Tom  sat  gravely  down  to  write,  at 
one  end  oftlie  parlour  table,  while  Ruth  prepared 
to  make  the  pudding,  at  the  other  end  :  tor  there 
was  nobody  in  the  house  but  an  old  woman,  (tiie 
landlord  being  a  mysterious  sort  of  man,  who 
went  out  earlv  in  the  morning,  and  was  scarcely 
ever  seen) ;  and,  saving  in  mere  household  drud- 
gery, tiiey  waited  on  themselves. 

"What  are  you  writing,  Tom?"  inquired  his 
sister,  layitig  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder. 

"  VVhy,  you  see,  my  dear,"  said  Tom,  leaning 
back  in  "his  cliair,  and  looking  up  in  her  face,  "  I 
am  very  anxious,  of  course,  to  obtain  some  suita- 
ble employment;  and,  before  Mr.  Westloek  comes 
this  alternoi.n,  I  think  1  may  as  well  prepare  a 
little  description  of  myself  and  my  qualifications; 
Buch  as  lie  could  show  to  any  friend  of  his." 

"  You  had  better  do  the  same  for  me,  Tom, 
also,"  said  his  sister,  casting  down  her  eyes.  "  I 
should  dearly  like  to  keep  house  for  you,  and  take 
care  of  you,  always,  Tom;  but  we  are  not  rich 
enough  lor  that." 

"  We  are  not  rich,"  returned  Tom,  "certainly; 
and  we  may  be  much  poorer.  But  we  will  not 
part,  if  we  can  help  it.  No,  no  :  we  will  make  up 
our  minds,  Ruth,  that,  unless  we  are  so  very  un- 
fortunate as  to  render  me  quite  sure  that  you 
would  be  hotter  off  away  from  me  than  with  me, 
we  will  battle  it  out  together.  I  am  certain  we 
shall  be  happier  if  we  can  battle  it  out  together. 
Don't  you  think  we  shall  V 

"  Think,  Tom  I" 

"  Oh,  tut,  tut !"  interposed  Tom,  tenderly.  "  You 
mustn't  cry." 

"  No,  no ;  I  won't,  Tom,  But  you  can't  afford 
it,  dear.     You  can't,  indeed." 

"  We  don't  know  that,"  said  Tom.  "  How  are 
we  to  know  that  yet  awhile,  and  without  trying? 
Lord  bless  my  soul !"  Tom's  energy  became  quite 
grand  ;  "  There  is  no  knowing  what  may  happen, 
if  we  try  hard.  And  I  am  sure  we  can  live  con- 
tentedly upon  a  very  little — if  we  can  only  get  it." 

"  Yes :  that  I  am  sure  we  can,  Tom." 

"  Why,  then,"  said  Ton,  "  we  must  try  for  it. 
My  friend,  John  Westloek,  is  a  cajdtal  fellow,  and 
very  sh.ewd  and  intelligent,  1  '11  lake  his  advice. 
We  'II  talk  It  over  with  him — both  of  us  together. 
You'll  like- John  very  much,  when  you  come  to 
know  him,  I  am  certain.  Don't  cry,  don't  cry. 
You  make  a  beef-steak  pudding,  indeed  I"  said 
Tom,  giving  her  a  gentle  push.  "  VVhy,  you 
haven't  boldness  enough  liir  a  dumpling!" 

"  You  will  call  it  a  pudding,  Tom.  Mind  !  I 
told  you  not !" 

"  1  may  as  well  call  it  that,  'till  it  proves  to  be 
Bomethiiig  else,"  said  Tom,  "Oh,  you  are  going 
to  work  in  earnest,  are  you  ?" 

Aye,  aye !  Tiiat  she  was.  And  in  such  pleasant 
earnest,  moreover,  that  Tom's  attention  wandered 
from  his  writing,  every  moment.  First,  she  tripped 
down  stairs  into  the  kitchen  for  the  llour,  then  for 
the  pie-board,  then  for  the  eggs,  then  ior  the  but- 
ter, then  f(jr  a  jug  of  water,  then  lor  the  rolling- 
pin,  then  liir  a  pudding-basin,  then  l()r  the  pepper, 
then  for  the  salt:  making  a  separate  journey  for 
everything,  and  laughing  every  time  she  started 
fifl*  afresh.  When  all  tlie  materials  were  collected, 
Blib  was  bonified  to  find  she  had  nu  anion  on. 


and  so  ran  up  stairs,  by  way  of  variety,  to  fetch 
it.  She  didn't  put  it  on  up  stairs,  but  came  dancing; 
down  with  it  in  her  hand  ;  and  bti!;g  one  of  those 
little  women  to  whom  an  apron  is  a  most  beconi. 
ing  little  vanity,  it  took  an  immense  time  to  ar 
range ;  having  to  be  carefully  .smoothed  down 
beneath  —  Oh,  heaven,  what  a  wicked  little  sto. 
macher  !  —  and  to  be  gathered  up  into  little  plaits 
by  the  strings  before  it  could  be  tied,  and  to  be 
tapped,  rebuked,  and  wheedled,  at  the  pockets, 
before  it  would  set  right,  which  at  last  it  did,  and 
when  it  did  —  but  never  mind  ;  this  is  a  sober 
chronicle;  Oh,  never  mind!  And  then  theie  were 
her  cuft's  to  be  tucked  up,  for  fear  of  flour ;  and 
she  had  a  little  ring  to  pull  off  her  finger,  which 
wouldn't  come  off  (tbolish  little  ring  1) ;  and  dur- 
ing the  whole  ol"  these  preparations  she  locked 
demurely  every  now  and  then  at  Tom,  from  un- 
der her  dark  eye-lashes,  as  if  they  were  all  a  part 
of  the  pudding,  and  indispensable  to  its  composi- 
tion. 

For  the  life  and  soul  of  him,  Tom  could  get  no 
further  in  his  writing  than,  "  A  respectable  young 
man  aged  thirty-five,"  and  this,  notwithstanding 
the  show  she  made  of  being  supernaturally  quiet, 
and  going  about  on  tiptoe,  lest  she  should  disturb 
him:  which  only  served  as  an  additional  means 
of  distracting  his  attention,  and  keeping  it  upon 
her. 

"  Tom,"  she  said  at  last,  in  high  glee.  "  Tom !" 

"  What  now  ?"  said  Tom,  repeating  to  himselfi 
"  aged  thirty-five  !" 

"Will  you  look  here  a  moment,  please  ?" 

As  if  he  hadn't  been  looking  all  the  time  ! 

"  I  am  going  to  begin,  Tom.  Don't  you  won- 
der why  I  butter  the  inside  of  the  basin  ?"  said 
his  busy  little  sister.     "  Eh,  Tom  ?" 

"  Not  more  than  you  do,  I  dare  say,"  replied 
Tom,  laughing.  "  For  I  believe  you  don't  know 
anything  about  it." 

"  What  an  infidel  you  are,  Tom  !  How  else  do 
you  think  it  would  turn  out  easily  when  it  was 
done  ?  For  a  civil-engineer  and  laiid-surveyornot 
to  know  that.     My  goodness,  Tom  !" 

It  was  wholly  out  of  the  question  to  try  te 
write.  Torn  lined  out  "  A  respectable  young 
man,  aged  thirty-five ;"  and  sat  looking  on,  pen 
in  hand,  with  one  of  the  most  loving  smiles  ima- 
ginable. 

Such  a  busy  little  woman  as  she  was  !  So  full 
of  self-importanee,  and  trying  so  hard  not  to  smile, 
or  seem  uncertain  about  anything  I  It  was  a  per- 
fect treat  to  Tom  to  see  her  with  her  brows  knit, 
and  her  rosy  lips  pursed  up,  kneading  away  at  the 
crust,  rolling  it  out,  cutting  it  up  into  strips,  lining 
the  basin  with  it,  shaving  it  off  fine  round  the 
rim ;  chopping  up  the  sti-ak  into  small  pieces, 
raining  down  pepper  and  salt  ui>on  them,  packing 
them  into  the  basin,  pnuring  in  cold  water  for 
gravy  ;  and  never  venturing  to  steal  a  look  in  his 
direction,  lest  her  gravity  should  be  disturbed; 
until  at  last,  the  basin  being  (juite  full  and  only 
wanting  the  top  crust,  she  clajipcd  her  hands,  all 
covered  with  i)aste  and  flour,  at  Tom,  and  burst 
out  heartily  into  such  a  charming  little  laugh  of 
triumph,  thiit  the  ])uddiiig  need  have  had  no  other 
seasoning  to  commend  it  to  the  taste  of  any  rea- 
sonable man  on  earth. 

"  Where 's  the  puddintr  ?"  said  Tom.  For  ha 
was  cutting  his  jokes.  Tom  was. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT 


235 


"Where  f  she  answered,  holding  it  up  witli 
ooth  hands.     "  Looli  at  it  1" 

"  That  a  pudding!"  said  Toin. 

"  It  will  be,  you  stupid  tcllow,  wlien  it's  cover- 
ed in,"  returned  liis  sister.  'I'oin  still  pretending 
to  look  incredulous,  slie  gave  him  a  tap  on  the 
bead  with  the  roiling-pin,  and  still  laughing  mer- 
rily, liad  returned  to  the  cmnposition  ot"  the  top- 
crust,  when  she  started  and  turned  very  red. 
Tom  sliiited,  too,  for  tollowing  lier  eyes,  lie  saw 
John  Westlock  in  the  room. 

"Why,  my  goodness,  John!  How  did  you 
Come  in  ?" 

"I  beg  pardon,"  said  John  —  "your  sister's 
pardon  especially  :  but  I  met  an  old  lady  at  the 
street  door,  who  requested  me  to  enter  here  ;  and 
as  you  didn't  hear  me  knock,  and  the  door  was 
open,  1  made  bold  to  do  so.  I  hardly  know,"  said 
John,  with  a  smile,  "  why  any  of  us  sliould  be 
disconcerted  at  my  having  accidenti'.lly  intruded 
upon  such  an  agreeable  domestic  occupation,  so 
very  agreeably  and  skili'ully  pursued;  but  I  must 
confess  that  /  am.  Tom,  will  you  kindly  come  to 
my  relief/" 

"  iMr.  John  Westlock,"  said  Tom.    "  My  sister." 

"  I  hope,  that  as  the  sister  of  so  old  a  friend," 
eaid  John,  laughing,  "you  will  have  tiie  goodness 
to  detach  your  first  impressions  of  me  Irom  my 
jnfortunate  entrance." 

"  My  sister  is  not  indisposed  perhaps  to  say  the 
Bame  to  you  on  her  own  hehaif,"  retorted  Tom. 

John  said,  of  course,  that  this  was  quite  unne- 
cessary, for  he  had  been  transfixed  in  silent  ad- 
miration ;  and  he  held  out  his  hand  to  Miss  Pinch  ; 
who  couldn't  take  it,  however,  by  reason  of  the 
flour  and  paste  upon  her  own.  This,  which  might 
seem  calculated  to  increase  the  general  confusion 
and  render  matters  worse,  had  in  reality  the  best 
effect  in  the  world,  tor  neither  of  them  could  help 
laughing;  and  so  they  both  found  themselves  on 
easy  terms  immediately. 

"  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,"  said  Tom.  "  Sit 
down." 

"  I  can  only  think  of  sitting  down,  on  one  con- 
dition," returned  iiis  friend  :  "  and  that  is,  that 
your  sister  goes  on  with  the  pudding,  as  if  you 
were  still  alone." 

"  That  I  am  sure  she  will,"  said  Tom.  "  On 
one  other  condition,  and  that  is,  that  you  stay  and 
help  us  to  eat  it." 

Poor  little  Ruth  was  seized  with  a  palpitation 
of  the  heart  when  Tom  committed  this  appalling 
indiscretion,  for  she  li;lt  that  if  the  dish  turned  out 
B  failure,  she  never  would  be  able  to  hold  up  her 
head  before  John  Westlock  again.  Quite  uncon- 
scious of  her  state  of  mind,  John  accepted  tlie  in- 
vitation  with  all  imaginable  heartiness;  and  after 
a  li'tle  more  pleasantry  concerning  this  same 
pudding,  and  the  tremendous  expectations  he 
made  i>eiief  to  entertain  of  it,  she  blushiiigly  re- 
sumed her  occupation,  and  he  took  a  chair. 

"  I  am  here  much  earlier  than  I  intended, 
Tom;  bill  I  will  tell  you  what  brings  me,  and  I 
think  I  oan  answer  for  your  being  glad  to  hear  it. 
Is  that  anything  you  wish  to  show  me  ?" 

"Oil  dear  no  1"  cried  Tom,  who  had  forgotten 
tiie.  bloHrd  scrap  of  paper  in  his  hand,  until  this 
inquiry  brought  it  to  his  recollection.  "*  A  re- 
Bpi!Ct.ilile  young  man,  aged  thirty-five'  —  The  be- 
ginning of  a  description  of  myself.    That  's  all." 

"  1  don't  think  you  will  have  occasion  to  finish 


it,  Tom.     But  how  is  it,  you  never  told  me  you 
had  friends  in  London  .'" 

Torn  looked  at  his  sister  with  all  his  might ;  and 
certainly  his  sister  looked  with  all  her  might  at 
him. 

"  Friends  in  London  I"  echoed  Tom. 

"  Ah  1"  said  Westlock,  "  to  be  sure." 

"  Have  yuu  any  friends  in  London,  Ruth,  my 
dear  ?"  asked  Tom. 

"No,  Tom." 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  that  /  have,"  said 
Tom,  "  but  it 's  news  to  me.  I  never  knew  iL 
They  must  be  capital  people  to  keep  a  secret, 
John." 

"  You  shall  judge  for  yourself,"  returned  the 
other.  "Seriously,  Tom,  here  is  the  pi  lin  state 
of  the  case.  As  1  was  sitting  at  breakfast  this 
morning,  there  comes  a  knock  at  my  door." 

"  On  wliich  you  cried  out,  very  loud,  '  Come 
in  I'  "  suggested  Tom. 

"  So  I  did.  And  the  person  who  knocked,  not 
being  a  respectable  young  man  aged  thirty-five, 
from  the  country,  came  in  when  he  was  invited, 
Tom,  instead  of  standing  gaping  and  staring 
about  him  on  the  landing.  Well  I  when  he  cama 
in,  I  found  he  was  a  stranger ;  a  grave,  business- 
like, sedate-looking,  stranger.  '  Mr.  VVestlock  ?' 
said  he.  '  That  is  my  name,'  said  L  '  The  favour 
of  a  few  words  with  you  ?'  said  he.  '  Pray  be 
seated,  sir,'  said  L" 

Here  John  stopped  for  an  instant,  to  glance  to. 
wards  the  table,  where  Tom's  sister,  listening 
attentively,  was  still  busy  with  the  basin,  which 
by  this  time  made  a  noble  appearance.  Then  he 
resumed  : 

"  The  pudding  having  taken  a  chair,  Tom"  — • 

"  What :"  cried  Tom. 

"  Having  taken  a  chair." 

"  You  said  a  pudding." 

"  No,  no,"  replied  John,  colouring  rather ;  '  a 
chair.  The  idea  of  a  stranger  coming  into  my 
rooms  at  half-past  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
and  taking  a  pudding  1  Having  taken  a  chair, 
Tom,  a  chair  —  amazed  me  by  opening  the  con- 
versation thus :  '  I  believe  you  are  acquainted, 
sir,  with  Mr.  Thomas  Pinch  V  " 

"No!"  cried  Tom. 

"  His  Very  words,  I  assure  you.  I  told  hii.- 
that  I  was.  Did  I  know  where  you  were  at  pre- 
sent residing  ?  Yes.  In  London  ?  Yes.  He 
had  casually  heard,  in  a  roundabout  way,  that 
you  had  left  your  situation  with  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
Was  that  the  fiiCt  ?  Yes,  it  was.  Did  you  want 
another?     Yes,  you  did." 

"Certainly,"  said  Tom,  nodding  his  head. 

"Just  what  I  impressed  upon  him.  You  maj 
rest  assured  that  I  set  that  point  beyond  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  mistake,  and  gave  him  distinctly 
to  understand  that  he  mi'^lit  make  up  his  mind 
about  it.  V'ery  well.  '  Then,'  said  he,  '  I  thii;k 
I  can  accommodate  him.'  " 

Tom's  sister  stopped  short. 

"Lord  bless  me  I"  cried  Tom.  "Ruth,  my 
dear,  '  think  I  can  accommodate  him.'  " 

"  Of  course  I  begg-f'd  him,"  pursued  John  West 
lock,  glancing  at  Tom's  sister,  who  was  not  les* 
eaoer  in  her  interest  than  Tom  himself,  "to  pro» 
ccid,  and  said  that  I  would  underta.ke  to  see  you 
immediately.  He  replied  that  he  had  very  littlif 
to  say,  being  a  man  of  few  words,  jut  such  as  it 
was,  it  was  to  tlie  purpose  *  and   so    indeed,  it 


236 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   OF 


turned  out :  for  he  immediately  went  on  to  ttH 
me  that  a  iriend  of  his  was  in  want  of  a  kind  ot 
eicrctary  and  hbrarian ;  and  although  the  salary 
Wus  small,  being  only  a  hundred  pounds  a  year, 
with  neither  board  nor  lodging,  still  the  duties 
were  not  heavy,  and  there  tlie  post  was.  Vacant, 
and  ready  for  your  acceptance." 

"Good  gracious  me  I"  cried  Tom;  "a  hundred 
pounds  a  year  !  My  dear  John  !  Ruth,  my  love  ! 
A  hundred  pounds  a  year  I" 

"  But  the  stiaiigest  part  of  the  story,"  resumed 
John  Wfstlock,  l.iying  his  hand  on  'I'om's  wrist, 
to  be>pcak  his  attention,  and  repress  his  ecstacies 
tor  the  moment:  "  the  strangest  part  of  the  story, 
Mi.ss  Pinch,  is  tliis.  I  don't  know  this  man  from 
Adam  ;  neither  does  this  man  know  Tom." 

"  He  can't,"  said  Tom,  in  great  perplexity,  "  if 
he  's  a  Londoner.  I  don't  know  any  one  in  Lon- 
don." 

"  And  on  my  observing,"  John  resumed,  still 
keepmg  his  hand  upon  Tom's  wrist,  "that  I  had 
no  tioubt  he  would  excuse  the  freedom  1  took,  in 
inquiring  who  directed  him  to  me ;  how  he  came 
to  know  of  the  change  which  had  taken  place  in 
my  friend's  position ;  and  how  he  came  to  be  ac- 
qi^uinted  with  my  friend's  peculiar  fitness  for  such 
an  office  as  he  had  described ;  he  drily  said  that 
he  was  not  at  liberty  to  enter  into  any  explana- 
tions." 

"Not  at  liberty  to  enter  into  any  explanations!" 
repeated  Tom,  drawing  a  long  breath. 

"'1  must  be  perfectly  aware,'  he  said,"  John 
added,  '* '  that  to  any  person  who  had  ever  been 
ill  Mr.  Pecksniil''s  neighbouriiood,  Mr.  Thomas 
Pnich,  and  his  acquirements  were  as  well  known 
B8  tlic  Churcii  steeple,  or  the  Blue  Dragon.'  " 

"  The  Blue  Dragon  !"  replied  Tom,  staring  al- 
ternately at  his  friend  and  his  sister. 

"  Aye  ;  tiiink  of  that  I  He  spoke  as  familiarly 
of  the  Blue  Dragon,  I  give  you  my  word,  as  if  he 
had  been  Mark  'I'apley.  I  opened  my  eyes,  I  can 
tell  you,  when  he  did  so;  but  I  could  not  fancy  I 
had  ever  seen  the  man  before,  although  he  said 
with  a  smile,  'You  know  the  Blue  Dragon,  Mr. 
Wusllock ;  you  kept  it  up  there,  once  or  twice, 
yourselK'  Kept  it  up  there  I  So  1  did.  You  re- 
iriember,  Tom  ?" 

Tom  nodded  with  great  significance,  and,  fall- 
ing into  a  state  of  deeper  perplexity  llian  before, 
otjserved  that  this  was  the  m<»st  unaccountable  and 
extraordniary  circumstance  he  had  ever  heard  of 
in  his  life. 

"  Unaccountable  !"  his  friend  repeated.  "  I  be- 
came al'ruid  of  the  man.  'I'hough  it  was  broad 
day,  and  bright  sunshine,  I  was  positively  afraid 
ol  Into.  1  declare  I  half  suspected  him  to  be  a 
siipLTnutural  visitor,  and  not  a  mortal,  until  he 
tiioK  out  a  coiumon-j)lace  description  of  pocket- 
biiok,  and  handed  me  tliis  card." 

"  Mr.  Fips,"  said  Tom,  reading  it  aloud.  "  Aus- 
tin  Friars.     Austin  Friars  sounds  ghostly,  John." 

"  Fips  don't,  1  think,"  was  John's  reply.  "  But 
Uiere  lie  lives,  Tom,  and  there  he  expects  us  to 
Call  this  morning.  .\nd  now  you  know  as  much 
ol  mis  stringc  inei(kiit  as  I  do,  upon  my  honour," 

'Cum's  face,  helvveen  his  cxull.ition  in  the  hun- 
U-ed  pomid'.i  a  year,  ami  his  wonder  at  this  nana- 
\lon,  was  .irdy  to  be  cquilled  by  the  face  of  his 
■  l.~»<  t,  on  wliieh  the  le  sit  tlie  very  bi-.-l  e\i)rcssioii 
(II  blooiniiig  surprise  tli.it  any  p;iinler  eould  have 
wiijiied    to   Jice.     What    the    beef-sleak    pudding 


would  have  come  to,  if  it  had  not  been  by  this  time 
finished,  astrology  itself  could  hardly  determine. 

"  Tom,"  said  Ruth,  after  a  little  hesitation, 
"  Perliaps  Mr.  Westlock,  in  his  friendship  for  you, 
knows  more  of  this  than  he  chooses  to  tell. 

"  No,  indeed  I"  cried  John,  eagerly.  "  It  is  not 
so,  I  assure  you.  I  wish  it  were.  I  cannot  take 
credit  to  myself.  Miss  Pinch,  for  any  such  thing. 
All  that  I  know,  or  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  am 
likely  to  know,  I  have  told  you." 

"Couldn't  you  know  more  if  you  thought  pro- 
per !".^aid  Ruth,  scraping  the  pie-board  industri- 
ously. 

"  No,"  retorted  John.  "  Indeed,  no.  It  is  very 
ungenerous  in  you,  to  be  so  suspicious  of  me, 
when  I  re()ose  implicit  faith  in  you.  I  have  un- 
bounded confidence  in  the  pudding.  Miss  Pinch." 

She  laughed  at  this,  but  they  soon  got  back  into 
a  serious  vein,  and  discussed  the  subject  with  pro. 
found  gravity.  Whatever  else  was  obscure  in  the 
business,  it  appeared  to  be  quite  plain  that  Tom 
was  offered  a  salary  of  one  hundred  pounds  a 
year ;  and  this  being  the  main  point,  the  surround- 
ing obscurity  rather  set  it  otFthan  otherwise. 

Tom,  being  in  a  great  flutter,  wished  to  start 
for  Austin  Friars  instantly,  but  they  waited  nearly 
an  hour,  by  John's  advice,  before  they  departed. 
Tom  made  himself  as  spruce  as  he  could  before 
leaving  home,  and  when  John  Westlock,  through 
th-B  half-opened  parlour  door,  had  glimi)ses  ofth.it 
brave  little  sister  brushing  the  collar  of  his  coat  in 
the  passage,  taking  up  loose  stitches  in  his  glove.s, 
and  hovering  liglitly  about  and  about  him,  touch- 
ing him  up  here  and  there  in  the  height  of  her 
quaint,  little,  old-fashioned  tidiness,  he  called  to 
mind  the  fancy. portraits  of  her  on  the  wall  of  the 
Pecksniffian  wotk-room,  and  decided  wit!i  uncom- 
mon indignation  that  they  were  gross  libels,  and 
not  half  pretty  enough :  though,  as  halh  been 
mentioned  in  its  place,  the  artists  always  made 
those  sketches  beautiful,  and  he  had  drawn  at  least 
a  score  of  them  with  his  own  hands. 

"Tom,"  he  said,  as  they  were  walking  along, 
"I  begin  to  think  you  must  be  somebody's  son." 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  Tom  answered  in  his  quiet 
way. 

"  But  I  mean  somebody's  of  consequence." 

"  Bless  your  heart,"  replied  Tom.  "  My  p»or 
f-ither  was  of  no  consequence,  nor  my  mother 
either." 

"  You  remember  them  perfectly,  then  ?" 

"  Rememb(T  them  ?  oh  dear,  yes.  My  poor 
mother  was  the  last.  She  died  when  Ruth  was  a 
mere  baby,  and  then  we  both  became  a  charge 
upon  the  savings  of  that  good  old  grandmother  I 
used  to  tell  you  of.  You  remember  I  (,)h  I  There's 
nothing  romantic  in  our  history,  John." 

"  Very  well,"  said  John  in  quiet  despair.  "  Then 
there  is  no  way  of  accounting  for  my  visitor  of  tl.i? 
morning.     So  wc  'II  not  try,  Tom.'' 

They  did  try  notwithstanding,  and  never  lell 
off  trying  until  they  got  to  Anslin  Friars,  where, 
in  a  very  dark  passage  on  the  first  floor,  oddly 
situated  at  the  back  of  a  house,  across  some  leads, 
they  found  a  little  blear-eyed  glass  door  up  in  one 
corner,  with  Mii.  FiPs  painted  on  it  in  characters 
which  were  meant  to  be  transjiarent.  'I'hcre  was 
also  a  wicked  old  sideboard  hiding  in  the  gloom 
hard  by,  meditating  designs  upon  the  ribs  ot' visit- 
ors ;  and  an  old  mat,  worn  into  lattice  work, 
which,  being   useless  as  a  mat  (even  if  anybody 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


237 


?ouIJ  have  seen  it,  which  was  impossible),  had  for 
many  years  directed  its  industry  into  another 
channel,  and  reg-ularly  tripped  up  every  one  of 
Mr.  Fips's  clipnts. 

Mr.  Fips,  hearing  a  violent  concussion  between 
a  huinun  hat  and  iiis  office  door,  was  apprised,  by 
the  usual  means  of  communication,  that  some- 
body h  id  come  to  call  upon  him,  and  giving  l!iat 
somebody  admission,  observed  that  it  was  "  ra- 
ther dark." 

"  Dark  indeed,"  John  whispered  in  Tom  Pinch's 
ear.  "  Not  n  bad  place  to  dispose  of  a  country- 
man in,  I  should  think,  Tom." 

Tom  had  been  already  turning  over  in  his  mind 
the  possibility  of  their  having  been  tempted  into 
that  region  to  furnish  forth  a  pie;  but  the  sight 
of  Mr.  Fips,  who  was  small  and  spare,  and  looked 
peaceable,  and  wore  black  shorts  and  powder,  dis- 
pelled his  doubts. 

"Walk  in,"  said  Mr.  Fips. 
They  walked  in  And  a  mighty  yellow-jaun- 
diced little  office  Mr.  Fips  had  of  it :  with  a  great, 
black,  sprawlinir  splash  upon  the  floor  in  one  cor- 
ner,  as  if  some  old  clerk  had  cut  his  throat  there, 
years  ago,  and  had  let  out  ink  instead  of  blood. 

"  I  have  brought  my  friend  Mr.  Pinch,  sir," 
said  John  Westlock. 

"  Be  pleased  to  sit,"  said  Mr.  Fips. 
They  occupied  the  two  chr.irs,  and  Mr.  Fips  took 
the  office  stool,  from  the  stu'Rng  whereof  he  drew 
forth  a  piece  of  horsehair  of  immense  length,  which 
he  put  into  his  mouth  with  a  great  appearance  of 
appetite. 

He  looked  at  Tom  Pinch  curiously,  but  with  an 
entire  freedom  from  any  such  expression  as  could 
be  reasonably  construed  into  an  unusual  display  of 
interest.  Atler  a  short  silence,  during  which  Mr. 
Fips  was  so  perfectly  unembarrassed  as  to  render 
it  manifest  that  he  could  have  broken  it  sooner 
without  hosilalion,  if  he  had  felt  inclined  lo  do  so, 
he  asked  if  Mr.  Westlock  had  made  his  olTer  fully 
known  to  Mr.  Pinch, 

John  answered  in  the  affirmative. 
"  And  you  think  it  worth  your  while,  sir,  do 
you  ?"  Mr.  Fips  inquired  of  Tom. 

"  I  think  it  a  piece  of  great  good  fortune,  sir," 
said  Tom.  "  I  am  exceedingly  obliged  to  you  for 
the  offijr." 

"  Not  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Fips.  "  I  act  upon  in- 
Btructions." 

"  To  your  friend,  sir,  then,"  said  Tom.  "To  the 
gentleman  witli  whom  I  am  to  engage,  and  whose 
confidence  I  shall  endeavour  to  deserve.  When 
he  knows  me  better,  sir,  I  hope  lie  will  not  lose 
his  good  opinion  of  me.  He  will  find  me  punctual 
and  vigilant,  and  anxious  to  do  what  is  right.  That 
I  think  I  can  answer  for,  and  so,"  looking  towards 
him,  "cm  Mr.  Westlock." 
"  Most  assuredly,"  said  John. 
Mr.  Fips  appeared  to  have  some  little  difficulty 
in  resuming  the  conversation.  To  relieve  himself, 
he  took  up  the  wafer-stamp,  and  began  stamping 
capital  F's  all  over  his  legs. 

"The  fact  i.s,"  Slid  Mr.  Fips,  "  that  my  friend 
is  not,  at  this  present  moment,  in  town." 

Tom  s  countenance  fell ;  for  he  thought  this 
equivalent  to  (ellmg  him  that  his  appearance  did 
not  answer ;  and  that  1"  ips  must  look  out  for  some- 
body else. 

"  When  do  you  think  he  will  be  in  town,  sir  ?" 
be  asked. 


"  I  can't  say;  it's  impos-^ible  to  loll.  I  really 
have  no  idea.  Hut,"  s  lid  Fips,  taking  off  a  very 
de«^p  impression  of  the  wafer-stamp  upon  llie  calf 
of  his  lell  les.'-,  and  looking  steadily  at  'i'oui,  '•  I 
don't  know  that  it's  a  matlurof  mucii  coii.-eqiieni.x"." 
Poor  'I'om  inclined  his  head  defeiciitiully,  but 
appeared  to  doubt  that. 

"  I  say,"  repeated  Mr,  Fips,  "  that  I  don't  know 
it's  a  matter  of  much  con.sequence.  'I'lie  business 
lies  entirely  between  yourself  and  me,  Mr.  Pinch. 
With  reference  to  your  duties,  I  can  set  yi;a  going; 
and  with  reference  to  your  salary,  I  can  pay  it. 
Weekly,"  said  Mr.  Fips,  putting  down  the  w  ifer- 
stamp,  and  looking  at  John  Westlock  and  Tom 
Pinch  by  turns,  "  weekly  ;  in  this  office  ;  at  any 
time  between  the  hours  of  four  and  five  o'clock  in 
the  afternoon."  As  Mr.  Fips  said  this,  Ire  made 
up  hi?  face  as  if  he  were  going  to  whistle.  But 
he  didn't. 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Tom,  who.se  coun- 
tenance  was  suffused  with  pleasure;  "and  no. 
thing  can  be  more  satisfactory  or  straightibrvvard 
My  attendance  will  be  required — " 

"  From  half-past  nine  to  four  o'clock   or  so,  1 

should  say,"  interrupted  Mr.  Fij)s.    "  About  that'' 

"  I  did  not  mean  the  hours  of  attendance,"  re 

torted  Tom,  "  which  are  light  and  easy,  I  am  sure 

but  the  place." 

"Oh,  the  place!     The  place  is  in  the  Temple." 
Tom  was  delighted. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Fips,  "you  would  like  t4 
see  the  place?" 

"  Oh  dear  I"  cried  Tom.  "  I  shall  only  be  toa 
glad  to  consider  myself  engaged,  if  you  will  allow 
me  ;  without  any  further  reference  to  the  place." 
"  You  may  consider  yourself  engaged,  by  all 
means,"  said  Mr.  Fips  :  "  you  could  n't  meet  me 
at  the  Temple-Gate  in  Fleet-street,  in  an  hour 
from  this  time,  I  suppose,  could  you  ?" 
Certainly  Tom  could. 

"Good,"  said  Mr.  Fips,  rising.  "Then  I  will 
show  you  the  place ;  and  you  can  begin  your  at- 
tendance to-morrow  morning.  In  an  hour,  there- 
fore. I  shall  see  you,  too,  Mr.  Westlock  ?  Very 
good.  Take  care  how  you  go.  It 's  rather  dark." 
With  this  remark,  which  seemed  supcrtluous, 
he  shut  them  out  upon  the  staircase,  and  they 
groped  their  way  into  the  street  again. 

The  interview  had  done  so  little  to  remove  the 
mystery  in  which  Tom's  new  engagetnent  was 
involved,  and  had  done  so  much  to  thicken  it,  tiiat 
neither  could  help  smiling  at  the  pnz/Ied  looks  of 
the  other.  They  agreed,  hov.-ever,  that  the  intro- 
duction of  Tom  to  his  new  office  and  office  coiu- 
panions  could  hardly  fail  to  throw  a  liglif  upon  the 
subject;  and  therefore  postponed  its  furtiier  cxn- 
sideration  until  after  the  lultilment  of  the  appoint- 
ment they  had  made  with  .Mr.  Fios. 

After  looking  in  at  John  Westlock's  chambers, 
and  devoting  a  few  spare  mimitrs  to  the  Doar's 
Head,  they  issued  forth  again  to  the  place  of  meet- 
ing. The  time  agreed  U|>on  iiad  not  quite  come, 
but  Mr.  Fips  was  already  at  the  Temple-Gate,  and 
expressed  his  satis'action  at  their  punctuality. 

He  led  the  way  through  sundry  lanes  and 
courts,  into  one  more  quiet  and  more  gloomy  thar 
the  rest,  and,  singling  out  a  certain  house,  ascend, 
ed  a  common  staircase;  taking  from  his  pocket, 
as  he  went,  a  bunch  of  rusty  keys.  Stopping  be- 
fore a  door  upon  an  upper  story,  which  had  no 
thing  but  a  vellow  smear  of  oaint  where  custom 


238 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


would  have  placed  the  tenant's  name,  he  began  to 
beat  the  du.sl  out  of  one  of  these  keys,  very  dehbe- 
r;itely,  upon  the  great  broad  hand-rail  of  tlie  balus- 
trade. 

"  You  had  better  have  a  little  plug  made,"  he 
eaid,  looking  round  at  Tom,  after  blowing  a  shrill 
whistle  into  the  barrel  of  the  key.  "  It 's  llie  only 
way  of  preventing  them  from  getting  stopped  up. 
You  '11  find  the  lock  go  the  better,  too,  I  dare  say, 
for  a  little  oil." 

Tom  thanked  him,  but  was  too  much  occupied 
with  his  own  speculations,  and  John  VVestluck'a 
looks,  to  be  very  talkative.  In  tlie  mean  time, 
Mr.  Fips  opened  the  door,  which  yielded  to  his 
hand  very  unwillingly,  and  wiih  a  horribly  dis- 
cordant  sound.  lie  took  tlie  key  out  when  he  had 
done  so,  and  gave  it  to  Tom. 

"  Aye,  aye  1"  said  Mr.  Fips.  "  The  dust  lies 
rather  thick  here." 

Truly,  it  did.  Mr.  Fips  might  have  gone  so  far 
a»"  to  say,  very  thick.  It  had  accumulated  every- 
where, lay  det'p  on  everything,  and  in  one  part, 
where  a  ray  of  sun  shone  through  a  crevice  in  the 
shutter  and  struck  upon  the  npposite  wall,  it  went 
twirling  round  and  round  like  a  gigantic  squirrel- 
cage. 

Dust  was  the  only  thing  in  the  place  that  had 
any  motion  about  it.  Wiien  their  conductor  ad- 
mitted the  light  freely,  and,  lifting  up  the  heavy 
window-sash,  let  in  the  summer  air,  he  sliowed  the 
mouldering  furniture,  discoloured  wainscoting  and 
ceiling,  rusty  stove  and  asliy  hearth,  in  all  their 
inert  neglect.  Close  to  tl}e  door  there  stood  a 
candlestick,  with  an  extinguisher  upon  it,  as  if  the 
last  man  who  had  been  there  had  paused,  after 
Becuring  a  retreat,  to  tike  a  parting  look  at  the 
dreariness  he  letl  behind,  and  then  had  shut  out 
liglit  and  life  together,  and  closed  the  place  up 
like  a  tomb. 

There  were  two  rooms  on  that  floor ;  and  in  the 
first  or  outer  one  a  narrow  staircase,  leading  to 
two  more  above.  These  last  were  fitted  up  as 
bed-chambers.  Neither  in  tliem,  nor  in  the  rooms 
below,  was  any  scarcity  of  convenient  thrniture 
observable,  although  the  fillings  were  of  a  by-gone 
fushion  ;  but  solitude  and  vvjint  of  use  seenud  to 
have  rendered  it  unfit  fo'  ;iny  purposes  of  com- 
fort, and  to  have  given  it  a  grisly,  haunted  air. 

Movables  of  every  kind  lay  strewn  about,  with- 
out the  least  atteni])t  at  order,  and  were  intermixed 
with  boxes, 'hampers,  and  all  sorts  of  lumber.  On 
all  the  floors  were  [)iles  of  books,  to  the  amount 
periiaps  of  some  tiiousands  ot'  volumes  :  these  still 
in  bales;  those  wrapped  in  paper,  as  they  had 
been  purchased;  ollitrs  scittertd  singly  or  in 
heaps;  not  one  upon  tlie  shelves  which  lined  tiie 
walls.  To  these,  .\lr.  Fips  called  Tom's  atten- 
tion. 

"  Before  anything  else  can  be  done,  we  must 
have  them  put  in  order,  catahrgued,  and  ranged 
upon  the  bf)ok-shelves,  Mr.  Pinth.  That  will  do 
to  begin  with,  I  think,  sir." 

Tom  rubbed  his  hands  in  the  pleasant  anticipa- 
tion of  a  task  so  congi  nial  to  his  taste,  ami  said: 

"An  occupation  full  of  intcref.t  for  me,  I  assure 
you.  It  will  occupy  me,  perlia|)s,  until  Mr. " 

"  Until  Mr. "  repeated  rip,s,.a8  much  as  to 

tiBt  'I'c'in  what  he  was  sti)p|jiiig  for. 

"  I  Rjrgoi  that  you  had  not  mentioned  the  gcn- 
ti'man's  name,"  said  Tom. 

"  f  Hi  i"  cried  Mr.  Fips,  pulling  on  liis  glove, 


"didn't  I  ?"  No,  by-the-byo,  I  don't  think  I  did. 
Ah  !  I  dare  say  he  '11  be  here  soon.  You  will  get 
on  very  well  together,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  wish 
you  success,  I  am  sure.  You  won't  torget  to  shut 
the  door?  It'll  lock  of  itself,  if  you  .slam  it.  Half- 
past  nine,  you  know.  Let  us  say  from  half-past 
nine  to  four,  or  halt-past  four,  or  thereabouts;  on«j 
day  perhaps  a  little  earlier,  another  day  perha|,8 
little  later,  according  as  you  teel  dispostd,  and  as 
you  arrange  your  work.  Mr.  Fips,  Austin  Friars, 
of  course  you  'II  remember  ?  And  you  won't  lor- 
get  to  slam  the  door,  if  you  please  7" 

He  said  all  this  in  such  a  comfortiible,  easy 
manner,  that  Tom  could  only  rub  his  hands,  and 
nod  his  head,  and  smile  in  acquiescence,  which 
he  was  still  doing,  when  Mr.  Fips  walked  coolly 
out. 

"  Why,  he  's  gone,"  cried  Tom. 

"And  what's  more,  Tom,"  said  John  West- 
lock,  seating  himself  upon  a  pile  of  books,  and 
looking  up  at  his  astonished  friend,  "he  is  evi- 
dently not  coming  back  again;  so  here  you  are 
installed.  Under  rather  singular  circumstances, 
Tom  !" 

It  was  such  an  odd  aff^iir  throughout,  and  Tom 
standing  there  among  the  books  with  his  hat  in 
one  hand  and  the  key  in  the  other,  looked  so  pro- 
digiously confounded,  that  his  friend  could  not 
htlp  laughing  heartily.  Tom  himself  was  tickled, 
no  less  by  the  hilarity  of  his  friend,  than  by  tlie 
recollection  of  the  sudden  manner  in  which  he 
had  been  brought  to  a  stop,  in  the  very  height  of 
his  urbane  conference  with  Mr.  Fips;  so  by  de- 
grees 'I'om  burst  out  laughing  too,  and,  each 
making  the  other  laugh  more,  they  fanly  roared. 

When  they  had  had  their  laugh  out,  which  did 
not  happen  very  soon,  for,  give  John  an  inch  in 
that  way,  and  he  was  sure  to  take  several  ells, 
being  a  jovial,  good-tempered  fellow,  they  looked 
i  about  them  more  closely, groping  among  the  luni- 
j  ber  for  any  stray  means  of  enlightenment  thai 
might  turn  up.  But  no  scrap  or  shred  of  inform 
ation  could  they  find.  The  books  were  marked 
with  a  variety  of  owners'  names,  having  no  doubl 
been  bought  at  sales,  and  collected  here  and  there 
at  different  times;  but  whether  any  one  of  these 
names  belonged  to  Tom's  employer,  and,  if  so, 
which  of  them,  they  had  no  means  whatever  of 
determining.  It  occurred  to  John  as  a  very  bright 
thought,  to  make  inquiry  at  the  steward's  otljce, 
to  whom  the  chambers  belonged,  or  by  whom  they 
were  held;  but  he  came  back  no  wiser  than  he 
went,  the  answer  being,  "  Mr.  Fips,  of  Austin 
Friars." 

"  After  all,  Tom,  I  begin  to  think  it  lies  ne 
deeper  than  this.  Fips  is  an  eccentric  man,  has 
some  knowledge  of  Pecksniff",  despises  him  of 
course,  has  heard  or  seen  enough  of  you  to  know 
that  you  are  the  man  he  wants,  and  engages  you 
in  his  own  whimsical  manner." 

"  Hut  why  in  his  own  whimsical  manner  ?" 
asked  Tom. 

"  Oh  !  why  does  any  man  entertain  his  own 
whimsical  taste  ?  Why  does  Mr.  Fips  wear  shorts 
and  powder,  and  Mr.  Fips's  next  door  neighbour 
boots  and  a  wig  ?" 

Tom,  being  in  that  state  of  mind  in  which  any 

explanation  is  a  great  relief,  adopted  this  last  one 

(which  indeed  was  quite  as  feasible  as  any  other) 

readily,  and  said  he  had  no  doubt  of  it.     Nor  was 

i  hie  faith  at  all  shaken  by  his  having  said  exactly 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


230 


die  eame  thinsr  to  encli  piiirgcrstion  of  his  friend's 
in  turn,  iiinj  l)t  ino  pcrfLclly  reuily  lo  say  it  again 
if  he  had  had  ;.iiy  new  S(jkiti()n  to  propose. 

As  he  had  not,  Tom  drew  down  the  window 
sash,  and  fokled  the  shutter ;  and  they  left  the 
rooms.  He  closed  the  door  heavily,  as  Mr.  Fips 
had  desired  him;  tried  it,  found  it  all  fast,  and 
put  the  key  in  his  pocket. 

They  made  a  pretty  wide  circuit  in  going'  back 
lo  Islington,  as  they  had  time  to  spare  ;  and  Tom 
was  never  tired  of  looking  about  him.  It  was 
well  he  had  John  Westlock  for  his  companion,  for 
most  people  would  have  been  weary  of  his  per- 
petual stoppages  at  shop-windows,  and  his  fre- 
quent dashes  into  the  crowded  carriage-way  at  the 
peril  of  his  life,  to  get  the  better  view  of  church- 
steeples,  and  other  public  buildings.  But  John 
was  charmed  to  see  him  so  much  interested,  and 
every  time  Tom  came  back  with  a  beaming  face 
from  among  the  wheels  of  carts  and  hackney- 
couches,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  pers(mal  con- 
gratulations addressed  to  him  by  the  drivers,  John 
seemed  to  like  him  better  than  before. 

There  was  no  flour  on  Ruth's  hands  when  she 
received  them  in  the  triangular  parlour,  but  there 
were  pleasant  smiles  upon  her  face,  and  a  crowd 
of  welcomes  shining  out  of  every  one,  and  gleam- 
ing in  her  bright  eyes.  By-the-bve,  how  bright 
tliey  were  I  Looking  into  them  for  but  a  moment, 
when  you  took  her  hand,  you  saw  in  each  such  a 
capital  miniature  of  yourself^  representing  you  as 
such  a  restless,  flashing,  eager,  brilliant  little 
fellow — 

Ah!  if  you  could  onlj'  have  kept  them  for  your 
own  miniature  !  But  wicked,  roving,  restless,  too 
impartial  eyes,  it  was  enough  for  any  one  to  stand 
before  them,  and  straightway,  there  he  danctd 
and  sparkled  quite  as  merrily  as  you. 

The  table  was  already  spread  for  dinner;  and 
though  it  was  spread  with  nothing  very  choice  in 
the  way  of  glass  or  linen,  iind  with  green-handled 
knives,  and  very  mountebanks  of  two-pronged 
forks,  which  seemed  to  he  tryinu  how  fir  asunder 
they  could  possibly  stretch  their  legs,  without 
converting  themselves  into  double  the  number  of 
iron  toothpicks  ;  it  wanted  neither  damask,  silver, 
g'old,  nor  china:  no,  nor  any  other  garniture  at 
all.  There  it  was:  and,  being  there,  nothing  else 
would  have  done  as  v\  ell. 

The  success  of  that  initiative  dish — that  first 
experiment  of  hers  in  cookery — was  so  entire,  so 
unalloyed  and  perfect,  that  John  Westlock  and 
Tom  agreed  she  must  have  been  studying  the  art 
in  secret  for  a  long  time  past;  and  ur^ed  her  to 
make  a  full  confession  of  the  fact.  They  were 
t  ceedingly  merry  over  this  jest,  and  m:my  sm  irt 
tnings  were  said  concerning  it ;  b'lt  John  was  not 
as  fair  in  his  behaviour  ns  micrht  have  been  ex- 
pected, for,  after  luring  Tom  Pinch  on  for  a  long 
time,  lie  suddenly  went  over  to  the  enemy,  and 


swore  everything  his  sister  said.  However,  al 
Tom  observed  the  same  nigiit  before  going  to  bed, 
I  it  was  only  in  joke,  and  John  hud  always  been 
I  famous  for  being  polite  to  ladies,  even  when  he 
was  (juite  a  boy.  Ruth  said,  "  Oh  !  indeed  !"  She 
didn't  say  anything  else. 

It  is  astonishing  how  much  three  people  may 
find  to  talk  about.     They  scarcely  leit  off  talking 
once.     And  it  was  not  all  lively  eh;it  w  hicli  occu- 
pied    them  ;    for  when   Tom  related    how  he  had 
seen  Mr.  Pecksniff's  daughters, and  what  a  change 
!  had  fallen  on  the  younger,  they  were  very  serious. 
John  Westlock  became  quite  absorbed  in  her 
fortunes;  askintj  many  questions  of 'J'om   Pinch 
about  her  marriage,  inquiring  whether  her  hus- 
band was  the  gcntlem  in  whom  Tom  had  brought 
to  dine  with  him  at  Salisbury;  in  what  degree  of 
relationship  they  stood  towards  each  other,  being 
different  persons;  and  taking,  in  short,  tlie  great. 
I  est  interest  in  the  subject.     Tom  then  went  intc 
it,  at  full  length;  he  told   how  Marlni  had  gona 
abroad,  and  had  not  been  heard  of  lor  a  long  time; 
j  how  Dragon  Mark  had  borne  him  company  ;  how 
I  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  got  the  poor  old  doting  grand- 
father into  his  power  ;  and  how  l.c  b.isely  sought 
the  hand  of  Mary  Graham.     But  not  a  word  said 
Tom  of  what  lay  hidden  in  his  heart;  his  heart, 
so  deep,  and   true,   and   full  of  honour,  and  yet 
with  so  much  room  for  every  gentle  and  unselfish 
thought ;  not  a  word. 

Tom,  Tom  !  The  man  in  all  this  world  m(»t 
confident  in  Ihp  sag.icity  and  shrewdness;  the 
man  in  all  this  world  most  proud  of  his  distrust 
of  other  men,  and  having  most  to  shoiV  in  gold 
and  silver  as  the  gains  belonging  to  liis  creed ;  the 
meekest  favourer  of  that  wise  doctrine.  Every  man 
f>r  himself,  and  God  for  us  all  (there  being  high 
wisdom  in  the  thought  that  the  Eli;rnal  Majesty 
of  Heaven  ever  was,  or  can  be,  on  the  side  of 
selfish  lust  and  love  I) :  shall  never  find — oh,  nevei 
find,  be  sure  of  that — the  time  come  home  to  hmi, 
when  all  his  wisdom  is  an  idiot's  folly,  weighed 
against  a  simple  heart  I 

Well,  well,  Tom,  it  was  simple,  too,  though 
simple  in  a  different  way,  to  be  so  eager,  touching 
that  same  theatre,  of  which  John  said,  when  tea 
was  done,  he  had  the  absolute  command,  so  far 
as  taking  parties  in  without  the  paj'ment  of  a  six- 
pence, was  concerned  ;  and  simpler  yet,  perhaps, 
never  to  suspect  that  when  he  went  in  first,  alone, 
he  jiaid  the  money  I  Simple  in  thee,  dear  Tom, 
to  laugh  and  cry  so  heartily,  at  such  a  sorry  show 
so  poorly  shown  ;  simple,  to  be  so  happy  and  lo 
quacious  trndffins:  home  with  Ruth;  simple,  to  Im) 
so  surprised  to  find  tliat  merry  present  of  a  cook- 
ery-book, awaiting  her  in  the  parlour  ne.\t  mora 
in{!,  with  the  bee'steak-pudding-leaf  turned  down, 
and  blotted  out.  There  I  Let  the  record  stand  ! 
Thy  quality  of  soul  was  simple,  simple;  quite 
contemptible,  Tom  Pinch  I 


CHAPTER  XL. 

THE  PINCHe.n  MAKE  A  NEW  ACQUAINTANCE,  AND  HAVE  FRESH  OCCASION 
FOR  SURPRISE  AND  WONDER. 

There  was  a  ghostly  air  about  these  uninhabit-  I  he  shut  his  door  at  Islington,  he  turned  his  fae» 
ed  chambers  m  the  Temple,  and  attending  every  towards  an  atmosphere  of  unaccountable  fascina- 
circumstance  of  Tom's  employment  there,  whioli  tion,as  surelj' as  he  turned  it  to  the  London  smokei 
had  a  strange  charm  in  it    Every  morning  when  |  and  from   that  moment,  it  thickened  ronr'^  ^ni 


240 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


round  him  all  d.iy  long,  until  the  time  arrived  for 
going  home  again,  and  leaving  it,  like  a  motion- 
less cloud,  behind. 

It  seemed  to  rom,  every  morning,  that  he  ap- 
proached this  ghostly  mist,  and  became  enveloptd 
in  it,  by  the  easiest  succession  of  degrees  imagi- 
nable. Passing  from  the  roar  and  rutlle  of  the 
Btrects  into  the  quiet  court-yards  of  the  Temple, 
was  tlie  first  prepiration.  Every  echo  of  his  foot- 
steps sounded  to  him  like  a  sound  from  the  old 
walls  and  pavements,  wanting  language  to  relate 
the  histories  of  the  dim,  dismal  rooms  ;  to  tell  him 
what  lost  documents  were  decaying  in  forgotten 
corners  of  the  shut-up  cellars,  from  whose  lattices 
such  mouldy  siglis  came  breathing  forth  as  he 
went  past;  to  whisper  of  dark  bins  of  rare  old 
wine,  bricked  up  in  vaults  among  the  old  founda- 
tions of  the  Halls;  or  mutter  in  a  lower  tone  yet 
darker  legends  of  the  cross-legged  knights,  whose 
marble  effigies  were  in  the  church.  With  the  first 
planting  of  his  foot  upon  the  staircase  of  his  dusty 
otEce,  all  these  mysteries  increased ;  until  ascend- 
ing step  by  step,  as  Tom  ascended,  they  attained 
their  full  growth  in  the  solitary  labours  of  tlie  d.jy. 

Every  day  brought  one  recurring,  never-failing 
source  of  speculation.  This  employer  ;  would  he 
come  to-day,  and  what  would  he  be  like  ?  For 
Tom  could  not  stop  short  at  Mr.  Fips ;  he  quite 
believed  that  Mr.  Fips  had  spoken  truly,  when  he 
said  he  acted  for  another;  and  what  manner  of 
man  that  other  was,  became  a  full-blown  flower 
of  wonder  in  the  garden  of  Tom's  fancy,  which 
never  faded  or  got  trodden  down. 

At  one  time  he  conceived  that  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
repenting  of  his  falsehood,  might,  by  exertion  of 
bis  influence  with  some  third  person,  have  devised 
these  means  of  giving  him  employment.  He 
found,  this  idea  so  insupportable  after  what  had 
taken  place  between  that  good  man  and  himself, 
that  he  confided  it  to  John  Westlock  on  the  very 
same  day ;  informing  John  that  he  would  rather 
ply  for  hire  as  a  porter,  than  fall  so  low  in  his  own 
esteem  as  to  accept  the  smallest  obligation  from 
the  hands  of  Mr.  Fecksnifl'.  But  John  assured 
him  that  he  (Tom  Pinch)  was  far  from  doing  jus- 
tice to  the  cliaracter  of  Mr.  Pecksniff  yet,  it  he 
supposed  that  gentleman  capable  of  performing  a 
generous  action ;  and  that  he  niigiit  make  his 
Blind  quite  easy  on  that  head,  until  he  saw  the 
Bun  turn  green  and  the  moon  black,  and  at  the 
same  time  distinctly  perceived  with  the  naked 
eye,  twelve  first-rale  comets  careering  round  those 
planets.  In  which  unusual  state  of  things,  he 
said  (and  not  before),  it  migiit  become  not  abso- 
lutely lunatic  to  suspect  Mr.  Pecksniff  of  any- 
thing so  monstrous.  In  short  he  laui^hed  the 
idea  down,  completely;  and  'I'om,  abandoning  it. 
Was  thrown  upon  his  beam-ends  again  for  some 
other  solution. 

In  the  meantime  Tom  attended  to  his  duties 
daily,  and  made  considerable  progress  with  the 
books:  which  were  already  reduced  to  some  sort 
of  order,  and  made  a  great  appearance  in  his 
fairy-written  catalogue.  During  his  business 
hours,  he  indulged  himself  occasionally  with 
sniitches  of  reading;  which  were  ollen  indeed  a 
necessary  part  of  his  |)ursuit;  and  as  he  usually 
made  bold  to  carry  one  of  these  goblin  volumes 
home  at  night  (always  bringing  it  back  again 
next  morning,  in  case  his  strange  employer 
•huiild  appear  and  usk  what  had  become  uf  it), 


he  led  a  happy,  quist   studious  kind  of  life,  ailei 
his  own  heart. 

But  though  the  books  were  never  so  interesting 
and  never  so  full  of  novelty  to  'i'om,  tliey  could 
not  so  enchain  him,  in  those  mysterious  cliambei.s, 
as  to  render  him  unconscious  lor  a  moment  ol  the 
lightest  sound.  Any  footstep  on  tlie  flags  without, 
set  him  listening  attentively,  and  when  it  turned 
into  that  house,  and  came  up,  up,  up,  the  stairs, 
he  always  thought  with  a  beating  heart,  "Now  I 
am  coming  face  to  face  with  him,  at  last  1"  But 
no  footstep  ever  passed  the  floor  immediately  be- 
low :  except  his  own. 

This  mystery  and  loneliness  engendered  fancies 
in  Tom's  mind,  the  folly  of  vihich  his  common 
sense  could  readily  discover,  but  which  his  couu 
mnn  sense  was  quite  unable  to  keep  away,  not- 
withstanding ;  that  quality  being  with  most  of  us, 
in  such  a  case,  like  the  old  French  Police  — 
quick  at  detection,  but  very  weak  as  a  preventive 
power.  Misgivings,  undefined,  absurd,  inexplica- 
ble, that  there  was  some  one  hiding  in  the  inner 
room ;  walking  softly  overhead,  peeping  in  through 
the  door-chink;  doing  something  stealthy,  any- 
where where  he  was  not;  came  over  him  a  hun- 
dred  times  a  day  :  making  it  pleasant  to  throw  up 
the  sash,  and  hold  communication  even  with  tlie 
sparrovvs  who  had  built  in  the  roof  and  water- 
spout, and  were  twittering  about  the  windows  all 
day  long. 

He  sat  with  the  outer  door  wide  open  at  all 
times,  that  he  might  hear  the  footsteps  as  they 
entered,  and  turned  off  into  the  chambers  on  tlie 
lower  floors.  He  formed  odd  prepossessions  too, 
regarding  strangers  in  the  streets  ;  and  would  say 
within  himself  of  such  or  such  a  man,  who  struck 
him  as  having  anything  uncommon  in  his  dresj 
or  aspect,  "  1  shouldn't  wonder  now  if  that  were 
he  I"  But  it  never  was.  And  though  he  actually 
turned  back  and  followed  more  than  one  of  these 
suspected  individuals,  in  a  singular  belief  that  they 
were  going  to  the  place  he  was  then  upon  his  way 
from,  he  never  got  any  other  satisfaction  by  it,  than 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  it  was  not  the  case, 

Mr.  Fips,  of  Austin  Friars,  rather  deepened 
than  illumined  the  obscurity  of  his  position;  for 
on  the  first  occasion  of  Tom's  waiting  on  him  to 
receive  his  weekly  pay,  he  said  : 

"  Oh  !  by-the-hye,  Mr.  Pinch,  you  needn't 
mention  it,  if  you  please !" 

Tom  thought  he  was  going  to  tell  him  a  secret; 
so  he  said  that  he  wouldn't  on  any  account,  and 
that  Mr.  Fips  might  entirely  depend  upon  him. 
But  as  Mr.  Fips  said  "  Very  good,"  in  reply,  and 
nothing  more,  Tom  prompted  him  : 

"Not  on  any  account,"  repealed  Tom. 

Mr.  Fips  repeated  "  Very  good." 

"  You  were  going  to  say" — Tom  hinted, 

"Oh  dear  no!"  cried  Fips.  "Not  at  all"  How- 
ever,  seeing  Tom  confused,  he  added,  "  I  mean 
that  you  needn't  mention  any  particulars  about 
your  place  of  employment,  to  people  generally 
You  '11  find  it  better  not." 

"  I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  enrv. 
ployer  yet,  sir,"  observed  Tom,  putting  his  week'a 
salary  in  his  pocket. 

"  Haven't  yon  ?"  said  Fips.  "  No,  I  don't  sup 
pose  you  have  though." 

"  I  should  like  to  thank  him,  and  to  know  thrf 
what  I  have  done  so  far,  is  done  to  his  tatiafao 
tion,"  faltered  Tofo. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


21 


"Quite  riglit,"  said  Mr.  Fips,  with  a  yawn. 
Hig'lily  creditable.     Very  proper." 

Tom  hastily  resolved  to  try  iiiinon  anotlier  tack. 
"  I  shall  soon  have  tini.-hed  with  the  books,"  he 
said.     "  I  hope  tliat  will  not  terminate  my  eiigage- 
inerit,  sir,  or  render  nie  useless?" 

"  Oh  dear  no  I"  retorted  Fips.  "  Plenty  to  do  : 
pit-n-ty  to  do!  Be  careful  how  you  go.  It's 
ru tiler  dark." 

This  was  the  very  utmost  extent  of  information 
Tom  could  ever  get  out  of  him.  So  it  was  dark 
enough,  in  all  eoiiscietiC  ■ ;  and  if  Mr.  Fips  ex- 
pressed liiri)S(.'lf  with  a  double  meaning,  he  had 
gond  reason  for  doing  so. 

But  now  a  cireuiiistance  rjccurred,  which  helped 
to  divert  Tom's  thoughts  from  even  this  mystery, 
and  to  divide  them  between  it  and  anew  channel, 
which  was  a  very  Nile  in  itself. 

The  way  it  came  about  was  this.  Having  al- 
ways been  an  e  .rly  riser,  and  having  now  no  organ 
to  eng.i(/e  him  in  sweut  c.mverse  every  morning, 
it  was  his  habit  to  take  a  long  walk  before  going 
to  the  Temple;  and  naturally  inclining,  as  a 
stranger,  towards  those  parts  of  the  town  which 
were  conspicuous  iiir  the  lilij  and  animation  per- 
vading  tliein,  he  became  a  great  frequenter  of  the 
niarket-pliiees,  bridges,  quays,  and  especially  the 
steam. boat  wh.irvts;  for  it  was  very  lively  and 
fresh  to  see  the  people  hurrying  away  upon  their 
many  schemes  of  business  or  pleasure,  and  it 
made  Tom  glad  to  think  that  there  was  that  much 
change  and  freedom  in  the  monotonous  routine 
of  city  lives. 

In  most  of  these  morning  excursions,  Ruth  ac- 
companied him.  As  their  landlord  was  always 
■jp  and  away  at  his  business  (whatever  that  might 
be,  no  one  seemed  to  know)  at  a  very  early  hour, 
the  habits  of  the  people  of  the  house  in  which 
they  lodged  corresponded  with  their  own.  Thus, 
tliey  had  often  finished  tlieir  breakfast,  and  were 
out  in  the  suminer-air,  by  seven  o'clock.  Alter  a 
two  hours'  stroll  they  patted  at  some  convenient 
point;  Tom  going  to  the  Temple,  and  his  sister! 
returning  home,  as  metiiodically  as  you  please.  | 
Many  and  many  a  pleasant  stroll  they  had  in  ! 
Covent-Garden  .Market,  snuffing  up  the  perfume  | 
of  the  fruits  and  Howers,  wondering  at  the  mag. 
nificence  of  the  pine-apples  and  melons;  catching 
glimpses,  down  side-avcnues,  of  rows  and  rows  of 
old  women,  seated  on  inverted  baskets  shelling 
peas;  looking  unutterable  things  at  the  fat  bun- 
dles of  asparagus  with  which  the  dainty  shops 
were  tbrtified  as  with  a  breastwork ;  and,  at  the 
herbalists'  doors,  gratefully  inhaling  scents  as  of 
veal-sturting  yet  uncooked,  dreamily  mixed  up 
with  capsicums,  brown  paper,  seeds:  even  with 
hints  of  lusty  siiiiils  and  fine  young  curly  leeches. 
Many  and  many  a  pleasant  stroll  they  had  among 
the  poultry  markets,  where  ducks  and  fowls,  with 
necks  unnaturally  long,  lay  stretched  out  in  pairs, 
ready  for  cooking;  where  there  were  speckled 
e(ros  in  mossy  b.skets;  white  country  sausages 
beyond  impeachment  by  surviving  cat  or  dog,  or 
horse  or  donkey  ;  new  cheeses  to  any  wild  extent; 
live  birds  in  coops  and  cages,  looking  much  too 
big  to  be  natural,  in  consequence  of  those  recepta- 
cles being  much  too  little;  rabbits,  alive  and  dead, 
inrmmerable.  Many  a  pleasant  stroll  they  had 
among  the  cool,  refreshing,  silvery  fish-stalls,  with 
a  kind  of  moonlight  effect  about  their  stock  in 
trade,  excepting  always  for  the  ruddy  lobsters. 
31 


I  Many  a  pleasant  stroll  among  the  wagon. loads  of 
fragrant  hay,  beneitli  which  dogs  and  tired  wag- 
oners lay  last  asleep,  oblivious  of  the  pieman  and 
the  public-house.  But  never  half  so  good  a  stroll  as 
down  among  the  steam-boats,  on  a  brigiil  moriiin'j. 
There  they  lay,  alongside  of  eieh  other,  hard 
and  last  f(>r  ever,  to  all  appearance,  but,  designing 
to  get  out  somehow,  and  quite  eontidenl  ol  doiii^ 
it;  and  in  that  faith  shoals  of  passengers,  aiia 
heaps  of  luggage,  were  proceeding  hurriedly  oii 
board.  Little  steamboats  dashed  up  and  down 
the  stream  incessantly.  Tiers  upon  tii-rs  of  ves- 
sels, scores  of  masts,  labyrinths  of  tackle,  idle 
sails,  splashing  oars,  gliding  row-boats,  lumbering 
barges;  sunken  piles,  with  uglv  lodgings  tor  the 
water-rat  within  their  mud-discoloured  nooks ; 
church  steeples,  warehouses,  house-roofs,  arches, 
bridges,  men  and  women,  children,  casks,  cranes 
boxes,  horses,  coaches,  idler»  .iiid  hard-labourers  : 
there  they  were,  all  jumbled  up  together,  any 
summer  morning,  far  beyond  Tom's  power  of 
separation. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  turmoil,  there  was  an 
incessant  roar  from  every  packet's  funnel,  wiiich 
quite  expressed  and  carried  out  the  u|)perino-.t 
emotion  of  the  scene.  They  all  appeared  to  be 
perspiring  and  bothering  themselves,  exactly  an 
their  passengers  did;  they  never  left  off  fretting 
and  chafing,  in  their  own  hoarse  manner,  once  ; 
but  were  always  panting  out,  without  any  slop;-', 
"Come  along  do  make  haste  I'm  very  nervous 
come  along  oh  good  gracious  we  shuii  v.^'^t  wi 
tliere  Irow  late  you  are  do  make  haste  I  'in  olF 
directly  come  along  !"  Even  when  they  had  let\ 
off,  and  had  got  saiely  out  into  the  current,  on  the 
smallest  provocation  they  began  again  :  for  the 
bravest  packet  of  them  all,  being  stopped  bj'  some 
entanglement  in  the  river,  would  immediately  be- 
gin  to  fume  and  pant  afresh,  "Oh  here  's  a  stop- 
page what 's  the  matter  do  go  on  there  I  'm  in  a 
hurry  it's  done  on  purpose  did  you  ever  oh  inv 
goodness  do  go  on  there  I"  and  so,  in  a  state  of 
mind  bordering  on  distraction,  would  b'.'  last  seen 
drifting  slowly  through  the  mist  info  tlie  suuimer 
light  beyond,  that  made  it  red. 

Tom's  ship,  however — or,  at  least,  the  packet- 
boat  in  which  Tom  and  his  sister  took  the  greatest 
interest  on  one  particular  occasion--^was  not  oif 
yet,  by  any  means,  but  was  at  the  heigiit  ol  Us 
disorder.  The  press  of  passengers  was  verv  great; 
another  steam-boat  lay  on  each  side  ol  her ;  tne 
gangways  were  choked  up;  distracted  women, 
obviously  bound  for  Gravesend,  but  turning  a 
deaf  ear  to  all  representations  that  this  particular 
vessel  was  about  to  sail  for  Antwerp,  persisted  in 
secreting  baskets  of  refreshments  behind  bulk- 
heads  and  water-casks,  and  under  seats  ;  and  very 
great  confusion  prevailed. 

It  was  so  amusing,  thai  Tom,  with  Ruth  upon 
his  arm,  stood  looking  down  from  the  wtiarli  as 
nearly  regardless  as  it  was  in  the  nature  ot"  tlesh 
and  blood  to  be,  of  an  elderly  1  idy  behind  hiui. 
who  had  brought  a  large  umbrella  with  her,  and 
didn't  know  what  to  do  with  it.  This  trpinendius 
instrument  had  a  hooked  handle  ;  and  its  vi'in  ty 
was  first  made  known  to  him  by  a  painiui  pres 
sure  on  the  windpipe,  consequent  upon  its  having 
caught  him  round  the  throat.  Soon  after  disen 
gaging  himself  with  perfect  good  humour,  he  hac 
a  sensation  of  the  ferrule  in  his  back;  immediate 
ly  afterwards,  of  the  hook  entangling  his  anklea 


242 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


then  of  the  umbrella  generally,  wnndi-ring-  about  his 
hat,  and  flapping  at  it  like  a  great  bird  ;  and,  lastly, 
of  a  poke  or  thrust  below  the  ribs,  which  gave  him 
such  exceeding  anguish,  that  he  could  not  refrain 
from  turning  round,  to  ofFur  a  mild  remonstrance. 

Upon  his  turning  round,  he  found  the  owner  of 
the  umbrella  struggling,  on  tiptoe,  with  a  counte- 
nance ex[>ressive  of  violent  animosity,  to  look 
down  upon  the  steamboats;  from  which  he  infer- 
red that  she  had  attacked  him  :  standing  in  the 
front  row :  by  design,  and  as  her  natural  enemy. 

"  What  a  very  ill-natured  person  you  must  be  i" 
said  Tom. 

The  lady  cried  out  fiercely,  "  Where  's  the  pe- 
lisse !" — meaning  the  constabulary — and  went  on 
to  say,  shaking  the  handle  of  the  umbrella  at  Tom, 
that  but  for  them  fellers  never  being  in  the  way 
when  they  was  wanted,  she  'd  have  given  him  in 
charge,  she  would. 

"If  they  greased  their  whiskers  less,  and  mind- 
ed the  duties  which  they're  paid  so  heavy  for,  a 
little  more,"  she  observed,  "  no  one  need  n't  be 
drove  mad  by  scrouding  so  !" 

She  had  been  grievously  knocked  about,  no 
doubt,  for  her  bonnet  was  bent  into  the  shape  of  a 
cocked  hat.  But  a  fat  little  woman,  too,  she  was  in 
a  state  ofgreat  exhaustion  and  intense  heat.  Instead 
of  pursuing  the  altercation,  therefore,  Tom  civilly 
inquired  what  boat  she  wanted  to  go  on  board  of. 

"  I  suppose,"  returned  the  ladj%  "  as  nobody  but 
yourself  can  want  to  look  at  a  steam  package,  with- 
out wanting  to  go  a  boarding  ofit,csntheyI  Booby  I" 

"  Which  one  do  you  want  to  look  at  then  ?" 
eaid  Tom.  "  We  '11  make  room  for  you  if  we  can. 
Don't  be  so  ill-tempered." 

"  No  blessed  creeter  as  ever  I  was  with  in  try- 
ing times,"  returned  the  lady,  somewhat  softened, 
••  and  they  're  a  many  in  tlieir  numbers,  ever 
brought  it  as  a  charge  again  myself  that  I  was 
anythin  but  mild  and  equal  in  my  spirits.  Never 
mind  a  contradicting  of  me,  if  you  seems  to  feel  it 
does  you  good,  ma'am,  I  often  says,  for  well  you 
know  that  Sairey  may  be  trusted  not  to  give  it 
back  again.  But  I  will  not  denige  that  I  am 
worrited  and  wexed  this  day,  and  with  good  rea- 
gion.  Lord  forbid  !" 

By  this  time,  Mrs.  Ga.np  (for  it  was  no  other 
than  that  experienced  practitioner)  had,  with 
Tom's  assistance,  squeezed  and  worked  herself 
into  a  small  corner  between  Ruth  and  the  rail; 
where,  after  breathing  very  hard  for  some  little 
time,  and  performing  a  short  series  of  dangerous 
evolutions  with  the  umbrella,  she  managed  to  es- 
tablish  herself  pretty  comfortably. 

"  And  which  of  all  them  smoking  monsters  is 
the  Ankworks  boat,  I  wonder,  Goodness  me !" 
cried  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"What  boat  did  yon  want?"  asked  Ruth. 

"  The  Ankworks  package,"  Mrs.  Gamp  replied. 
"  I  willnot  d(!ceivc  you,  my  sweet.  Why  should  I?" 

"  That  is  the  Antwerp  packet  in  the  middle," 
■aid  Ruth. 

"  And  I  wish  it  was  in  Jonadge's  belly,  I  do," 
cried  Mrs.  Gami);  appearing  to  confound  the  pro- 
phet with  the  whale  in  this  miraculous  nspir;iti(in. 

Ruth  said  nothinjr  in  reply  ;  but  as  Mrs. Gamp, 
laying  her  cliin  against  the  coni  iron  <if  tlie  rail, 
o;>ntiini(d  to  look  intrnlly  at  tlu-  Aiitwerp  boat, 
and  ev»ry  now  and  iIji n  to  give  a  liltie  groan,  she 
inquired  wlietbcr  any  etiild  of  Ihts  was  goinir 
■broad  that  morning?  Or  perhaps  her  husband, 
•he  said  kindly. 


"  Which  shows,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  casting  &j» 
her  eyes,  "what  a  little  way  you've  travelKu  mto 
this  wale  of  life,  my  dear  young  creetur.  As  a 
good  friend  of  mine  has  frequent  made  remark  to 
me,  which  her  name,  my  love,  is  Harris.  Mrs, 
Harris  through  the  square  and  up  the  sieps  a 
tiirnin  round  by  the  tobacker  shop,  'Oh  Sairey, 
Sairey,  little  do  we  know  wot  lays  afore  us'.' 
'  Mrs.  Harris  ma'am,'  I  says,  '  not  much,  it 's 
true,  but  more  than  you  su|)poge.  Our  c.ilriln- 
tions  u)a'ani,'  I  says,  'resptctin  wot  the  number 
of  a  family  will  be,  comes  most  times  within  one, 
and  oftener  than  you  would  suppoge,  ex..ct.'  '  S  .i- 
rey,  says  3Irs.  Harris,  in  a  awlul  way,  'Ttll  me 
wot  is  my  individgle  number.  '  No,  Mrs.  Hur- 
ris,'  I  says  to  her,  'ex-cuge  me,  if  you  please.  My 
own,'  I  says,  'has  fallen  out  of  thrte.pair  hack*, 
and  had  damp  doorsteps  settled  on  their  lungs,  and 
one  was  turned  up  smiling  in  a  bedstead,  unbe- 
known. Therefore,  ma'am,'  I  says,  'seek  not  to 
prolicipate,  but  take  'em  as  they  conic  and  as 
they  go'  Mine,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  ''mine  is  all 
gone,  my  dear  young  chick.  And  as  to  hu^band^^, 
there  's  a  wooden  leg  gone  likewise  home  to  its 
account,  which  in  its  constancy  of  walkin  into 
wine  vaults,  and  never  comin  out  again  'till  fetched 
by  'Tirce,  was  quite  as  weak  as  flesh,  if  not  weaker." 

When  she  delivered  this  oration,  Mrs.  Gatnp 
leaned  her  chin  upon  the  cool  iron  again,  aiid 
looking  intently  at  the  Antwtrp  packet,  t-hook  her 
head  and  groaned. 

"  I  would  n't,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  I  would  n't  be 
a  man  ,md  have  such  a  think  upon  my  mind  I — but 
noliody  as  owned  the  name  ol  man,  could  do  it  I" 

Tom  and  his  sister  glanced  at  each  otlitr;  and 
Ruth,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  asked  Mrs. 
Gamp  what  troubled  her  so  much. 

"  ;\ly  dear,"  returned  that  lady,  dropping  her 
voice,  "  you  are  single,  an't  you  !" 

Ruth  laughed,  blushed,  and  said  "Yes." 

"  Worse  hick,"  proceeded  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  for  all 
parties  !  But  others  is  married,  and  in  the  marriage 
state;  and  (here  is  a  dear  3'oung  creetur  a  comin' 
down  this  mornin'  to  that  very  package,  wiiich  is 
no  more  fit  to  trust  herself  to  sea,  than  nothin'  is'" 

She  paused  here,  to  look  all  over  tlie  deck  of  tl^ 
packet  in  question,  and  on  the  steps  leading  down 
to  it,  and  on  the  gangways.  Seeming  to  have 
thus  assured  herself  that  the  object  of  her  com- 
miseration h;td  not  yet  arrived,  she  raised  her  eyea 
gradually  up  to  the  top  of  the  cseape-pipe,  and  in- 
dignanth'  apostropliised  the  vessel: 

"Oh  drat  you  1"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  shaking  her 
umbrella  at  it,  "you're  a  nice  spluttering  noisy 
monster  for  a  delicate  young  creetur  to  go  and  l>e 
a  passinger  by  :  a'n't  you  1"  You  never  do  no 
liarm  in  that  way,  do  you  ?  With  your  hammer, 
ing,  and  roaring,  and  hissing,  and  l.iinpiling,  you 
brute!  Them  Confusion  steamers,"  said  Mrs, 
Gamp,  shaking  her  nmbrella  again,  "has  done 
more  to  throw  us  out  of  our  ng'lar  work  and 
brincf  ewents  on  at  times  when  nobody  counted 
on  'em  (es])eeially  them  screeching  railroad  ones), 
than  all  the  other  frights  that  ever  was  took,  I 
heerd  of  one  young  man,  a  gu.ird  upon  a  railway, 
f)nly  three  year  opened  —  well  does  Mrs.  Harriip 
know  him,  whi''h  indeed  he  is  her  own  relation 
by  her  sister's  marriage  with  a  master  sawyer — 
as  is  godfather  at  this  present  time  to  six-ano- 
twentv  blessed  little  strangers,  equally  unexpected, 
and  all  on  'um  named  after  the  Ingeins  as  was  the 
cause.  Ugh  "'  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  resuming  her  apo* 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT, 


24.1 


trophe,  "oi)»  might  easy  know  you  was  a  mail's 
iuvcnlioa,  t'roiii  yourdisrogarditssin;8s  oftlie  weak- 
ness of  our  iialurs,  so  one  niiglif,  you  brute!" 

It  would  not  have  been  unnatural  to  suppose, 
fr  m  the  first  part  of  Mrs.  Ganip's  lamentations, 
t  al  sliu  was  connected  with  tlie  stage-coaching 
or  post-horsing  trade.  She  liad  no  means  of  judg- 
ing of  the  effect  of  her  concluding  remarks  upon 
her  young  companion  ;  for  she  interrupted  herself 
al  mis  point,  and  exclaimed  : 

"  Tiiere  she  identically  goes  I  Poor  sweet  young 
ireelur,  there  she  goes,  like  a  lamb  to  the  sacri- 
fige  I  If  tiiere's  any  illness  when  that  wessel 
gi  ts  to  Sea,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  prophetically,  "  it's 
niu.  tier,  and  I  'm  the  witness  for  the  persecution." 

Sue  v\as  so  very  earnetit  on  the  subject,  that 
Tom's  sister  (being  as  kind  as  Tom  himself^ 
could  not  lielp  saying  something  to  her  in  reply. 

"  Pray,  which  is  the  lady,"  she  inquired,  "  in 
When  yju  are  so  much  interested  ?" 

"  riiere  1"  groaned  Mrs.  Gamp.  "There  she 
goes  I  A  crossin'  the  little  wooden  bridge  at  tliis 
minute.  She  's  a  slippin'  on  a  bit  of  orange-peel !" 
tiglilly  clutching  her  umbrella.  "  What  a  turn  it 
give  la'i  I" 

'•  Do  you  mean  the  lady  who  is  with  that  man 
wrappi  d  up  from  head  to  foot  in  a  large  cloak,  so 
tiiat  h  »  face  is  almost  hidden  ?" 

"  Veil  he  may  hide  it  I"  Mrs.  Gamp  replied. 
"  He  3  good  call  to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  Did 
you  fib  him  a  jerking  of  her  wrist,  then?" 

"  '  ie  seems  to  be  hasty  with  her,  indeed." 

"  'Jow  he's  a  taking  of  her  down  into  the  close 
cab/  1 1"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  impatiently.  "  What 's 
the  nan  about !  The  deuce  is  in  him,  I  think. 
\VJ  I  can't  he  leave  her  in  the  open  air  ?" 

'•  e  did  not,  whatever  his  reason  was,  but  led 
h"  quickly  down  and  disappeared  himself,  with- 
ci  4  loosening  his  cloak,  or  pausing  on  the  crowded 
t'eck  one  moment  longer  than  was  necessary  to 
c<ear  their  way  to  that  part  of  the  vessel. 

Tom  had  not  heard  tliis  little  dialogue,  fi)r  his 
attention  had  been  engaged  in  an  unexpected 
manner.  A  hand  upon  his  sleeve  had  caused  him 
to  look  around  just  when  Mrs.  Gamp  concluded 
her  apostrophe  to  the  steam-engine ;  and  on  his 
right  arm,  Ruth  being  on  his  left,  he  found  their 
landlord,  to  his  great  surprise. 

He  was  not  so  much  surprised  at  the  man's 
bcinij  there,  as  at  his  liaving  got  close  to  him  so 
quietly  and  swiftly;  for  another  person  had  been 
at  his  eloow  one  instant  before,  and  he  had  not  in 
the  mean  time  been  conscious  of  any  change  or 
pressure  in  the  knot  of  people  among  whom  he 
s'ood.  He  and  Ruth  had  frequently  remarked 
how  noiselessly  this  landlord  of  theirs  came  into 
and  went  out  of  his  own  house ;  but  Tom  was  not 
tiie  less  amazed  to  see  him  at  his  elbow  now. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Pmch,"  he  said  in 
his  ear.  "  I  am  rather  infirm,  and  out  of  breath, 
and  my  eyes  are  not  very  good.  I  am  not  as 
young  as  1  was,  sir.  You  don't  see  a  gentleman 
in  a  large  cloak  down  yonder,  with  a  lady  on  his 
arm — a  lady  in  a  veil  and  a  black  shawl — do  you  ?" 

If  he  did  not,  it  was  curious  that  in  speaking 
he  should  have  singled  out  from  all  the  crowd  the 
very  people  whom  he  described,  and  should  have 
glanced  hastily  from  them  to  Tom,  as  if  he  were 
burning  to  direct  his  wandering  eyes. 

"  A  gentleman  in  a  large  cloak  !"  said  Tom, 
**  and  a  lady  in  a  black  shawl !     Let  me  see  1"      , 


"  Yes,  yes  I"  replied  the  other,  with  keen  iinpa 
tience.  "  A  gentleman  niulHed  up  from  head  to 
foot — strangely  mutiled  u[i  for  such  a  iixjining  as 
this — like  an  invalid,  with  his  hand  to  his  face  at 
this  minute,  perhaps.  No,  no,  no  I  not  there,"  ha 
added,  following  Tom's  gaz.e  ;  "  the  other  way — 
in  that  direction — down  yonder."  Again  he  in- 
dicated, but  this  time,  in  his  hurry,  with  liis  out- 
stretched finger,  the  very  spot  on  which  the  pro- 
gress of  these  persons  was  checked  at  lliut  mo- 
ment. 

"  There  are  so  many  people,  and  so  much  mfK 
tion,  and  so  many  objects,"  said  Tom,  "  that  I 
find  it  difficult  to — no,  I  really  don't  see  a  gentle- 
man in  a  large  cloak,  and  a  lady  in  a  black  shawl. 
There  's  a  lady  in  a  red  shawl  over  there  1" 

"No,  no,  no!"  cried  his  landlord,  pointing 
eagerly  again,  "  not  there.  The  other  way — the 
other  way.  Look  at  the  cabin  steps.  To  the 
left.  They  must  be  near  the  cabin  steps.  Do 
you  see  the  cabin  steps  ?  There's  the  bell  ringing 
already.     Do  you  see  the  steps  ?" 

"Stay!"  said  Tom,  "you're  right.  Look! 
there  they  go  now.  Is  that  the  gentleman  you 
mean  ?  Descending  at  this  minute,  w  ith  the 
folds  of  a  great  cloak  trailing  down  after  him  ?" 

"  The  very  man  !"  returned  the  other,  not  look- 
ing at  what  Tom  pointed  out,  however,  but  at 
Tom's  own  face.  "  Will  you  do  me  a  kindness, 
sir,  a  great  kindness?  Will  you  put  that  letter 
in  his  hand  ?  Only  give  him  that  ?  He  expecta 
it.  I  am  charged  to  do  it  by  my  employers,  but 
am  late  in  finding  him  ;  and,  not  being  as  young 
as  I  have  been,  should  never  be  able  to  make  my 
way  on  board  and  off  again  in  time.  Will  you 
pardon  my  boldness,  and  do  me  that  greaL  kind 
ness  ?" 

His  hands  shook,  and  his  face  bespoke  the  ut- 
most interest  and  agitation,  as  he  pressed  the  letter 
upon  Tom,  and  pointed  to  its  destination,  like  the 
Tempter  in  some  grim  old  carving. 

To  hesitate  in  the  performance  of  a  good-na- 
tured or  compassionate  otiice,  was  not  in  Tom's 
way.  He  took  the  letter,  whispered  Ruth  to  wait 
till  he  returned,  which  would  be  immediately,  and 
ran  down  the  steps  with  all  the  expedition  he 
could  make.  Tliere  were  so  many  people  going 
down,  so  many  others  coining  up,  such  heavy 
goods  in  course  of  transit  to  and  fro,  such  a  ring- 
ing of  bells,  blovving-off  of  steam,  and  shouting  of 
men's  voices,  that  he  had  much  ado  to  force  his 
way,  or  keep  in  mind  to  which  boat  he  was  going. 
But  he  reached  the  right  one  with  good  speed, 
and,  going  down  the  cabin-stairs  immediately, 
descried  the  object  of  his  search  standing  at  the 
furtlier  end  of  the  saloon,  with  his  back  towards 
him,  reading  some  notice  which  was  hung  against 
the  wall.  As  Tom  advanced  to  give  him  tlie 
letter,  he  started,  hearing  footsteps,  and  turned 
round. 

What  was  Tom's  astonishment  to  find  in  him 
the  man  with  whom  he  had  had  the  conflict  in 
the  field,  poor  Mercy's  husband — Jonas! 

Tom  undcr.stood  him  to  say,  what  the  devil  did 
he  want ;  but  it  was  not  easy  to  make  out  what 
he  said,  he  spoke  so  indistinctly. 

"  I  want  nothing  with  you  for  myself,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  I  was  asked  a  moment  since  to  give  you 
this  letter.  You  were  pointed  out  to  me,  but  I 
didn't  know  you  in  your  strange  dress.  Take  it!** 

He  did  so,  opened  it,  ana  read  the  writing  oo 


244 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES    OF 


the  inside.  The  contents  were  evidently  very 
brief;  not  more,  pcrliaps,  than  one  line  ;  but  they 
struck  upon  him  like  a  stone  from  a  sling.  He 
*eeled  back  as  he  read. 

His  emotion  was  so  different  from  any  Tom 
hid  ever  seen  before,  that  he  stopped  involun- 
tarily. Momentary  as  his  state  of  indecision  was, 
tlie  bill  ceased  while  he  stood  there;  and  a  hoarse 
voice  calling  down  the  steps,  inquired  if  there  was 
any  one  to  go  ashore. 

"  Yes,"  cried  Jonas,  "  I — I  am  coming.  Give 
nie  time.  Where's  that  woman !  Come  back  ; 
Come  back  here." 

He  threw  open  another  door  as  he  spoke,  and 
dragged,  rather  than  led,  her  forth.  She  was  pale 
and  frightened,  and  amazed  to  see  her  old  ac- 
quaintance;  but  had  no  time  to  speak,  for  they 
were  making  a  great  stir  above  ;  and  Jonas  drew 
her  rapidly  towards  the  deck. 

"  Where  are  we  going?     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  We  are  going  back,"  said  Jonas,  wildly. 
"  I've  changed  my  mind.  I  can't  go.  Don't 
question  me,  or  I  shall  be  the  death  of  you,  or 
bjine  one  else.  Stop  there  I  Stop  I  We're  for  the 
shore.     Do  you  hear  ?  We're  for  the  shore  !" 

He  turned,  even  in  the  madness  of  his  hurry, 
and  s«owling  darkly  back  at  Tom,  shook  his 
clenched  hand  at  him.  There  are  not  many 
human  faces  capable  of  the  expression  with  which 
hi  accompanied  that  gesture. 

Ho  dragged  her  up,  and  Tora  followed  them. 
Across  the  deck,  over  the  siic,  aJong  the  crazy 
p'ank,  and  up  the  steps,  he  dragged  her  fiercely; 
nat  bestowing  any  look  on  her,  but  gazing  up- 
wards all  the  while  among  the  faces  on  the  wharf. 
Suddenly  he  turned  again,  and  said  to  Tom  with 
a  tremendous  oath  : 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

Belbre  Tom,  in  his  indignation  and  amazement, 
C')!ild  return  an  answer  to  a  question  he  so  little 
understood,  a  gentleman  approached  Tom  behind, 
a:uJ  saluted  Jonas  Chu-.zlewit  by  name.  He  was 
a  gentleman  of  foreign  appearance;  with  a  black 
moustache  and  whiskers;  and  addressed  him 
with  a  polite  composure  strangely  different  from 
his  own  distracted  and  desperate  manner. 

"Chuzzlewit,  my  good  ftUow  !"  said  the  gentle- 
man, raising  his  hat  in  compliment  to  Mrs.  Ciiuz- 
zlewit,  "  I  ask  your  parden  twenty  thousand 
times.  I  am  most  unwilling  to  interfere  between 
you  and  a  domestic  trip  of  this  nature  (always  so 
vory  charming  and  refreshing,  I  know,  although 
i  ii.ive  not  tile  ha|)piness  to  be  a  domestic  man 
til  Vise  f,  which  is  the  great  infielicity  of  my  e.\- 
isleiice) :  but  the  bee-hive,  my  dear  friend,  the 
bi.  e-liive — will  you  introduce  me  ?" 

"  Tills  is  Mr.  Montague,"  said  Jonas,  whom  the 
words  appeared  to  choke. 

"  Tile  most  unhappy  and  the  most  penitent  of 
loen,  Mrs.  Chuzzlewit,"  pursued  that  gentleman, 
''  fjr  having  been  the  means  of  spoiling  this  ex- 
cursion ;  but  as  I  tell  my  friend,  the  bee-hive  ;  the 
Lee-hive.  You  projected  a  short  little  continental 
1  i|),  my  dear  friend,  of  course." 

Jonas  iiiiiiiilained  a  dogged  silence. 

'•May  I  die  I"  cried  Montague,  "but  I  am 
idocked.  Upon  my  soul  I  am  shocked.  But  that 
confounded  hee-hive  of  ours  in  the  city  must  be 
paramount  to  every  other  consideration,  when  there 
jr.  honey  to  be  made  ;  and  that  is  my  best  excuse. 
Hare  is  a  very  singular  old  female  dropping  curt- 


seys on  my  right,"  said  Montague,  breaking  off  in 
liis  discourse,  and  looking  at  iMrs.  Gamp,  "  who  it 
not  a  friend  of  mine.    Does  anybody  know  her?" 

"  Ah  I  Well  they  knows  me,  bless  their  precious 
hearts  I"  said  Mrs.  Gamp;  "not  forgeltin'  your 
own  merry  one,  sir,  and  long  may  it  b«;  sc 
Wisliin'  as  every  one,"  (she  delivered  this  in  tlie 
form  of  a  toast  or  sentiment)  "  was  as  merry,  and 
as  handsome-looking,  as  a  little  bird  has  whis- 
pered  me  a  certain  gent  is,  which  I  will  not  name 
for  fear  1  give  offence  where  none  is  due!  My 
precious  lady,"  here  she  stopped  short  in  her 
merriment,  for  she  had  until  now  affected  to  be 
vastlj'  entertained,  "you're  too  pule  by  half  I" 

"  You  are  here  too,  are  you  ?"  muttered  Jonas 
"  Ecod  there  are  enough  of  you." 

"  I  hope,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Gamp,  dropping 
an  indignant  curtsey,  "  as  no  bones  is  broke  by  me 
and  Mis.  Harris  vvalkin'  down  upon  a  public 
wharf  VV'hich  was  the  very  words  she  says  to  me 
(although  they  was  the  last  I  ever  had  to  sprak) 
was  these:  'Sairey,'  she  says,  'is  it  a  public 
wharf?'  'Mrs.  Harris,'  I  makes  answer,  'can 
you  doubt  it  ?  You  liave  know'd  me,  now,  ma'am, 
eight  and  thirty  year  ;  and  did  you  ever  know  nie 
go,  or  wish  to  go  where  I  was  not  made  welcome, 
say  the  words.'  '  No,  Sairey,'  Mrs.  Harris  says, 
'  contrairey  quite.'  And  well  she  knows  it,  too. 
I  am  but  a  poor  woman,  but  I've  been  sought 
arter,  sir,  though  you  may  not  think  it.  I've  been 
knocked  up  at  all  hours  of  the  night,  and  been 
warned  out  by  a  many  landlords,  in  consequence 
of  being  mistook  for  Fire.  I  goes  out  working 
for  my  bread,  'tis  true,  but  I  maintains  my  inde- 
peney,  with  your  kind  leave,  and  wiiich  I  will  till 
death.  I  lias  mv  feelins  as  a  woman,  sir,  and  I 
have  been  a  mother  likevvays;  but  touch  a  pipkin 
as  !)eIongs  to  f.e,  or  make  the  least  remarks  on 
what  I  eats  or  drinks,  and  though  you  was  the 
favouritest  young,  for'ard  hussy  of  a  serval-gal  as 
ever  CK'Tie  into  a  house,  either  you  leaves  the 
place,  or  me.  My  earnins  is  not  great,  sir,  but  1 
will  not  be  impoged  upon.  Bless  the  babe,  and 
save  tlie  mother,  is  my  motter,  sir  ;  but  I  makes 
so  free  as  to  add  to  that.  Don't  try  no  impogieian 
with  the  Nuss,  for  she  will  not  abear  it." 

Mrs.  G  imp  concluded  by  drawing  her  shawl 
tightly  over  herself  with  both  hands,  and,  as  usual, 
rtjlerring  to  Mrs.  Hams  for  lull  corroboration  of 
these  pirtieulars.  She  had  that  peculiar  trembling 
of  tile  head,  which,  in  ladies  of  her  excitable  ii.i- 
ture,  may  W  taken  as  a  sure  indication  of  their 
bri'aking  out  again  very  shortly  ;  when  Jonas 
made  a  timely  interposition. 

"  As  you  are  here,"  he  said,  "  you  had  better 
see  to  her,  and  take  her  home.  1  am  olheiwise 
eiisr.iged."  He  said  nothing  more  ;  but  looked  at 
Mont.igue,  as  if  to  give  him  notice  that  he  was 
re.idy  to  atttnd  hiui. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  take  you  away,"  said  Montague. 

Jonas  ijave  him  a  sinister  look,  which  luig 
lived  in  Tom's  memory,  and  which  he  often  re- 
called afterwards. 

"I  am  upon  my  life,"  said  Montague  "Why 
did  you  make  it  necessary?" 

With  the  same  dark  glance  as  before.  Jnnaf 
replied,  after  a  moment's  silence, 

"The  necessity  IS  none  of  my  making.  You 
have  brought  it  about  yourself" 

He  said  nothing  more.  He  said  even  this  as  if 
he  were  bound,  and  in  the  other's  power  but  had 


MARTIN   CIIbZZLEWlT. 


245 


a  sulion  and  suppressed  devil  within  liim,  which 
he  could  not  quite  resist.  His  very  gait,  as  they 
walked  away  togetlier,  was  like  that  of  a  fettered 
man  ;  but  striving  to  work  out  at  his  clenchtd 
hands,  knitted  brows,  and  fust-set  lips,  was  toe 
Bame  imprisoned  devil  still. 

'I'hey  got  into  a  handsonie  cabriolet,  whic^»  ^as 
waiting  tor  them,  and  drove  away. 

The  whole  of  this  extraordinary  scene  b-id  pass- 
ed  so  rapidly,  and  the  tumult  which  prevailed 
around  was  so  unconscious  of  any  impression  from 
it,  thut  aithough  Tom  had  been  one  of  the  chief 
actors,  it  was  like  a  dream.  No  one  had  noticed 
him  after  they  had  left  tlie  packet.  He  had  stood 
behind  Jonas,  and  so  near  him,  that  he  could  not 
help  hearing  all  that  passed.  He  had  stood  there, 
with  iiis  sister  on  his  arm,  expecting  and  hoping 
to  have  an  opportunity  of  explaining  his  strange 
share  in  this  yet  stranger  business.  But  Jonas 
had  not  raised  his  eyes  from  the  ground  ;  no  one 
else  had  even  looked  towards  him  ;  and  befi)re  he 
could  resolve  on  any  course  of  action,  they  were 
all  gone. 

He  gazed  round  for  his  landlord.  But  he  had 
done  that  more  than  once  already  ;  and  no  such 
man  was  to  be  seen  He  was  still  jnirsuing  this 
search  with  his  eyes  when  he  saw  a  hand  beckon- 
ing to  him  from  a  hackney  coach  :  and  hurrying 


towards  it,  found  it  was  Merry's.  She  addressed 
him  hurriedly,  but  bent  out  of  the  window,  that 
she  migtit  not  be  overheard  by  her  companion, 
Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  What  is  it?"  she  said,  "Good  Heaven,  what 
is  it  ?  Why  did  he  tell  me  last  night  to  prepare 
for  a  long  journey,  and  why  have  you  brought  us 
back  like  crimmals?  Dear  Mr.  Pinch  I"  she 
clasped  her  hands  distractedly,  "  be  merciful  to  us. 
Whatever  this  dreudl'ul  secret  is,  be  merciful,  and 
God  will  bless  you  I" 

"  If  any  power  of  mercy  lay  with  me,"  cried 
Tom,  "  trust  me,  you  should  n't  ask  in  vain.  But 
I  am  far  more  ignor^int  and  weak  than  you." 

She  withdrew  into  the  coach  again,  and  he  saw 
the  hand  waving  towards  him  for  a  moment;  but 
whether  in  reproachfulness  or  incredulit}',  or 
misery,  or  grief,  or  sad  adieu,  or  wliat  else,  he 
could  not,  being  so  hurried,  understand.  She  was 
gone  now;  and  Ruth  and  he  were  left  to  walk 
away,  and  wonder. 

Had  Mr.  Nadgett  appointed  the  man  who  never 
came,  to  meet  him  on  London  Bridge,  that  morn- 
ing ?  He  was  certainly  looking  over  the  parapet, 
and  down  upon  the  steamboat-wharf,  at  that  mo- 
ment. It  could  not  have  been  for  pleasure  ;  he 
never  took  any  pleasure.  No.  He  must  have 
had  some  business  there. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

MR.  JONAS  AND    HIS    FRIEND,  ARRIVING    AT  A    PLEASANT    UNDERSTAND 
ING,  SET  FORTH  UPON  AN  ENTERPRISE. 


The  office  of  the  Anglo-Bengalee  Disinterested 
Loan  and  Life  Insurance  Company  beirig  near  at 
hand;  and  Mr.  Montague  driving  Jonas  straight 
there ;  they  had  a  very  little  way  to  go.  But  the 
journey  might  have  been  one  of  several  hours' 
duration,  without  provoking  a  remark  from  either  : 
for  it  was  clear  that  Jonas  did  not  mean  to  break 
the  silence  which  prevailed  bttween  them,  and 
that  it  was  not,  as  yet  his  dear  friend's  cue  to 
tempt  him  into  conveisation. 

He  had  thrown  aside  his  cloak,  as  having  now 
no  motive  for  concealment,  and  with  that  garment 
huddled  on  his  knees,  sat  as  far  removed  Irom  his 
companion  as  the  limited  space  in  such  a  carriage 
would  allow.  There  was  a  striking  ditTerence  in 
his  manner,  compared  with  what  it  had  been, 
within  a  few  minutes,  when  Tom  encountered 
him  so  unexpectedly  on  board  the  picket,  or  vviien 
the  ugly  change  had  fallen  on  him  in  Mr.  Monta- 
gue's dressing-room  He  had  the  aspect  of  a  man 
found  out,  and  held  at  bay ;  of  being  baffled, 
hunted,  and  beset;  but  there  was  now  a  dawning 
and  increasing  purpose  in  his  face,  which  changed 
it  very  much.  It  was  gloomy,  distrusttiil,  lower- 
ing ;  pale  with  anger  and  defeat;  it  still  was 
humbled,  abject,  cowardly,  and  mean  ;  but  let  the 
contlicl  go  on  as  it  would,  there  was  one  strong 
pur|Kise  wrestling  with  every  emotion  of  his 
'juiid,  and  casting  the  whole  series  down  as  they 
Ofise. 

Not  prepossessing  in  appearance,  at  the  best  of 
times,  it  may  be  readily  supposed  that  he  was  not 
so  now.  He  had  left  deep  marks  of  his  front 
teetli  in  his  nether  lip;  and  those  t-ikens  of  the 
agit.ition  he  had  lately  undergfine,  improved  his 
looks  as   little  as   the   heavy  eorriuiatiuns  in  his 


forehead.  But  he  was  selCpossesseo  now  ;  un- 
naturally self-possessed,  indeed,  as  men  quite 
otherwise  than  brave  are  known  to  be  in  desperate 
extremities;  and  when  tlie  carriage  stopped,  he 
waited  for  no  invitation,  but  leaped  hardily  out,  and 
went  up  stairs. 

The  chairman  followed  him ;  and  closing  the 
board-room  door  as  soon  as  they  had  entered, 
threw  himself  upon  a  sofa.  Jonas  stood  before  the 
window,  looking  down  into  the  street;  and  leaned 
against  the  sash;   resting  his  head  upon  his  arms. 

"This  is  not  handsome,  C'liuzzlewit  I''  said 
Montague,  at  length.  "  Not  handsome,  upon  my 
5oul  I" 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?"  he  answered, 
looking  round  abruptly;  "  what  do  you  expect?" 

"Confidence,  my  good  fellow.  Some  confi- 
dence I"  said  Montague  in  an  injured  tone. 

"  Ecod  !  You  show  great  confidence  in  me," 
retorted  Jonas.     "  Don't  you  ?" 

"  Do  I  not  ?"  said  Ids  coin[ianion.  raising  his 
head,  and  looking  at  him,  hut  lie  had  turned  agaiii, 
"  Do  I  ntt  ?  Have  I  not  confided  to  you  the 
easy  schemes  I  have  formed  lor  our  advantage  • 
OUT  advantage,  mind;  not  mine  alone;  and  wha.1 
is  my  return  ?     Attempted  fiiglit  I" 

"  How  do  you  know  that?  Wiio  said  I  meant 
to  fly  /" 

"  Who  said  I  Come,  come.  A  foreign  boat,  my 
friend,  an  early  hour,  a  figure  wrapped  up  ior  dis- 
guise  I  Who  said!  If  you  did  n't  mean  to  jilt  me, 
why  were  you  there  ?  If  ynu  did  n't  mean  to  jUt 
me,  why  did  you  cume  back  ?" 

"  I  came  back,"  said  Jonas,  "  to  avoid  disturb 
ance." 

"  You  were  wise,"  re  joined  his  friend. 


246 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Jonas  stood  quite  silent ;  still  looking-  down  into 
the  street  and  resting^  his  head  upon  his  arms. 

"  Xow,  Chuazlevvit,"  said  Montague,  "  notwith- 
standing what  has  passed,  I  will  be  plain  with 
jou.  Are  you  attending  to  me,  there  ?  I  only 
see  your  b.ick." 

"  /  liear  you.     Go  on  !" 

"  I  say  that  notwithstanding  what  has  passed,  I 
will  be  pluin  with  you." 

"  You  s.-.id  that  before.  And  I  have  told  jou 
oace,  I  lieard  you  s.iy  it.     Go  on." 

"  Yi)U  are  a  little  chafed,  but  I  can  make  allow- 
ances for  that;  and  am,  fortunately,  myself,  in  the 
very  best  of  tempers.  Now,  let  us  see  how  cir- 
cumstances .stand.  A  day  or  two  ago,  I  mentioned 
to  you,  my  dear  fellow,  that  I  thought  I  had  dis- 
covered  " 

"  Will  you  hold  your  tongue  ?"  said  Jonas,  look- 
ing fiercely  round,  and  glancing  at  the  door. 

"Well,  well!"  said  Montague.  "Judicious! 
Quite  correct !  My  discoveries  being  published, 
would  be  like  many  other  men's  discoveries  in  this 
lionest  woild  ;  of  no  further  use  to  me.  You  see, 
Chuzzlewit,  how  ingenuous  and  frank  I  am  in 
ehowing  you  the  weakness  of  my  own  position  I 
To  return.  I  make,  or  think  I  make,  a  certain 
discovery,  which  I  take  an  early  opportunity  of 
mentioning  in  your  ear,  in  that  spirit  of  confidence 
which  I  really  hoped  did  prevail  between  us,  and 
was  reciprocated  by  you.  Perhaps  there  is  some- 
thing in  it;  perhaps  there  is  nothing.  I  have  mv 
kuowlcdj/e  and  opinion  on  the  subject.  You  have 
yours,  VVe  will  not  discuss  tiie  question.  But,  my 
good  fellow,  you  have  been  weak  ;  what  I  wish  to 
point  out  to  you  is,  that  you  have  been  weak.  I 
may  desire  to  turn  this  little  incident  to  my  account 
(indeed  I  do.  I'll  not  deny  it)  but  my  account 
does  not  lie  in  probing  it,  or  using  it  against  you." 
"  What  do  you  call  using  it  against  me  ?"  asked 
Jonas,  who  had  not  yet  changed  his  attitude. 

"  Oil  I"  said  Montague,  with  a  laugh,  "  We'll 
not  enter  into  that." 

"  Using  it  to  make  a  beggar  of  me.     Is  that  the 
use  you  mean  ?" 
"  x\o." 

"  Ecod,"  muttered  Jonps  bitterly.  "  That's  the 
use  in  wliich  ynuT  account  does  lie.  You  speak 
the  truth  there." 

"1  wish  you  to  venture  (it's  a  very  safe  venture) 
a  little  more  with  us,  certainly,  and  to  keep  quiet," 
Said  .MMulaijue,  You  promised  me  you  would  and 
you  nmst.  I  s^iy  it  plainly,  Chuzzlewit,  you  must. 
Reason  the  matter.  If  you  don't,  my  secret  is  worth, 
less  t(j  me  ;  and  being  so,  it  may  as  well  become  the 
public  properly  as  mine:  better, for  I  shall g:i in  some 
credit,  briiiijiiig  it  to  light,  I  want  you,  besides,  to 
act  as  a  decoy  in  a  case  I  have  already  told  you  of. 
You  dcjii't  aiiiid  that,  I  know.  You  c;ire  nothing 
for  the  man  (you  care  nothing  for  any  mm;  you 
are  loo  sliarp;  so  am  I,  1  hope);  and  could  bear 
any  loss  of  his  with  pious  f)rtilude.  Ha,  lia,  ha  I 
You  huve  trieii  to  escape  from  the  first  consequence. 
You  cannot  escape  it,  I  assure  you.  I  have  shown 
you  that  to-d  ly.  Now,  I  am  not  a  moral  man, 
y„u  know.  I  am  not  tin-  le  ist  in  the  world  affected 
by  anylhmg  you  may  h  ive  done  ;  by  any  little  in- 
discretion  you  may  have  committed  ;  but  I  wish 
VI  profit  by  it,  if  I  can  ;  and  to  a  man  of  your  in- 
Iclligeiice  I  make  tllal  free  confession.  I  am  not 
at  all  singular  in  tint  infirmity.  Fvfry  body 
profits  by  the  indiscretion  of  his  neighbour ;  and 


the  people  in  the  best  repute,  the  most.  Why  do 
you  give  me  this  trouble  ?  It  must  come  to  a 
friendly  agreement,  or  an  unfriendly  crash.  It 
must.  If  the  former,  you  are  very  little  hurt.  If 
the  latter — well !  you  know  best  what  is  likely  t9 
happen  then." 

Jonas  left  the  window,  and  walked  up  close  to 
him.  He  did  not  look  him  in  thetace;  it  was 
not  his  habit  to  do  that ;  but  he  kept  his  eyes 
towards  him — on  his  breast  or  thereabouts — and 
was  at  great  pains  to  speak  slowly  and  distinctly, 
in  reply.  Just  as  a  man  in  a  state  of  conscious 
drunkenness  might  be. 

"  Lying  is  of  no  use,  now,"  he  said.  "  I  did 
think  of  getting  away  this  morning,  and  making 
better  terms  with  you  from  a  distance." 

"To  be  sure  !  To  be  sure  !"  said  Montague.  "No- 
thing more  natural.  I  foresaw  that,  and  provided 
against  it.   But  I  am  afraid  I  am  interrupting  you." 

"How  the  devil,"  pursued  Jonas,  with  a  still 
greater  effort,  "you  made  choice  of  your  messenger, 
and  where  you  tbund  him,  I'll  not  ask  you.  I  owed 
him  one  good  turn  before  to-day.  If  you  are  so 
careless  of  men  in  general,  as  you  said  you  were 
just  now,  you  are  quite  indifferent  irs  to  what  be- 
comes of  such  a  crop-tailed  cur  as  that,  and  will 
leave  me  to  settle  my  account  with  him  in  my 
own  manner." 

If  he  had  raised  his  eyes  to  his  companion's 
face,  he  would  have  seen  that  Montague  was  evi- 
dently unable  to  comprehend  his  meaning.  But 
continuing  to  stand  before  him,  with  his  furtive 
gaze  directed  as  before,  and  pausing  here,  only  to 
moisten  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue,  the  fjct  was 
lost  upon  him.  It  might  have  struck  a  close  ob- 
server  that  this  fi.xed  and  steady  glance  of  Jonas's 
was  part  of  the  alteration  which  had  taken  place 
in  his  demeanour.  He  kept  it  riveted  on  one  spot, 
with  which  his  thoughts  had  manifestly  nothing  to 
do;  like  as  a  juggler  walking  on  a  cord  or  wire  to 
any  dangerous  end,  holds  some  object  in  his  sight  to 
steady  him,  and  never  wanders  from  it,  lest  he  trip. 

Montague  was  quick  in  his  rejoinder,  though  he 
made  it  at  a  venture.  There  was  no  difference 
of  opinion  between  him  and  his  friend  on  that 
point.     Not  the  least. 

"  Your  great  discovery,"  Jonas  proceeded,  with  a 
savage  sneer  that  got  the  better  of  him  for  a  mo- 
ment, "  may  bo  true,  and  may  be  false.  Whichever 
it  is,  I  dare  say  I'm  no  worse  than  other  men." 

"  Not  a  bit,"  said  Tigg.  "  Not  a  bit.  We're  all 
alike — or  nearly  so." 

"  I  want  to  know  this,"  Jonas  went  on  to  say 
"  is  it  j'our  own  ?  You'll  not  wonder  at  my  asking 
the  question." 

"  .My  own  !"  repeated  Montague. 

"  .Aye,"  returned  the  other,  gruffly.  "Is  it  known 
to  anybody  else?  Come  !   Don't  waver  about  that." 

"  No  I"  said  Montague  without  the  smallest 
hesitation.  "  What  would  it  be  worth,  do  you 
think,  unless  I  had  the  keeping  of  it ! 

Now,  for  the  first  time,  Jonas  looked  at  him 
After  a  pause,  he  put  out  his  hand,  and  said,  with 
a  laugh  : 

"  Come  I  make  things  enay  to  me,  and  I'm 
yours.  I  don't  know  that  I  may  not  be  better  off 
here,  after  all,  th:m  if  I  had  gone  away  this  morn- 
ing. But  here  I  am,  and  here  I'll  stay  now.  Take 
your  oath  I" 

He  cleared  his  thro.if,  for  he  was  spviking 
hoarsely,  and  said  in  a  lighter  tone  : 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT, 


247 


•♦  Shall  I  go  to  Pecksniff?    When  ?  Say  when  1" 

"  Immediately  !"  cried  Montague.  "  He  cannot 
oe  enticed  too  soon." 

"  Ecod  !"  cried  Jonas,  with  a  vild  laugh. 
"There's  some  fun  in  catching  that  o.,  liypocrite. 
I  hate  liiin.     Shall  I  go  to-night  ?" 

"  Aye  I  'I'his,"  said  Montague,  ecstatically,  "  is 
like  business  !  We  understand  each  other  now  ! 
To-nigh(,  my  good  fellow,  by  all  means." 

"  Come  witJi  me  I"  cried  Jonas.  "  We  must 
make  a  dash  ;  go  down  in  state,  and  carry  docu- 
ments, for  lie's  a  deep  one  to  deal  with,  and  must 
be  drawn  on  with  an  artful  hand,  or  he'll  not  fol- 
low. I  know  him.  As  I  can't  take  your  lodgings 
or  your  diimers  down,  I  must  take  you.  Will  you 
come  to-night  ?" 

His  friend  appeared  to  hesitate ;  and  neither  to 
have  anticipated  this  proposal,  nor  to  relish  it  very 
much. 

"  We  can  concert  our  plans  upon  the  road,"  said 
Jonas.  "  We  must  not  go  direct  to  him,  but  cross 
over  from  some  other  place,  and  turn  out  of  our 
way  to  see  liim.  I  may  not  want  to  introduce  you, 
but  I  must  have  you  on  the  spot,  I  know  the 
man,  I  tell  you." 

"  But,  what  if  the  man  knows  me  ?"  said  Mon- 
tague, shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  He  know  !"  cried  Jonas,  "  Don't  you  run  that 
risk  with  fifty  men  a  day  !  Would  your  father 
know  you  ?  Did  /  know  you  ?  Ecod,  you  were 
another  figure  when  I  saw  you  first.  Ha,  ha,  ha  I 
I  see  the  rents  and  patches  now  !  No  false  hair 
then,  no  black  dye  !  You  were  another  sort  of  joker 
in  those  days,  you  were  !  You  even  spoke  different, 
then.  You've  acted  the  gentleman  so  seriously 
since,  that  you've  taken  in  yourself.  If  he  should 
know  you,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Such  a  change 
is  a  proof  of  your  success.  You  know  that,  or  j'ou 
would  not  have  made  yourself  known  to  me.  Will 
you  come  ?" 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  Montague,  still  hesita- 
ting, "  I  can  trust  you  alone." 

"  Trust  me  !  Ecod,  you  may  trust  me  now  far 
enough.  I'll  try  to  go  away  no  more — no  more  I" 
He  stopped,  and  added  in  a  more  sober  tone,  "  I 
can't  get  on  without  you.     Will  you  come?" 

"  I  will,"  said  Montague,  "  if  that's  your  opin- 
ion."    And  they  shook  hands  upon  it. 

The  boisterous  manner  which  Jonas  had  exhibit- 
ed during  the  latter  part  of  this  conversation,  and 
which  had  gone  on  rapidly  increasing  with  almost 
every  word  he  had  spoken  ;  from  the  time  when  he 
looked  his  honourable  friend  in  the  face  until  now; 
did  not  now  subside,  but,  remaining  at  its  heigiit, 
abided  by  him.  Most  unusual  with  him  at  any 
period  ;  most  inconsistent  with  his  temper  and 
constitulion  ;  especially  unnatural  it  would  appear 
in  one  so  darkly  circumstanced  ;  it  abided  by  him. 
It  was  not  like  the  effect  of  wine,  or  any  ardent 
drink,  for  he  was  perfectly  colierent.  It  even 
made  him  proof  against  the  usual  influence  of  such 
means  of  excitement;  for,  although  he  drank 
deeply  sevRr:il  times  that  day,  with  no  reserve  or 
caution,  he  remained  exactly  the  same  man,  and 
his  spirits  r.either  rose  nor  fell  in  the  least  observ- 
able degree. 

Deciding,  after  some  discussion,  to  travel  at 
night,  in  order  that  the  day's  business  might  not 
be  broken  in  upon,  they  took  counsel  together  in 
«ference  to  the  means.     Mr.  Montague  bemg  of 


]  ojiiiiion  that  four  horses  were  advisable,  nt  alJ 
eV(  nts  lor  the  first  stage,  as  throv.  ing  a  gnat  deai 
of  dust  into  |ie(iple's  eyes,  in  nioru  si  iisi  s  lli:in  one, 
a  travelling  ch.iriot  and  f(,ur  lay  under  orders  for 
nine  o'clock.  Jonas  did  not  go  home  :  observing, 
that  his  being  obliged  to  have  town  on  bu.sinesg 
in  so  great  a  hurry,  would  be  a  good  excuse  for 
having  turned  back  so  uncx()ectfdly  in  the  morn- 
ing. So  he  wrote  a  note  for  his  portmanteau,  and 
sent  it  by  a  messenger,  who  duly  brought  his  lug. 
gage  back,  with  a  siiort  note  from  that  other  piece 
of  luggage,  his  wife,  expressive  of  her  wish  to  be 
allowed  to  come  and  see  him  for  a  moment.  To 
this  request  he  sent  for  answer,  "she  had  better  ;" 
and  one  such  threatening  affirmative  being  suffi- 
cient, in  defiance  of  the  English  grammar,  to  ex- 
press a  negative,  she  kept  away. 

Mr.  IV!c;:it;>gue  being  much  engaged  in  the 
course  of  the  day,  Jo:ia.s  bestowed  his  spirits  chiefly 
on  the  do",tor,  with  whom  he  lunched  in  the  medi 
cal  officer's  own  room.  On  his  way  thither,  en- 
countering Mr.  Nadgett  in  the  outer  office,  he 
bantered  that  stealthy  gentleman  on  always 
appearing  anxious  to  avoid  him,  and  inquired  if 
he  were  afraid  of  him.  Mr.  Nadgett  shyly  an- 
swered, "  No,  but  he  believed  it  must  be  his  way, 
as  he  had  been  charged  with  mcch  the  same  kind 
of  thing  before." 

Mr.  Montague  was   listening  to,  or,  to  speak 
with  greater  elegance,  he  overheard  this  dialogue. 
As  soon  as  Jonas  was  gone,  he  beckoiu  d  Nadge» 
to  him  with  the  feather  of  his  pen,  and  whispered 
in  his  ear, 

"  Who  gave  him  my  letter  this  morning  ?" 

"  My  lodger,  sir,"  said  Nadgett,  behind  the  palm 
of  his  hand. 

"  How  came  that  about  ?" 

"  I  found  him  on  the  wharf,  sir.  Being  so  much 
hurried,  and  you  not  arrived,  it  was  necesary  to  do 
something.  It  fortunately  occurred  to  me,  that  if 
I  gave  it  him  myself,  I  could  be  of  no  further  use 
I  should  have  been  blown  upon  immediately." 

"  Mr.  Nadgett,  you  are  a  jewel,"  said  Montague, 
patting  him  on  the  back.  "  What's  your  lodger's 
name  ?" 

"  Pinch,  sir.     Mr.  Thomas  Pinch." 

Montague  reflected  for  a  little  while,  and  the  a 
asked  : 

''From  the  country,  do  you  know  ?" 

"  From  Wiltshire,  sir,  he  told  me." 

They  parted  without  another  word.  To  see  Mr. 
Nadgett's  bow  when  Montague  and  he  next  met, 
and  to  see  Mr.  Montague  acknowledge  it,  anybody 
might  have  undertaken  to  swear  that  they  had 
never  spoken  to  each  other  confidentially,  in  all 
their  lives. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Mr.  Jonas  and  the  doct.tr 
made  themselves  very  comfortable  up  stairs  over  a 
bottle  of  the  old  Madeira,  and  some  sandwiches 
for  the  doctor  having  been  already  invited  to  dine 
below  at  six  o'clock,  preferred  a  light  repast  for 
lunch.  It  was  advisable  in  two  points  of  view  . 
First,  as  being  healthy  in  itself  Secondly,  ai 
being    he  better  prei)aration  for  dinner. 

"  And  you  arc  bound  for  all  our  sakes  to  taKO 
particular  care  of  your  digestion,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit, 
my  dear  sir,"  said  the  doctor,  smacking  his  lips 
after  a  glass  of  wine  ;  "  tor  depend  upon  it,  it  if 
worth  preserving.  It  must  be  in  admirable  con. 
I  dition,  sir  ;  perfect  chronometer  work.    Otherww* 


248 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


your  spirits  could  not  be  so  remarkable.  Your 
bosom's  lord  sits  lifjiitly  on  its  throne,  Mr.  Cliuzzlc- 
wit,  as  what's-liis-name  savs  in  tin;  play.  1  wisli 
be  said  it  in  a  pUy  which  did  anythini;  like  com- 
mon justice  to  our  profession,  bj-the-liye.  There 
IS  an  apothecary  in  tiiat  drama,  sir,  which  is  a  low 
thing';  vulg-ar,  sir;  out  of  nature  altogether." 

Mr.  Jobling  puli.^d  outiiis  shirt-frill  of  tine  linen, 
as  though  he  would  have  added,  "  Tins  is  what  I 
call  nature  in  a  m<.dical  man,  sir  ;"  and  looked  at 
Jonas  tor  an  observation. 

Jonas  not  being  in  a  condition  to  pursue  the 
subject,  took  up  a  case  of  lancets  that  was  lying  on 
tlie  table  and  opened  it. 

"  Ah  !"  said  the  doctor,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
"  I  always  lake  'em  out  of  my  pocket  before  I  eat. 
My  pockets  are  rather  tiglit.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !" 

Jonas  had  opened  one  of  the  shininij  little  in- 
Ftruments;  and  was  scrutinising  it  wilii  a  look 
as  sharp  iind  eager  as  its  own  bright  edge. 

"  Good  steel,  doctor.     Good  steel  I   Eh  ?" 

"  Ye-es,"  replied  the  doctor,  with  the  faltering 
modest V  of  ownership.  "One  might  open  a  vein 
(Tctty  dcxterou.-ly  with  that,  .\Ir.  C'huzzlewit." 

"It  has  opened  a  good  many  in  its  time,  I  sup- 
pose ?"  said  Jonas,  looking  at  it  with  a  growing 
interest. 

"  Net  a  few  my  dear  sir,  not  a  few.  It  has  been 
engaged  in  a — in  a  pretty  good  practice,  I  believe 
1  may  sav,"  replied  the  doctor,  coughing  as  if  the 
niatter-of-lac;!  were  so  very  dry  and  literal  that  he 
ouldn't  help  it.  "  In  a  pretty  good  practice,"  re- 
I'eated  the  doctor,  putting  another  glass  of  wine  to 
his  lips. 

"  Now,  could  you  cut  a  man's  throat  with  such  a 
thing  as  this  ?"  demanded  Jonas. 

"O  cert^Mnly,  certiiidy,  if  you  took  him  in  the 
riglit  place,"  returned  the  doctor.  "It  all  depends 
Upon  that." 

"  Where  you  have  your  hand  now,  hey  ?"  cried 
J. mas,  bending  fiirward  to  look  at  it. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  doctor  ;  "  that's  the  jugular." 

Jonas,  in  his  vivacity,  made  a  sudden  sawing  in 
the  air  so  close  behind  the  doctor's  jugular,  tiiat 
iie  turned  ijuile  red.  Then  Jonas  (in  the  same 
strange  spirit  of  viv.icity)  burst  into  a  loud  discord- 
ant  laugh. 

"  No,  nil,"  said  the  doctor  shaking  his  head: 
*  (^dge-tools,  ed ire-tools  ;  never  play  with  'em.  A 
very  remarkable  instance  of  the  skilful  use  of  edge- 
tools,  by  the  way,  occurs  to  me  at  this  moment.  It 
WIS  a  case  of  murder.  1  am  afraid  it  was  a  case  of 
murder,  committerl  by  a  miinber  of  our  profession  ; 
it  was  so  artistically  done." 

"  Aye  !"  said  Jonas.     "  Mow  was  that  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  returned  J()l)liiig,  "  liie  thing  lies 
in  a  nut-sht'll.  A  certain  gentleman  was  found, 
one  morning,  in  an  ohscuie  street,  standing  up- 
rii;lit  in  an  angle  of  a  doorway — I  should  rather 
sav,  leaning,  in  an  upright  position,  in  the  angle 
nf  a  doorway,  and  su()ported  coiiser|uently  hy  the 
doorway.  Upon  his  waistcoat  there  was  one  solitary 
dr.ip  of  blood.  He  v\'as  dead,  and  cold  ;  and  ha<l 
been  murdijred,  sir." 

"Only  one  drop  of  blood  !"  said  Jonas. 

"Sir,  that  mao,"  rfplinl  the  doctor,  "  liad  been 
•tabbed  lo  ihc  hcait.     Had  been    siuLii)ed    lo  the 


heart  with  such  dexterity,  sir,  that  he  had  dit  d  in. 
stantly,  and  had  bled  internally.  It  was  sup|.osed 
that  a  medical  friend  of  his  (to  whom  suspicion 
attached)  had  engaged  him  in  conversation  on 
some  pretence;  had  tiken  him,  very  likely,  by  the 
button  in  a  conversational  manner;  had  examined 
his  ground,  at  leisure,  with  his  other  hand  ;  had 
marked  the  exact  spot ;  drawn  out  the  instrument, 
whatever  it  was,  when  he  was  quite  prepared, 
and — " 

"  And  done  the  trick,"  suggested  Jonas. 

"  Exactly  so,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  It  wa 
quite  an  operation  in  its  way,  and  very  neat.  The 
medical  friend  never  turned  up;  and  as  1  tell  you, 
lie  had  the  credit  of  it.  Whether  he  did  it  or  not, 
I  can't  say.  But  having  had  the  honour  to  be 
called  in  with  two  or  three  of  my  prottssional 
brethren  on  the  occasion,  and  having  assisted  to 
make  a  careful  examination  of  the  wound,  I  have 
no  hesitation  in  saying  that  it  would  have  reflected 
credit  on  any  medical  man  ;  and  that  in  an  impro- 
fessional  person,  it  could  not  but  be  considered, 
either  as  an  extraordinary  work  of  art,  or  the  re- 
sult of  a  still  more  extraordinary,  happy,  and 
favourable  conjunction  of  circumstances." 

His  hearer  was  so  much  interested  in  this  case, 
that  the  doctor  went  on  to  elucidate  it  with  the 
assistance  of  his  own  finger  and  thumb  and  vcaist- 
coat ;  and  at  Jonas's  request  he  took  the  I'urther 
trouble  of  stand'ing  up  in  one  corner  of  the  room, 
.nd  alternately  representing  the  murdered  man 
and  the  murderer;  which  he  did  with  great  effect. 
The  bottle  being  emptied  and  the  story  done,  Jor)a9 
was  in  precisely  the  same  boisterotis  and  unusual 
state  as  when  they  had  sat  down.  If,  as  Jobling 
theorised,  his  good  digestion  were  the  cause,  lie 
must  have  been  a  very  ostrich. 

At  dinner,  it  was  just  the  same  ;  and  aftei  diti- 
ner  too;  though  wine  was  drunk  in  abundance, 
and  various  rich  meats  eaten.  At  nine  o'clock  it 
was  still  the  same.  There  being  a  lamp  in  tin 
Carriage  he  swore  they  would  take  a  pack  of  cards, 
and  a  bottle  of  wine  :  and  with  these  things  under 
his  cloak,  went  down  to  the  door. 

"  Out  of  the  way,  Tom  Thumb,  and  get  to 
bed  !" 

'I'his  was  the  salutation  he  bestowed  on  Mr, 
Bailey,  who,  booted  and  wrapped  up,  stood  at  the 
carriage-door  to  lielp  him  in. 

"To  bed,  sir  !   I'm  a  going,  too,"  said  Bailey. 

He  alighted  quickly,  and  walked  back  into  the 
hall,  where  Montague  was  lighting  a  cigar  ;  con- 
ducting Mr.  Bailey  with  him  by  the  collar. 

"  You  are  not  a  going  to  take  this  monkey  of  a 
boy,  are  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Montague,  "  I  am." 

He  gave  the  boy  a  shake,  and  threw  him  roughly 
aside.  There  was  more  of  his  t'ainiliar  self  in  the 
action,  than  in  anything  lu;  had  done  that  day; 
but  he  broke  out  laughinir  imiin  iliately  al'tirward"  , 
and  making  a  thrust  at  the  doctor  with  his  ha«i(l 
in  imitation  of  his  representation  of  the  medic** 
friend,  v\ent  out  to  the  carriage  again,  and  toi  )j 
his  seat.  His  companion  followed  immediately 
Mr.  Bailey  climbed  into  the  rumble. 

"It  will  be  a  storipv  niglit !"  exclaimed  th« 
uoclur,  us  they  sturled. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


249 


CHAPTER  XLII. 


CONTINUATION   OF  THE  ENTERPRISE  OF  ."MR.  JONAS  AND  HIS  FRIEND. 


The  Doctor's  proj,mosticiition  in  rcforence  to 
tlie  weather,  was  spt-edily  verified.  Altlioui;li  the 
weather  was  not  a  p;)tifnt  of  his,  atid  no  third 
party  liad  required  him  to  give  an  opinion  on  the 
Case,  the  quicli  fulfilment  of  his  prophecy  may  be 
tiken  as  an  instance  of  his  professional  taci ;  for 
unless  the  threatening  aspect  of  the  night  had 
been  perfectly  plain  and  unmistakeable,  Mr.  Job- 
ling  would  never  have  compromised  his  reputation 
by  delivering  any  sentiments  on  the  subject.  He 
used  this  principle  in  medicine  with  too  much 
success,  to  be  unmindful  of  it  in  his  commonest 
transactions. 

It  was  one  of  those  hot,  silent  nights,  when  peo- 
ple sit  at  windows,  lisiening  for  the  thutuier  which 
tJiey  know  will  slioitly  break;  when  they  recal 
dismal  tales  of  hurri'ianes  and  earthquakes  ;  and 
ot"  lonely  travellers  on  open  plains,  and  lonely 
eiiips  at  sea  struck  by  lightning.  Lightning 
fl  ished  and  quivered  on  the  black  horizon  even 
now;  and  hollow  murmurings  were  in  the  wind, 
OS  though  it  had  been  blowing  where  tlie  thunder 
ri'lled,  and  still  was  charged  with  its  exhau'^ted 
e<hoes.  But  the  sturm,  though  gathering  swiftly, 
hid  not  yet  come  up;  and  the  prevailing  stillness 
was  the  more  solemn,  from  the  dull  intelligence 
that  seemed  to  hover  in  the  air,  of  noise  aud  con- 
flict afar  off. 

It  was  very  dark  ;  but  in  the  murky  sky  there 
were  masses  of  cl  )ud  which  slione  with  a  lurid 
hght,  like  tnonstr'ius  heaps  of  copper  that  had 
been  heated  in  a  furnace,  ;ind  were  growing  cold. 
These  had  been  advancing  steadily  and  slowly, 
but  they  were  now  motionless,  or  nearly  so ;  and 
tts  the  carriage  clattered  round  the  corners  of  the 
streets,  it  passed,  at  every  one,  a  knot  of  persons, 
who  had  come  there — many  from  their  houses 
dose  at  liand,  without  hats — to  look  up  at  that 
quarter  of  the  sky.  And  now  a  very  few  large 
drops  of  rain  beg. in  to  fall:  and  thunder  rumbled 
in  the  distance. 

Jnnas  sat  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage,  with  his 
bottle  resting  on  his  knee,  and  gripped  as  tightly 
in  his  hand,  .is  if  he  would  have  ground  its  neck 
U>  powder  if  he  (^ovijd.  Instinclively  attracted  by 
the  night,  he  had  laid  a^ide  the  pack  of  cards 
uixin  the  cusliioii ;  and  with  the  same  involuntary 
impulse,  so  intelligible  to  both  of  them  as  not  to 
oecasion  a  remark  on  either  side,  his  companion 
h  d  extingllish(^d  the  lamp.  The  front  glasses 
were  down,  and  they  sat  looking  silently  out  upon 
tlie  scene  befort-  them. 

They  were  clear  of  T,nndnn  :  or  as  clear  of  it  as 
travellers  can  be,  whose  wnv  lies  on  the  Western 
Road,  within  a  statre  of  that  enormous  rity.  Oc- 
casionally, they  encountered  a  foot-passenger,  hur- 
rying to  the  nearest  place  of  shelter;  or  some  un- 
wieldy cart  proceeding  onward  at  a  heavy  trot, 
with  the  same  end  in  view.  Little  clusters  of 
sneh  vehicles  were  gattiered  round  the  stable-yard 
o'  baiting. plaee  of  every  way-^ide  tavern  ;  while 
tJieii  drivers  watched  the  weather  from  the  doors 
a.'iri  iiperi  -^  in'lows,  or  made  merry  within.  Every- 
wiioet  tlie  pei  pie  were  disposed  to  bear  each  other 
3i 


company,  rather  than  sit  alone.;  so  that  groups  of 
watehl'ul  faces  seemed  to  be  looking  out  upon  the 
nigiit  and  them,  from  almost  every  house  they 
passed. 

It  may  appear  strange  that  this  should  have 
disturbed  Jonas,  or  rendered  him  uneasy  :  but  it 
did.  After  muttering  to  himself',  and  often  changing 
his  position,  he  drew  up  the  blind  on  his  side  of 
the  carriage,  and  turned  his  shoulder  sulkily  lo- 
wards  it.  But  he  mither  looked  at  his  companioii, 
nor  broke  the  silenee  which  prevailed  between 
them,  and  which  had  fillen  so  suddenly  upon  him- 
self,  by  addressing  a  word  to  him. 

The  thunder  rolled,  the  lightning  flashed;  the 
rain  poured  down  like  Heaven's  wrath.  Sur- 
rounded at  one  moment  by  intolerable  light,  and 
at  the  next  by  pitchy  darkness,  they  still  pressed 
forward  on  their  journey.  Even  when  they  ar- 
rived at  the  end  of  the  stage,  and  might  have  tar- 
tied,  they  did  not ;  but  ordered  horses  out  imme- 
diately. Nor  had  this  any  reference  to  some  five 
minutes'  lull,  which  at  that  time  seemed  to  pro- 
mise a  cessation  of  the  storm.  They  held  their 
course  as  if  they  were  impelled  and  driven  by  its 
fury.  Although  they  had  not  exchanged  a  dozen 
words,  and  might  have  tarried  very  well,  they 
seemed  to  feel,  by  joint  consent,  that  onward  they 
must  go. 

Louder  and  louder  the  deep  thunder  rolled,  aa 
through  the  myriad  halls  of  some  vast  temple  ia 
the  sky ;  fiercer  and  brighter  became  the  light- 
ning;  more  and  more  heavily  the  rain  poured 
down.  The  horses  (they  were  travelling  now 
with  a  single  pair),  plunged  and  started  from  the 
rills  of  quivering  fire  that  seemed  to  wind  along 
the  ground  before  them  :  but  there  these  two  men 
sat,  and  forward  they  went  as  if  they  were  led 
on  by  an  invisible  attraction. 

The  eye,  partaking  of  the  quickness  of  the 
flashing  light,  saw  in  its  every  gleam  a  multitude 
of  objects  which  it  could  not  see  at  steady  noon 
in  fifty  times  that  period.  Bells  in  steeples,  with 
the  rope  and  wheel  that  moved  them;  ragged  nests 
of  birds  in  cornices  and  nooks;  faces  full  of  con- 
sternation in  the  tilted  wagons  that  came  tearing 
past,  their  frightened  teams  ringing  out  a  warii- 
ing  which  the  thunder  drowned ;  harrows  and 
ploughs  left  out  in  fields;  miles  upon  miles  of 
hedge-divided  country,  with  the  distant  fringe  of 
trees  as  obvious  as  the  scare-crow  in  tiie  bean- 
field  close  at  hand  :  in  a  trembling,  vivid,  flicker- 
ing instant,  every  thing  was  clear  and  plain:  then 
came  a  flush  of  red  into  the  yellow  light ;  a  chantre 
to  blue;  a  brightness  so  intense  that  there  was 
nothing  else  but  light:  and  then  the  deepest  and 
profoundesl  darkness. 

The  lightning,  being  very  crooked  and  very  daa 
zling,  may  have  presented  or  assisted  a  very  curious 
optical  illusion,  which  suddenly  rose  before  the 
startled  eyes  of  Montague  in  the  carriage,  and  as 
rapidly  disappeared.  He  thought  ne  saw  Jonas 
with  his  hand  lifted,  and  the  bottle  clenched  in  il 
like  a  hammer,  making  as  if  he  would  aim  a 
blow  at  his  head.     At  the  same  time  he  observed 


250 


LIFE   AND  ADVENTURES   O* 


(or  so  believed),  an  expression  in  his  face ;  a  coin- 
binalion  of  the  unnatural  excitement  he  had 
shown  all  day,  with  a  wild  hatred  and  fear  wiiich 
might  have  rendered  a  wolf  a  less  terrible  com- 
panion. 

He  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation,  and 
Ciilled  to  the  driver,  who  brought  his  horse  to  a 
Btop  with  all  speed. 

It  could  hardly  have  been  as  he  supposed,  for 
although  he  had  not  taken  his  eyes  off  his  com- 
p.iuion,  and  had  not  seen  him  move,  he  sat  reclin- 
ing in  his  corner  as  before. 

"What's  the  matter?"  said  Jonas.     "Is  that 
jour  general  way  of  waking  out  of  your  sleep?" 
"  I   could  swear,"  returned  tiie  other,  "  that  I 
have  not  closed  my  eyes  1" 

"  Wiien  yon  hate  sworn  it,"  said  Jonas,  com- 
posedlv,  "  we  had  better  go  on  again,  if  you  have 
only  stopped  for  that." 

He  uncorked  the  bottle  with  the  help  of  his  teeth  ; 
and  putting  it  to  his  lips,  took  a  long  draught. 

"  I  wish  we  had  never  started  on  this  journey. 
This  is  not,"  said  Montague,  recoiling  instinctive- 
Iv,  and  speaking  in  a  voice  that  betrayed  his  agi- 
tation :  "  this  is  not  a  night  to  travel  in." 

"  Ecod  !  you  're  right  there,"  returned  Jonas  : 
"  and  we  shouldn't  be  out  in  it  but  for  you.  If 
you  hadn't  kept  me  waiting  all  day,  we  might 
have  been  at  Salisbury  by  this  time ;  snug  abed 
and  fast  asleep.  What  are  we  stopping  now  for  ?" 
His  companion  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
for  a  moment,  and  drawing  it  in  again,  observed 
(as  if  that  were  his  cause  of  anxiety),  tliut  tlie  boy 
was  drenched  to  the  skin, 

"Serve  him  right,"  said  Jonas.  "I'm  glad  of 
it.  What  the  devil  are  we  stopping  now,  for  ?  A/e 
you  going  to  spread  him  out  to  dry?" 

"I  have  half  a  mind  to  take  him  inside,"  ob- 
served the  other  with  some  hesitation. 

"  Oh  !  thankee  !"  said  Jonas.  "  We  don't  want 
any  damp  boys  here  :  especially  a  young  imp  like 
liim.  Let  him  be  where  he  is.  He  aint  afraid  of 
a  little  tiiunder  and  lightning,  I  dare  say  ;  who- 
ever else  is.  Go  on,  Driver  !  We  liad  better  have 
him  inside  perhaps,"  he  muttered  with  a  laugh  ; 
"  and  the  horses  I" 

"  Don't  go  too  fast,"  cried  Montague  to  the  pos- 
tilion ;  "and  take  care  how  you  go.  You  were 
nearly  in  the  ditch  when  I  called  to  yon." 

Tliis  was  not  true  ;  and  Jonas  bluntly  said  so, 
as  they  moved  forward  again.  Montague  took 
little  or  no  heed  of  what  he  said,  but  repeated  that 
it  was  not  a  night  for  travelling,  and  showed  him- 
self, both  then  and  afterwards,  unusually  anxious. 
From  this  time,  Jonas  recovered  his  former 
spirits,  if  such  a  term  may  be  employed  to  ex- 
press the  state  in  which  he  had  left  the  city.  He 
had  his  bottle  often  at  his  mouth  ;  roared  out 
6n;.tches  of  songs,  without  the  least  regard  to  time 
oi  tune  or  voice,  or  anything  but  loud  discordance; 
and  urged  his  silent  friend  to  be  merry  with  him. 
"  You  're  the  best  company  in  the  world,  my 
Ijood  fellow,"  said  Montague  with  an  effort,  "and  in 
general  irresistible;  but  to-night — do  you  hear  it?" 
"  Ecud,  I  hear  and  see  it  too,"  cried  Jonas, 
fcJnding  his  eyes,  for  the  moment  from  the  light- 
nnig  which  was  flashing,  not  in  any  one  direc- 
tion, but  all  round  them.  "What  of  that?  It 
don't  change  you,  nor  me,  nor  our  affairs.  Cho- 
rus, chorus  1 


It  may  lij,'hten  and  storm, 

Till  it  hunt  the  red  worm 
From  tlie  grass  where  the  gibbet  is  driren  , 

But  it  raii't  Imrt  the  dead. 

And  it  won't  save  llie  head 
That  is  doom'd  to  be  rifled  and  riven. 

That  must  be  a  precious  old  song,"  he  added  with 
an  oath,  as  he  stopped  short  in  a  kind  of  wonder 
at  himselti  "  I  haven't  heard  it  since  I  was  a 
boy,  and  how  it  comes  into  my  head  now,  unlfc.>-d 
the  lightning  put  it  there,  I  don't  know.  '  Can  t 
hurt  the  dead' !  No  no.  '  And  won't  save  tl  e 
head' !     No  no.     No  I  Ha  ha  ha  I" 

His  mirth  was  of  such  a  savage  and  extraorfti« 
nary  character,  and  was,  in  an  inexplicable  way,  it 
once  so  suited  to  the  nigiit,  and  yet  such  a  coai  -ie 
intrusion  on  its  terrors,  that  his  fellow-travell-r, 
always  a  coward,  shrunk  from  him  in  positive 
fear.  Instead  of  Jonas  being  his  tool  and  insti  u- 
ment,  their  places  seemed  to  be  reversed.  I!ut 
tljere  was  reason  for  tliis  too,  Montague  thoug'it 
since  the  sense  of  his  debasement  might  naturi.lly 
inspire  sucli  a  man  with  the  wish  to  assert  a  n<  isy 
independence,  and  in  that  license  to  forget  his 
real  condition.  Being  quick  enough  in  reference 
to  such  subjects  of  contemplation,  he  was  not  long 
in  taking  this  argument  into  account,  and  gi\ing 
it  its  full  weight.  But  still  he  felt  a  vague  sen.se 
of  alarm,  and  was  depressed  and  uneasy. 

He  was  certain  he  had  not  been  asleep;  but  his 
ryes  might  have  decei\td  him,  l(»r  looking  at 
Jonas  now,  in  any  interval  of  darkness,  he  couU 
represent  his  fii^ure  to  himself  in  any  attitude  hjt 
state  of  mind  suggested.  On  the  otiier  hand,  he 
knew  full  well  that  Jonas  had  no  reason  to  love 
him  ;  and  even  taking  the  piece  of  pantoinimo 
which  had  so  impressed  his  mind  to  be  a  real  ges- 
ture,  and  not  the  working  of  his  fancy,  the  most 
that  could  be  said  of  it  was,  that  it  was  quite  in 
keeping  with  the  rest  of  his  diabolical  fun,  and  had 
the  same  impotent  expression  of  truth  in  it.  "If 
he  could  kill  me  with  a  wish,"  thought  the  Rwind> 
ler,  "  I  should  not  live  long." 

He  resolved,  that  when  he  should  have  liad  his 
use  of  Jonas,  he  would  restrain  him  with  an  iron 
curb  :  in  the  mean  time,  that  he  could  not  do  bet- 
ter than  leave  him  to  take  his  own  way,  and  pre- 
serve his  own  peculiar  description  of  good-hamour, 
alter  his  own  uncommon  manner.  It  was  no 
great  sacrifice  to  bear  with  him;  "  for  when  all  is 
got  that  can  be  got,"  thought  .Montague,  "  I  shall 
decamp  across  the  water,  and  have  the  laugh  on 
my  side — and  the  gains." 

Such  were  his  reflections  from  hour  to  hour; 
his  state  of  mind  being  one  in  which  the  same 
tiioughts  constantly  present  themselves  over  and 
over  again  in  wearisome  repetition  ;  while  Jonas, 
who  appeared  to  have  dismissed  reflection  alto, 
gether,  entertained  himself  as  before.  They 
agreed  that  they  would  go  to  Salisbury,  and  would 
cross  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's  in  the  morning;  and  at 
the  prospect  of  deluding  that  worthy  gentleman, 

the  spirits  of  his  amiable  son-in-law  Do. uie  mora 

boisterous  than  ever. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  the  thunder  died  away 
but  still  rolle<l  (/loomily  and  mournfully  in  the  dis- 
tance. The  lightning,  too,  though  now  coinpa 
ratively  harmless,  was  yet  bright  and  frequent 
The  rain  was  quite  as  violent  as  it  had  ever  been 

It  was  their  ill-fortune,  at  about  the  time  of 
dawn,  and  in  the  last  stage  of  their  journey,  ta 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


251 


have  a  resti^-e  pair  of  horses  These  animals  had 
been  greatly  terrified  in  their  stable  by  the  tem- 
pest ;  and  coming  out  into  the  dreary  interval  be- 
tween  night  and  morning,  when  the  glare  of  the 
lightning  was  yet  unsubdued  hy  day,  and  the  vari- 
ous cbjects  in  tlieir  view  were  presented  in  indis- 
linct  and  exaggerated  siiapes  which  they  would 
not  have  worn  by  night,  they  gradually  became 
less  and  less  capibie  of  control;  until,  taking  a 
sudden  fright  at  something  by  the  roadside,  they 
dashed  ofT  wildly  down  a  steep  hill,  flung  the 
driver  from  his  saddle,  drew  the  carriage  to  the 
brink  of  a  ditch,  stumbled  headlong  down,  and 
•iirew  it  crashing  over. 

Tlie  travellers  had  opened  the  carriage  door, 
and  had  either  jumped  or  fallen  out.  Jonas  was 
the  first  to  stagger  to  his  feut.  He  felt  sick  and 
weak,  and  very  giddy,  and,  reeling  to  a  five-barred 
gate,  stood  liolding  by  it:  looking  drowsily  about, 
as  the  whole  landscape  swam  before  his  eyes.  But 
by  degrees  he  grew  more  conscious,  and  presently 
observed  that  Montague  was  lying  senseless  in 
the  road,  within  a  few  feet  of  the  horses. 

In  an  instant,  as  if  his  own  faint  body  were 
suddenly  animated  by  a  demon,  he  ran  to  the 
horses'  heads;  and  pullinirat  their  bridles  with  all 
his  force,  set  them  struggling  and  plunging  with 
such  mad  violence  as  brought  their  hoofs  at  every 
effort  nearer  to  the  skull  of  the  prostrate  man,  and 
must  have  led  in  half  a  minute  to  his  brains  being 
dashed  out  on  the  highway. 

As  he  did  this,  he  fought  and  contended  with 
them  like  a  man  possessed:  making  them  wilder 
Ij  his  cries. 

"  Whoop  I"  cried  Jonas.  "  Whoop  !  again  !  an- 
other !  A  little  more,  a  little  more !  Up,  ye 
jevils!     HiUo!" 

.'Vs  lie  heard  the  driver  who  had  risen  and  was 
hurrying  up,  crying  to  him  to  desist,  his  violence 
increased. 

"Hillo!     Hillo  !"  cried  Jonas. 

"  For  God's  sake  I"  cried  the  driver. — "  The 
gentleman — in  the  road — he'll  be  killed!" 

The  same  shouts  and  the  same  struggles  were 
his  only  answer.  But  the  man  darting  in  at  the 
peril  of  his  own  life,  saved  Montague's  by  drag- 
ging  hiin  through  the  mire  and  water  out  of  the 
reach  of  present  harm.  That  done  he  ran  to 
Jonas;  and  with  the  aid  of  his  knife  they  very 
shortly  disengaged  the  horses  from  the  broken 
charidt,  and  got  them,  cut  and  bleeding,  on  their 
legs  again.  The  postilion  and  Jonas  had  now 
A'isure  to  look  at  each  other,  which  they  had  not 
had  vet. 

"  Presence  of  mind,  presence  of  mind  !"  cried 
Jonas,  throwing  up  his  hands  wildly.  "  What 
would  you  have  done  without  me  I" 

"  i'lie  other  gentleman  would  have  done  badly 
without  wif,"  returned  the  man,  shaking  his  head. 
"  You  should  have  moved  him  first.  I  gave  him 
ap  tor  dead." 

"Presence  of  mind,  you  croaker,  presence  of 
mind  !"  cried  Jonas,  witli  a  harsh  loud  laugh. 
'  Was  ho  struck,  do  you  think  ?" 

Tiiey  both  turned  to  look  at  him.  Jonas  mut- 
tered scjinething  to  himself,  when  he  saw  him 
•sitting  up  beneath  the  hedge,  looking  vacantly 
round. 

"  Wliat's  the  matter?"  asked  Montague.  "Is 
auv  body  hurt'" 


"  Ecod  !"  said  Jonas,  "it  don't  seem  so.  There 
are  no  bones  broke,  after  all." 

Tiiey  raised  him,  and  iie  tried  to  walk.  He  waa 
a  good  deal  shaken,  and  treinblod  very  much. 
But  with  the  exception  of  a  few  cuts  and  bruises, 
tliis  was  all  the  damage  he  had  sustained. 

"C-uts  and  bruises,  eh  ?"  said  Jonas.  "  We  've 
all  got  them.     Only  cuts  and  bruises,  eh  ?" 

"  I  wouldn't  have  given  sixpence  lor  the  gentle- 
man's head  in  half  a  dozen  second.-*  more,  for  all 
he  's  only  cut  and  bruised,"  observea  the  post-boy. 
"  If  ever  you  're  in  an  accident  of  this  sort  again, 
sir;  whieh  I  hope  you  won't  be;  never  you  pull 
at  the  bridle  of  a  horse  that's  down,  when  there's 
a  man's  head  in  the  way.  That  can't  be  done 
twice  without  there  being  a  dead  man  in  the  case; 
it  would  liave  ended  in  that,  this  time,  as  sure  as 
ever  you  were  born,  if  I  hadn't  come  up  just  when 
I  did." 

Jonas  replied  by  advising  him  with  a  curse  to 
hold  his  tongue,  and  to  go  somewhere,  whither  he 
was  not  very  liliely  to  go  of  his  own  accord.  But 
Montague,  who  had  listened  eagerly  to  every 
word,  liimself  diverted  the  subject,  by  exclaiming: 
"  Where's  the  boy  ?" 

"  Ecod,  I  forgot  that  monkey,"  said  Jonas. 
"  What 's  become  of  him  ?"  A  very  brief  search 
settled  that  question.  The  unfortunate  Mr.  Bailey 
had  been  thrown  sheer  over  the  hedge  or  the  five- 
barred  gate;  and  was  lying  in  the  neighbouring 
field,  to  all  appearance  dead. 

"  When  I  said  to-night,  that  I  wished  I  had 
never  started  on  this  journey,"  cried  his  master, 
"  I  knew  it  was  an  ill-fated  one.  Look  at  this 
boy !" 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  growled  Jonas.  "  If  you  call 
that  a  sign  of  it — " 

"  Why,  what  should  I  call  a  sign  of  it?"  asked 
Montague,  hurriedly.     "  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean,"  said  Jonas,  stooping  down  over  the 
body,  "  that  I  never  heard  you  were  his  father,  or 
had  any  particular  reason  to  care  much  about  him. 
Hilloa.     Hold  up  here  !" 

But  the  boy  was  past  holding  up,  or  being  held 
up,  or  giving  any  other  sign  of  life,  than  a  faint 
and  fitiul  beating  of  the  heart.  After  some  dis- 
cussion,  the  driver  mounted  the  horse  which  had 
been  least  injured,  and  took  the  lad  in  his  arms,  as 
well  as  he  could  ;  while  Montague  and  Jonas  lead- 
ing the  other  iiorse,  and  carrying  a  trunk  between 
them,  walked  by  his  side  towards  Salisbury. 

"  You  'd  get  there  in  a  tew  minutes,  and  be  able 
to  send  assistance  to  meet  us,  if  you  went  for- 
ward, post-boy,"  said  Jonas.     "  Trot  on  I" 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Montague,  hastily  ;  "  we'll 
keep  together." 

"  Why,  what  a  chicken  you  are  I  You  are  not 
afraid  of  being  robbed  ;  are  you?"  said  .Jonas. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  anylhrug,"  replied  the 
other,  whose  looks  and  manner  were  in  flat 
contradiction  to  his  words.  "But  we'll  keep 
together." 

"  You  were  mighty  anxious  about  the  boy,  a 
minute  ago,"  said  Jonas.  "  I  suppose  you  know 
that  he  may  die  in  the  mean  time?" 

"  Aye,  lye.    I  know.    But  we  '11  keep  together." 

As  it  was  clear  that  he  was  not  to  be  niov(!d 
from  this  determination,  Jonas  made  no  other 
rejoinder  than  such  as  his  face  expressed  ;  and 
they  proceeded  in  company.     They  haa  threu    )r 


252 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


/our  good  miles  to  travel ;  and  the  way  was  not 
made  easier  by  the  state  of  llie  road,  the  burden 
by  wliich  they  were  embarrassed,  or  thtir  own 
stiff  and  sore  condition.  After  a  surticiiiitly  long^ 
and  painful  walti,  they  arrived  at  tije  Inn;  and 
having  iinocked  the  people  up  (it  being;  yet  very 
e;irly  in  the  mominir),  sent  out  messentrers  to  see 
lu  liie  carriage  and  its  contents,  and  roused  a  sur- 
gion  from  his  bed  to  tend  the  chief  sufferer.  All 
the  service  he  could  render,  he  rendered  promptly 
and  skilfully.  Out  he  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that 
the  boy  was  labouring  under  a  severe  concussion 
of  the  brain,  and  that  Mr.  Bailey's  mortal  course 
was  run. 

Ii  Montague's  strong  interest  in  the  announce- 
ment could  have  been  considered  as  unselfish,  in 
any  degree,  it  might  have  been  a  redeeming  trait 
in  a  character  that  had  no  such  lineaments  to 
spare.  But  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  that  for 
Boine  unexpressed  reason  best  appreciated  by  him- 
self, he  attached  a  strange  value  to  the  company 
and  presence  of  this  mere  child.  When,  after 
receiving  some  assistance  from  the  surgeon  hini- 
selt;  he  retired  to  the  bed-room  prepared  for  him, 
and  it  was  broad  day,  his  mind  was  still  dwelling 
on  this  theme. 

"!  would  rather  have  lost,"  he  said,  "athou- 
sarid  pounds  than  lost  the  boy  just  now.  But 
1  'II  return  home  alone  ;  I  am  resolved  upon  that. 
Chuzzlewit  shall  go  tbrward  first,  and  I  will  fol- 
low in  my  own  time.  I  '11  have  no  more  of  this," 
he  added,  wiping  his  damp  forehead.  "Twenty- 
four  hours  of  this  would  turn  my  hair  grey  i" 

Alter  exan.ining  his  chamber,  and  looking  un- 
der the  bed,  and  in  the  cupboards,  and  even  behind 
tiie  eiiiiains  with  unusual  caution;  although  it 
was,  as  h"s  been  said,  broad  day  ;  he  double-lock- 
ed the  door  by  wliich  he  had  entered,  and  retired 
to  rest.  There  was  another  door  in  the  room,  but 
it  was  locked  on  the  outer  side ;  and  with  what 
pi  ice  it  communicjjted,  he  knew  not. 

His  fears  or  evil  conscience  reproduced  this 
door  in  all  iiis  dreams.  He  dreamed  that  a  dread- 
ful secret  was  connected  with  it :  a  secret  which 
'le  knew,  and  yet  did  not  know,  for  although  he 
was  heavily  responsible  for  it,  and  a  party  to  it, 
he  was  harassed  even  in  his  vision  by  a  distract- 
ing uncert.iinty  in  reference  to  its  import.  Inco- 
hiTently  eMt«inud  with  this  dream  was  another, 
which  represented  it  as  the  hiding-place  of  an 
en:  iny,  a  sliuJow,  a  phantom;  and  made  it  the 
biismess  of  Ills  life  to  keep  the  terrible  creature 
cKised  up,  and  prevent  it  from  forcing  its  way  in 
upon  him.  Willi  this  view,  Nadgett,  and  he,  and 
a  str.iiiire!  man,  with  a  bloody  smear  upon  his 
hi.Md  (who  told  him  that  he  had  been  liis  play- 
fellow, and  told  him,  too,  the  real  name  of  an  old 
iseiiool-in.ite,  forgotten  until  then),  worked  with 
iron  pl.ites  and  ii.iils  to  make  the  door  secure;  but 
•iiough  they  worked  never  so  hard,  it  was  all  in 
vain,  fur  tbe  nails  broke,  or  chinged  to  soil  twigs, 
or,   whit    was   worse,    to   worms,    between   their 


fingers;  the  wood  of  the  door  splintered  and 
crumbled,  so  that  even  nails  would  not  remain  in 
it  ;  and  the  iron  plates  curled  up  like  hot  papei 
All  this  time  the  creature  on  the  other  side  — 
whether  it  was  in  the  shape  of  man,  or  beast,  he 
neither  knew  nor  sought  to  know  — was  gaining 
on  them.  But  his  greatest  terror  was  when  the 
man  with  the  bloody  smear  upon  his  head  de- 
manded of  him  if  he  knew  this  creature's  name, 
and  said  that  he  would  whisper  it.  At  this  the 
dreamer  fell  u|)on  his  knees,  his  whole  blood 
thrilling  with  inexplicable  fear,  and  held  his  ears. 
But  looking  at  the  speaker's  lips,  he  saw  that  they 
formed  the  utterance  of  the  letter  "J  ;"  and  cry- 
ing out  aloud  that  the  secret  was  discovered,  and 
they  were  all  lost,  he  awoke. 

Awoke  to  find  Jonas  standing  at  his  bedside 
watching  him.     And  that  very  door  wide  open. 

As  their  eyes  met,  Jonas  retreated  a  few  paces, 
and  Montague  sprang  out  of  bed. 

"  Heyday  1"  said  Jonas.  "  You  're  all  alive  this 
morning." 

"Alive  I"  the  other  stammered,  as  he  pulled  the 
bell-rope  violently  :  "What  are  you  dniiig  here  7*^ 

"  It's  your  room,  to  be  sure,"  said  Jonas;  "but 
I'm  almost  inclined  to  ask  you  what  you  are 
doing  here.  Mv  room  is  on  the  other  side  of  that 
doi>r.  No  one  tnld  me  last  night  not  to  open  it. 
I  thougtit  it  led  into  a  passage,  and  was  coming 
ou»  to  order  breakfast.  There's — there's  v.o  bell 
in  my  room."      , 

Mf)ntague  had  in  the  mean  time  admitted  the 

man  with  his  hot  water  and  boots,  who  hhiiiir.y 

this,  said,  yes,  there  was;   and    passed   into  the 

I  adjoining  room  to  pciul  it  out,  at  the  head  of  tJie 

bed. 
I      "  I  couldn't  find  it,  then,"  said  Jonas  :  "  it 's  all 
the  same.     Shall  I  order  breakfast?" 

Montague  answered  in  the  atfirmative.  When 
Jonas  had  retired,  whistling,  through  Jiis  own 
room,  he  opened  the  door  of  communication,  to 
take  ou't  the  key  and  fasten  it  on  the  inner  side. 
But  it  was  taken  out  already. 

He  dragged  a  table  against  the  door  and  sat 
down  to  collect  himself,  as  if  his  dreams  still  had 
some  influence  upon  his  mind. 

"An  evil  journey,"  he  repeated,  several  times. 
"  An  evil  journey.  But  I  '11  travel  home  alone. 
I  'II  have  no  more  of  this  I" 

His  presentiment,  or  superstition,  that  it  wai 
an  evil  journey,  did  not  at  all  deter  him  from  do- 
ing the  evil  for  which  the  journey  was  under 
taken.  VVith  this  in  view,  he  dressed  himself 
more  carefully  than  usual,  to  make  a  favourable 
imjjressicm  on  Mr.  PeeksnitV:  and,  reassured  by 
his  own  appearance,  the  beauty  of  the  morning, 
and  the  flashing  of  the  wet  boughs  outside  his 
window  in  the  merry  sunshine,  he  was  soon  sut'- 
fieiently  inspirited  to  swear  a  tew  round  oatiis, 
and  hum  the  fag-end  of  a  song. 

But  he  ftill  muttered  to  himself  at  interv&ls,  iu 
all  that :  "  1  '11  travt  1  home  alone  I" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT 


253 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Has  an  influence  on  the  fortunes  of  several  PE0P[,E.  MR.  PECfC. 
SNIFF  IS  EXHIBITED  IN  THE  PLENI  I'UDE  OF  POWER;  AND  WIELDS  THE 
SAME  WIIH  FORTITUDE  AND  MAGNANIMITY. 


On  the  nifjht  of  the  storm,  Mrs.  Lupin,  hostess 
ot  the  Bhie  Dragon,  sat  by  herself  in  her  iillle 
bar.  Her  sohlary  condition,  or  the  bad  weutlier, 
or  both  united,  made  Mrs.  Lupin  thoughlt'ul,  not 
lo  say  sorrowful ;  and  as  she  sat  with  her  chin 
upon  her  liami,  looking  out  through  a  low  back 
lattice,  rindcred  dim  in  the  brightest  day-*ime  by 
clustering  vine-le;ives,  she  shook  her  liead  very 
ui'ten,  and  said,  "  Dear  me  !  ah,  dear,  dear  me  !" 

It  was  a  nicl.incholy  time,  even  in  thesnugness 
of  the  Dragon  bur.  The  rich  expanse  of  corn- 
field, pasture-land,  green  slope,  and  gentle  undu- 
lation, with  Its  sparkling  brooks,  itS  many  hedge, 
rows,  and  its  chimps  of  beiutiful  trees,  was  black 
tind  dreary,  from  llie  diamond  panes  of  the  lattice 
away  to  the  far  horizon,  where  ttie  thunder  seem- 
ed to  roll  alonjr  the  hills.  The  heavy  rain  beat 
down  the  lender  branches  of  vino  and  jessamine, 
and  trampled  on  ttiem  in  its  fury;  and  when  the 
lightning  gleamed,  it  showed  the  tearful  leaves 
shivering  and  cowering  together  at  the  window, 
and  tapping  at  it  urgently,  as  if  beseeching  to  be 
sheltered  fro'n  the  dismal  night. 

As  a  mark  of  her  respect  tor  tlie  lightning,  Mrs. 
Lupin  had  removed  her  candle  to  the  chimney- 
piece.  Her  basket  of  needlework  stood  unheeded 
ttt  her  elbow  ;  her  supper,  spread  on  a  round  table  I 
not  far  otf,  was  untasted  ;  and  the  knives  had  been 
removed  for  fear  of  attraction.  Slie  had  sat  for  a 
long  time  with  her  chin  upon  hir  liand,  siying  to 
herself  at  intervals,  "Dear  me  I  Ah,  dear,  dear 
me  !" 

She  was  on  the  eve  of  saying  so,  once  more, 
when  llie  l:itch  of  the  house-door  (closed  to  keep 
the  rain  out),  rattled  on  its  well-worn  catrth,  and 
a  traveller  came  in,  who,  shutting  it  after  him, 
and  walking  straight  up  to  the  half-door  of  the 
bar,  said,  rather  gruffly  : 

"  A  pint  of  the  best  old  beer  here." 

He  had  some  reason  to  be  gruif,  for  if  he  had 
passed  the  day  in  a  waterfall,  he  could  scarcely 
have  been  wetter  than  he  was.  He  was  wrapped 
up  to  the  eyi's  in  a  rough  blue  sailor's  coat,  and 
had  an  oil-skin  hat  on,  from  the  capacious  brim 
of  which,  the  rain  fell  trickling  down  upon  his 
breast,  and  back,  and  shoulders.  Judging  from  a 
certain  liveliness  of  chin — he  had  so  pulled  down 
his  hat,  and  pulled  up  his  collar,  to  defend  him- 
self  from  the  weather,  that  she  could  only  see  his 
chin,  and  even  across  that  he  drew  the  wet  sleeve 
i(t'his  shaggy  coat,  as  she  looked  at  him  —  Mrs, 
Lupin  set  him  down  for  a  good-natured  fellow,  too. 

"  A  bad  night!"  observed  the  hostess  cheerfully. 

The  traveller  shook  himself  like  a  Newfound- 
land dog,  and  said  it  was,  rather. 

"  There  's  a  fire  in  the  kitchen,"  said  Mrs.  Lu- 
pin, "  and  very  good  company  there.  Hadn't  you 
better  go  and  dry  yourself?" 

"  No,  thankee,"  said  the  man,  glancing  towards 
tie  kitchen  as  he  spoke:  he  seemed  to  know  the 
way. 

"  It 's  enough  to  give  you  your  death  of  cold," 
•oserved  the  hostess. 


"  I  don't  take  my  death  easy,"  returned  the 
traveller;  "or  I  should  most  likely  have  look  it 
afore  to-night.     Your  health,  ma'am  I" 

Mrs.  Lupin  thanked  him;  but  in  the  act  <if 
lifting  the  tankard  to  his  mouth,  he  chaugi'd  hi.i 
mind,  and  put  it  down  again.  Throwing  his  boily 
back,  and  looking  about  him  stiffly,  as  a  nian  doi;9 
who  is  wrapped  up,  and  has  his  hat  low  down 
over  his  eyes,  he  said, 

"  What  do  you  call  this  house?  Nut  the  Dra. 
gon,  do  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Lupin  complacently  made  answer,  "  Yes, 
the  Dragon." 

"  Why,  then,  you  've  got  a  sort  of  relation  of 
mine  here,  ma'am,"  said  the  traveller:  "  a  young 
man  of  the  name  of  Taplcy.  What!  Mirk,  my 
boy  !"  apostrophising  the  premises,  "  have  1  come 
upon  you  at  last,  old  buck  I" 

'I'liis  was  touching  Mis.  Lupin  on  a  tender 
point.  She  turned  to  trim  the  cancile  on  the 
chimney-piece,  and  said,  with  her  back  toward:^ 
tlie  traveller : 

"  Nobody  should  be  made  more  welcome  at  the 
Dragon,  master,  than  any  one  who  brought  me 
news  of  Mark.  But  it's  many  and  many  a  kmg 
day  and  month  since  he  left  here  and  f^nghirul. 
And  whether  he  's  alive  or  dead,  poor  fellow,  Ilea- 
ven  above  us  only  knows  I" 

She  shook  her  head,  and  her  voice  trembled ; 
her  hand  must  have  done  so  too,  for  the  liglit  re- 
quired a  deal  of  trimming. 

"  Where  did  he  go,  ma'am  ?"  asked  the  travel- 
ler, in  a  gentler  voice. 

"  He  went,"  said  Mrs.  Lupin,  with  increased 
distress,  "to  America.  He  was  always  tender- 
hearted and  kind,  and  perhaps  at  this  moment 
may  be  lying  in  prison  under  sentence  of  death, 
fi)r  taking  pity  on  some  miserable  black,  and 
helping  the  poor  runaway  creetur  to  escapi'.  How 
could  he  ever  goto  America  !  Why  didn't  he  <ro 
to  some  of  those  countries  which  are  not  (juite 
barbarous ;  where  the  savages  eat  eacli  other 
fairly,  and  give  an  equal  chance  lo  every  one  I" 

Quite  subdued  by  this  time,  Mrs,  Lupin  sobbed 
and  was  retiring  to  a  chair  to  give  htr  grief  free 
vent,  when  the  traveller  caught  her  in  his  arms, 
and  she  uttered  a  glad  cry  of  recoifnition, 

"Yes,  I  will!"  cried  MarU,  "another  —  one 
more  —  twenty  morel  You  didn't  know  me  ;r. 
that  hat  and  coat?  I  thought  you  would  hive 
known  me  anywhere!     Ten  morel" 

"So  I  should  have  known  you,  if  I  could  have 
seen  you  ;  but  I  couldn't,  and  you  spoke  so  grutf. 
I  didn't  think  you  could  speak  gruff  to  ine,  Murk, 
at  first  coming  back." 

"  Fif'teen  more!"  said  Mr.  Tapley.  "How 
handsome  and  how  young  you  look  !  Six  more  ! 
The  last  half-dozen  warn't  a  fair  one,  and  mu.st 
be  done  over  again.  Lord  bless  you,  what  a  treat 
it  is  to  see  you  !  One  more  !  Well,  I  never  was 
so  jolly.  Just  a  few  more,  on  account  uf  there 
not  being  any  credrl  in  it!" 

When  Mr.  Tapley  stopped  in  these  ca^culatioiw 


254 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


in  simple  dddition,  he  did  it,  not  because  lie  was 
at  all  tired  of  the  exercise,  but  because  he  was 
out  of  breath.  The  pause  reniiiided  him  of  other 
dutiep. 

"Mr.  Martin  Chuzzlewit's  outside,"  he  said. 
«» I  left  him  under  the  cart-shed,  while  I  came  on 
to  see  if  there  was  anybody  here.  We  want  to 
keep  quiet  to-night,  till  we  know  the  news  from 
you,  and  what  it 's  best  lor  us  to  do."  | 

"  There 's  not  a  soul  in  the  house  except  the  ^ 
kitchen   company,"   relumed   the    hostess.     "  If  ' 
they  were  to  know  you   had  come  back,  Mark, 
they  'd  have  a  bonfire  in  tlie  street,  late  as  it  is." 

"Bu.  they  mustn't  know  it  to-night,  my  pre- 
ci'jus  st  ul,"  said  Mark  :  "so  have  the  house  shut, 
and  the  kitchen  fire  made  up  ;  and  when  it's  all  ^ 
ready,  put  a  light  in  the  winder,  and  we'll  come  i 
in.    One  more  1     I  long  to  liear  about  old  friends.  ' 
You  '11   tell   me  all  about  'em,  won't  you  ?      Mr. 
Pinch,  and  the  butcher's  dog  down  the  street,  and 
the  terrier  over  the  way,  and  the  wheelwright's, 
and  every  one  of 'em.     When  I  first  caught  sight 
of  the  church  to-night,  I  thought  the  steeple  would 
have  choked  me,  1  did.    One  more  1    Won't  you  ? 
Not  a  very  little  one  to  finish  off  with  ?" 

"  You  have  had  plenty,  I  atn  sure,"  said  the 
hostess.  "  Go  along  with  your  foreign  manners  I" 
"That  aint  foreig.-.,  bless  you  I"  cried  Mark. 
*  Native  as  oysters,  tiiat  is  I  One  more,  because 
it 's  native  !  As  a  mark  of  respect  for  the  land 
we  live  in!  This  don't  count  as  between  you  and 
nie,  yon  understand,"  said  .Mr.  Tapley.  "  I  a'n't 
a  kissin'  you  now,  you'll  observe.  I  have  been 
among  the  patriots:   I  'm  a  kissin'  my  country." 

It  would  have  been  very  unreasonable  to  com- 
pliin  of  the  exhibition  of  liis  patriotism  with  which 
he  followed  up  this  explanation,  that  it  was  all 
lukewarm  or  indifft-rent.  When  he  had  given  full 
expression  to  his  nation:ility,  he  hurried  otF  to 
Martin  ;  while  Mrs.  Lupin,  in  a  state  of  great 
agitation  and  excitement,  prepared  for  their  re- 
ception. 

The  company  soon  came  tumbling  out:  insist- 
ing to  each  other  th;it  the  Dragon  clock  was  half 
an  hour  too  fast,  and  that  the  thunder  must  have 
affected  it.  Impatient  wet,  ^nd  weary,  though 
they  w<!re,  Martin  and  M  rk  were  overjoyed  to 
see"  these  old  faces,  and  watclied  them  with  de- 
lio^hted  interest,  as  they  departed  from  tlie  house, 
and  passed  close  by  them. 

"There's'  the  old  tailor,  Mark  1"  whispered 
Martin. 

"  Th(Te  he  goes.  Sir  I  A  little  bandyer  than  he 
was,  I  thuik.  Sir,  aint  he?  Mis  figure 's  so  far 
altered,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  you  might  wheel 
a  rather  hirger  barrow  between  his  legs  as  he 
walks,  than  you  could  have  done  convenienllj', 
when  we  know'd  him.  There's  Sam  a  coming 
out,  Sir." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  !"  cried  Martin  :  "  Sam,  the 
hostler.  I  wonder  whether  that  horse  of  Peck- 
BnifF's  is  alive  still  ?" 

"  Not  a  dout)t  on  it,  Sir,"  returned  Mark. 
"That's  a  description  of  animal.  Sir,  as  will  go 
on  in  a  bony  way  peculiar  to  himself  for  a  long 
time,  and  get  into  the  newspapers  at  lust  under 
the  title  of  '  Sing'lar  Tenacity  of  Life  in  a  Quad- 
ruped.' As  if  he  had  ever  hern  alive  in  all  his 
life,  worth  mentioning!  'I'herc's  the  clerk,  Sir, — 
arery  drunk,  as  usual." 


"I  see  him!"  said  Martin,  laughing.  "But, 
my  life,  how  wet  you  are,  Mark  1" 

"  /  urn  !    What  do  you  consider  yourself,  Sir  ?" 

"Oil,  not  half  as  bad,"  said  his  fellow-traveller, 
with  an  air  of  great  vexation.  "  I  told  you  not  to 
keep  on  the  windy  side,  Mark,  but  to  let  us  change 
and  change  about.  The  rain  has  been  beating  ot. 
you,  ever  smce  it  began." 

"  You  don't  know  how  it  pleases  me,  Sir,"  said 
Mark,  after  a  short  silence:  "if  I  njay  make  bu 
bold  as  say  so,  to  hear  you  a  going  i.'ri  in  that 
there  uncommon  considerate  way  of  jours  ;  which 
I  don't  mean  to  attend  to,  never,  but  which,  evr 
since  that  time  when  I  was  floored  in  Eden,  you 
have  showed  " 

"  Ah  Mark  !"  sighed  Martin,  "  the  less  we  say 
of  that  the  better.      Dd  I  see  the  light  yonder  .'" 

"  That 's  the  light  I"  cried  Mark.  "  Lord  blesa 
her,  what  briskness  she  possesses  I  Nnw  fiir  it, 
sir.  Neat  wines,  good  beds,  and  first-rale  enler- 
lainment  for  man  or  beast." 

The  kitchen  fire  burnt  clear  and  red,  tlie  table 
was  spread  out,  the  kettle  boiled,  the  slippers 
were  there,  the  boot-jack  too,  sheets  of  ham  were 
cooking  on  the  gridiron,  half-a-dozen  eggs  were 
pf)aching  in  the  frying-pan;  a  plethoric  cherry- 
brandy  bollle  was  winking  at  a  Ibaming  jug  of 
beer  upon  the  table;  rare  provisions  were  dangling 
from  the  rafters  as  if  you  had  only  to  open  your 
month,  and  something  exquisitely  ripe  and  good 
would  be  but  too  glad  of  the  excuse  for  tumbling 
into  it.  Mrs.  Lupin,  who  ftir  their  sakes  had  dis- 
lodged  the  very  cook,  high  priestess  of  the  temple, 
with  her  own  genial  hands  was  dressing  their  re- 
past. 

It  was  impossible  to  help  it — a  ghost  must  h;ive 
hugged  her.  The  Atlantic  Ocean  and  the  Red 
Sea  being,  in  that  respect,  all  one,  Martin  hugged 
her  insiintly.  Mr.  Tapley  (as  if  the  idea  were 
nijite  novel,  and  had  never  occurred  to  Iiim  before), 
followed,  with  much  gravity,  on  the  same  side. 

"Little  did  I  ever  think,"  said  Mrs.  Lupin, 
adjus^ting  her  cap  and  laughing  heartily  ;  yes,  and 
bljohing  too;  "often  as  I  have  said  that  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  young  gentlemen  were  the  life  and 
soul  of  the  Dragon,  and  that  without  them  it 
would  be  too  djll  to  live  in — little  did  I  ever 
think,  I  am  sure,  that  any  one  of  them  would 
ever  make  so  free  as  you,  Mr.  Martin  !  And  still 
less  that  I  shouldn't  be  angry  with  him,  but 
should  be  glad  with  all  my  heart,  to  be  the  first 
to  welcome  him  home  from  America,  with  Mark 
Tapley,  for  his —  " 

"  For  his  friend,  Mrs.  Lupin,"  interposed  Mar- 
tin  hastily. 

"  For  his  friend,"  said  the  hostess,  evidently 
gratified  by  this  dislinclion,  but  at  the  same  time 
admonishing  Mr.  Tapley  with  a  fork,  to  remain 
at  a  respectful  distance.  "  Little  did  I  ever  think 
that !  But  still  less,  that  I  should  ever  have  the 
changes  to  relate  that  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  of, 
when  you  have  done  your  supper  !" 

"  Good  Heaven  !"  cried  Martin,  changing  co 
lour,  "  What  changes  ?" 

"  iSAe,"  said  the  hostess,  "is  quite  well,  and 
now  at  Mr.  Pecksniff's.  Don't  be  at  all  alarmed 
about  her.  She  is  everything  you  could  wish. 
It's  of  no  use  mincing  matters  or  making  se- 
crets, is  it?"  added  Mrs.  Lupin.  "I  know  ul' 
'  about  it,  you  see  1" 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


25* 


My  goad  creiiiure,"  returned  Martin,  "  you 
are  exactly  the  person  wlio  ought  to  know  all 
about  it.  I  am  delighted  to  think  you  do  know 
all  abov  ;  it.  But  what  changes  do  you  hint  at  ? 
Has  any  death  occurred  ?" 

"  No,  no  !"  said  the  hostess.  "  Not  so  bad  as 
hat.  But  I  declare  now  that  I  will  not  be  drawn 
into  saying-  another  word  till  you  have  h.id  your 
supper.  If  you  ask  me  fifty  questions  in  the 
mean  time,  I  won't  answer  one." 

She  was  so  positive  that  there  was  nothing  for 
i.  but  to  get  the  supper  over  as  quickly  as  possi- 
ble ;  and  as  they  had  been  walking  a  great  many 
miles,  and  had  fasted  since  the  middle  of  the  day, 
Ihey  did  no  great  violence  to  their  own  inclina- 
tions in  falling  on  it  tooth  and  nail.  It  took  ra- 
ther  longer  to  get  through  tiian  might  have  been 
expected ;  for,  half-a-dozen  times,  when  they 
tliought  they  had  finished,  Mrs.  Lupin  exposed  the 
fallacy  of  that  impression  triumphantly.  But  at 
last,  in  the  course  of  time  and  nature,  they  gave 
in.  Then,  sitting  with  their  slippered  feet  stretcti- 
ed  out  upon  the  kitchen  heartii  (which  was  won- 
derfully comforting,  for  the  night  iiad  grown  by 
this  time  raw  and  chilly),  and  looking  with  invol- 
untary admiration  at  their  dimpled,  bu.xom,  bloom- 
ing hostess,  as  the  firelight  sparkled  in  her  eyes 
and  glimmered  in  her  raven  hair,  they  composed 
themselves  to  listen  to  her  news. 

Many  wer6  the  exclamations  of  surprise  which 
interrupted  her,  when  she  told  tlicm  of  the  sep.i- 
ration  between  Mr.  PecksnitT  and  his  daughters, 
and  between  the  same  good  gentleman  and  Mr. 
Pinch.  But  these  were  nothing  to  the  indignant 
demonstrations  of  Martin,  when  she  related,  as 
the  common  talk  of  the  neighbourhood,  whit  en- 
tire possession  he  had  obtained  over  the  niiivd  and 
person  of  old  Mr.  Chuzzlcwit,  and  what  higfi  ho- 
nour he  designed  for  Mary.  On  receipt  of  this 
intelligence,  Martin's  slippers  flew  off  in  a  twink- 
ling,  and  he  began  pulling  on  his  wet  boots  with 
that  indefinite  intention  of  going  somewhere  in- 
stantly, and  doing  something  to  somebody,  which 
is  the  first  safety-valve  of  a  hot  temper. 

"  He  !"  said  Martin,  "  smooth-tongued  villain 
that  he  is  !  He  !  Give  me  that  other  boot,  Mark !" 
"Where  was  you  a  thinking  of  going  to,  Sir?" 
nqoired  Mr.  Tapley,  drying  the  sole  at  the  fire, 
and  looking  coolly  at  it  as  he  spoke,  as  if  it  were 
a  sTice  of  toast. 

"Where!"  repeated  Martin.  "You  don't  sup- 
pose I  am  going  to  remain  here,  do  you  ?" 

The  imperturbable  Mark  confessed  that  he 
did. 

"  You  do  !"  retorted  Martin  angrily.     "  I  am  i 
much   obliged  to  you.     What  do  you   take   me 
for  ?" 

"  I  take  you  for  what  you  are,  Sir,"  said  Mark  ; 
"and,  consequently,  am  quite  sure  that  whatever 
you  do,  will  be  right  and  sensible.  The  boot. 
Sir." 

Martin  darted  an  impatient  look  at  him,  with- 
out taking  it,  and  walked  rapidly  up  and  down 
the  kitchen  several  times,  with  one  boot  and  a 
stocking  0  1.  But  mindful  of  his  Eden  resolu- 
tion, he  had  already  g.iined  many  victories  over 
himself  when  .Mark  was  in  the  case,  and  he  re- 
solved to  conquer  now.  So  he  came  back  to  the 
boot-jack,  laid  his  Innd  on  Murk's  shoulder  to 
steady  himncU',  pulled  the  boot  off,  picked  up  his 


I  slippers  /ut  them  on,  and  sat  down  again.  He 
could  not  help  thrusting  his  hands  to  the  very 
bottom  of  his  pockets,  and  muttermg  at  intervals, 
"  Pecksniff  too  I  That  fellow!  Ujton  my  soul ! 
In-deed  I  What  next?"  and  so  forth  :  nor  coqld 
he  help  occasionally  shaking  his  fist  at  the  chim- 
ney, with  a  very  threatening  countenance:  bu* 
this  did  not  last  long;  and  he  heard  Mrs.  Lupin 
out,  if  not  with  composure,  at  all  events  in  si- 
lence. 

"  As  to  Mr.  Pecksniff  himself,"  observed  the 
hostess  in  conclusion,  spreading  out  the  skirls  of 
her  gown  with  both  hands,  and  nodding  her  head 
a  great  many  times  as  she  did  so,  "  I  don't  know 
what  to  say.  Somebody  must  have  poisoned  his 
mind,  or  influenced  him  in  some  e.xtr  lordinary 
Way.  I  cannot  believe  that  such  a  nubie-spoken 
gentleman  would  go  and  do  wrong  of  his  own 
accord  !" 

How  many  people  are  there  in  the  world,  who, 
for  no  better  reason,  uphold  their  Pecksniffs  to  tlie 
last,  and  abandon  virtuous  men,  when  Pecksniffs 
breathe  upon  them  ! 

"As  to  -Mr.  Pinch,"  pursued  the  landlady,  "if 
ever  there  was  a  dear,  good,  pleasant,  worthy, 
soul  alive,  Pinch,  and  no  other,  is  his  name.  Bat 
how  do  we  know  that  old  Mr.  Chuzzlevvit  him- 
self was  not  the  cause  of  difference  arising  be- 
tween him  and  Mr.  Pecksniff?  No  one  but  them- 
selves  can  tell :  for  Mr.  Pinch  has  a  proud  spirit, 
though  he  has  such  a  quiet  way;  and  when  he 
left  us,  and  was  so  sorry  to  go,  he  scorned  to  make 
his  story  good,  even  to  me." 

"  Poor  old  Tom !"  said  Martin,  in  a  tone  that 
sounded  like  remorse. 

"It's  a  comfort  to  know,"  resumed  the  land- 
lady, "th:it  he  has  his  sister  living  with  him,  and 
is  doing  well.  Only  yesterday  he  sent  me  back, 
by  ])ost,  a  little" — here  the  colour  c.ime  into  her 
cheeks — "a  little  trifle  I  was  bold  enough  to  lend 
him  when  he  went  away:  saying,  witli  many 
thanks,  th  it  he  had  good  employment,  and  didn't 
want  it.  It  was  the  same  note  ;  he  hadn't  broken 
it.  I  never  thought  I  could  have  been  so  little 
pleased  to  see  a  bank-note  come  back  to  me,  as  1 
was  to  see  that." 

"  Kindly  said,  and  heartily!"  said  Martm.  "Is 
it  not,  .\Ia'rk  ?" 

"Shecm't  say  anything  as  does  not  possess 
them  qualities,"  returned  Mr.  Tapley;  "which  as 
much  belong  to  the  Dragon  as  its  license.  And 
now  that  we  have  got  quite  cool  and  tresh,  to  the 
suhji  ct  again.  Sir:  what  will  you  do  ?  If  you '.'8 
not  proud,  and  can  make  up  your  mind  to  go 
through  with  what  you  spoke  of,  coming  along, 
that 's  the  course  for  you  to  take.  If  you  started 
wrong  with  your  grandfather:  (which,  you'll 
excuse  my  tnking  the  liberty  of  saying,  appears 
to  have  been  the  case),  up  with  you.  Sir,  and  tell 
him  so,  and  make  an  appeal  to  his  affections. 
Don't  stand  oat.  He 's  a  great  deal  older  than 
you,  and  if  he  was  hasty,  you  was  hasty  too  Give 
way.  Sir,  give  way." 

The  eloquence  of  Mr.  Tapley  was  not  without 
its  effect  on  Martin,  but  he  etill  hesitated,  and  ex 
pressed  his  reason  thus: 

"That's  all  very  true,  and  perfectly  correct, 
Mark  ;  and  if  it  were  a  mere  question  of  humbling 
myself  before  him,  I  would  not  consider  it  twice. 
But  don't  you  see,  that  being  wholly  under  thi» 


256 


LIFE  AND   ADVRNTURES   OF 


Hypocrite's  g-ovcrnment,  and  having  (if  wh;it  wc 
hear  be  true)  no  mind  or  will  of  his  owri,  1  throw 
myself,  in  fact,  not  at  his  feet,  but  at  the  feet  of 
Mr.  Pecksniff?  And  when  I  am  rejected  and 
spurned  away,"  said  Martin,  turning  crimson  at 
th(!  thought,  "it  is  not  by  him:  my  own  blood 
Blirred  ngiiinst  me:  but  by  Pecksniff — Pecksniff, 
Mark  !" 

"  Well,  but  we  know  beforehand,"  returned  the 
politic  Mr.  Tapley,  "that  Pecksniff  is  a  wagabond, 
a  scoundrel,  and  a  willain." 

"A  most  pernicious  villain!"  said  Martin. 

"  A  most  pernicious  willain.  We  know  that 
beforthan<l,  Sir  ;  and,  consequently,  it's  no  shame 
to  be  defeated  by  PecksnitY.  Blow  Pecksniff!" 
cried  Mr.  Tapley,  in  the  fervour  of  his  eloquence. 
**  Who's  he  I  It's  not  in  the  natur  of  Pecksniff 
to  shame  vs,  unless  he  agreed  with  us,  or  done  us 
a  service  ;  and,  in  case  he  offered  any  outdarity 
of  that  description,  we  could  express  our  senti- 
ments in  the  English  language,  I  hope  ?  Peck- 
sniff!" r('[)cated  Mr.  Tapley,  with  incffible  dis- 
d.iin.  "Wliat's  Pecksniff,  who's  Pecksniff, 
Where's  Pecksniff,  that  he's  to  be  so  much  com- 
Bi(iered  ?  We're  not  calculating  for  ourselves  ;" 
he  laid  uncommon  emphasis  on  the  last  syllable 
of  that  word,  and  looked  full  in  Martin's  t"ace ; 
"  we  're  making  a  effort  for  a  young  lady  likewise 
as  has  undergone  her  share ;  and  whatever  little 
hope  we  have,  this  here  Pecksniff  is  not  to  stand 
in  its  way,  I  expect.  I  never  heerd  of  any  act  of 
Parliament  as  was  made  by  Pecksniff.  Peck- 
sniff! Why,  I  wouldn't  see  the  man  myself;  I 
wouldn't  hear  him  ;  I  wouldn't  choose  to  know  he 
was  in  company,  I  'd  scriipe  my  shoes  on  the 
BCraper  of  the  door,  and  call  th.it  Pecksniff,  if  you 
liked  ;    but  I  wouldn't  condescend  no  further." 

The  amazement  of  Mrs.  Lupin,  and  indeed  of 
Mr.  Tapley  himself  for  that  matter,  at  this  impas- 
tioned  flow  of  language,  was  immense.  But 
Martin,  after  looking  thoughtfully  at  the  fire  for 
a  short  lime,  said  : 

"You  are  right,  Mnrk.  Right  or  wrong,  it 
shall  be  done.     I  'II  do  it." 

"One  word  more  Sir,"  returned  Mark.  "Only 
think  of  him  so  far,  as  not  to  give  him  a  handle 
against  you.  Don't  you  do  anything  secret,  that 
he  can  report  before  yon  get  there.  Don't  you 
even  see  Miss  Mnry  in  the  morning,  but  let  this 
here  dear  (ricmd  of  ours;"  Mr.  Tapley  bestowed 
a  smile  upon  the  hostess;  "jirepiire  her  for  what's 
a  going  to  h:ippiii,  and  cnrry  any  little  message 
as  may  be  agree:il)le.  She  knows  how.  Don't 
you?"  Mrs.  Lupin  laughed  and  tossed  her  head. 
"Then  yon  go  in,  hold  and  free  as  a  gentleman 
should.  '  I  haven't  done  nothing  under-handed,' 
says  you.  '  I  haven't  been  a  skulking  about  the 
premises,  here  I  am,  f()r-give  me,  I  ask  your  par- 
don, God  Bhss  Y-.u  !'  " 

Martin  smiled,  hut  felt  that  it  was  good  advice 
notwithstanding,  and  resolved  to  act  upon  it. 
When  they  had  ascert;iine(l  from  Mrs.  Lu[>in  that 
Pecksniff  had  already  riltirned  from  the  great 
fcremoniiil  at  which  they  had  beheld  him  in  his 
piory ;  and  when  they  had  fully  arrantred  the 
arder  of  their  proceedings;  they  went  to  l)ed,  in- 
tent upon  the  morrow. 

In  pursuance  of  their  project  as  agreed  upon  at 
t»ii.-«  discussiiin,  Mr.  Tapley  issued  forth  next 
morning,  after  breakfast,  charged   with  a  letter 


from  Martin  to  his  grandf.ther,  requesting  Icavo 
I  to  wait  upon  liiin  lor  a  lew  minutes.     And  post- 
poning as  he  went  along  the  congratulations  of 
I  his    numerous    friends   until   a   more   Convenient 
!  season,  he  soon  arrived  at  Mr.  Pecksniff's  house. 
At  that  gentleman's   door  :    with  a  face  so   im- 
moveable that  it  would  have  been  next  to  an  im- 
possibility tor   the   most  acute   physiognomist  K) 
determine  what  he  was  thinking  about,  or  wh^;lher 
he  was  thinking  at  all  :  he  straightway  knocked. 

A  person  of  Mr.  Tapley's  observation  could  nol 
long  remain  insensible  to  the  fact,  that  Mr.  1  eck- 
sniff  was  making  tht'  end  of  his  nose  very  blun\ 
against  the  glass  of  the  parlour  window,  in  au 
angular  attempt  to  discover  who  had  knocked  at 
the  door.  Nor  was  Mr.  Tapley  slow  to  balHe  thia 
movement  on  the  part  of  the  enemy,  by  perching 
himself  on  the  top  step,  and  presenting  the  crown 
of  his  hat  in  that  direction.  But  possibly  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  already  seen  him,  for  Mark  soon 
heard  his  shoes  creaking,  as  he  advanced  to  open 
the  door  with  his  own  hands. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  was  as  cheerful  as  ever,  and  sang 
a  little  song  in  the  passage. 

"How  d'ye  do  Sir?"  said  Mark. 

"Oh!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "Tapley,  I  be. 
lievc  ?  The  Prodigal  returned!  We  don't  want 
any  Beer,  my  frierd." 

"Thankee  Sir,"  said  Mark.  "  I  couldn't  ac 
commodate  you,  it  you  did.  A  letter  Sir.  Wait 
for  an   answer." 

"For  me?"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "And  an 
answer,  eh  ?" 

"  Not  for  you  I  think  Sir,"  said  Mark,  pointing 
out  the  direction  "Chuzzlewit,  I  believe  tlie 
name  is.  Sir." 

"Oh!"  returni  d  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "Thank  you. 
Yes.     Who's  it  ti-om,  my  good  young  man?" 

"The  gentleman  it  comes  from,  wrote  his  name 
inside  Sir,"  returned  Mr.  Tapley  witli  extreme 
politeness.  "  I  see  him  a  signing  of  it  at  the  end, 
wliile  I  was  a  waitin'." 

"  And  he  said  he  wanted  an  answer  did  he  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Pecksniff  in  his  most  persuasive  man- 
ner. 

Mark  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"He  shall  hive  an  answer.  Certainly,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  tearing  the  letter  into  small  pieces 
as  mildly  as  if  llijt  were  the  most  flattering  atten- 
tion a  eorrespi  ndent  could  receive.  "  Have  tl»e 
goodness  to  g'nc  him  that,  with  my  com|)liments, 
if  you  please.  Good  morning  !"  Whereupon,  Ike 
handed  Mark  the  scraps;  retired;  and  shut  the 
door. 

Mark  thought  it  prudent  to  subdue  his  [)ersonal 
emotions,  and  return  to  M.irtin,  at  the  Dragon. 
They  were  n^t  uii()rep.ired  tor  such  a  reception, 
and  suffered  an  hour  or  so  to  elapse  before  making 
another  attempt.  When  this  interval  had  gone 
by,  they  returned  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's  house  in 
company.  Martin  knocked  this  time,  while  Mr. 
Tapley  prepared  liiinsell'  to  keep  the  dour  open 
with  his  lijol  and  shoulder,  wiien  anybody  came, 
and  by  that  means  secure  an  enforced  parley 
But  this  precaution  was  needless,  for  the  servant 
girl  appeared  almost  immediately.  Brushing 
quickly  past  her  as  he  had  resolved  in  such  a 
Case  to  do,  Martin  (closely  followed  by  his  faithful 
ally)  opened  the  door  of  that  parlour  in  which  he 
knew  a  visitor  was  most  likely  to  be  found ;  pas*. 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


257 


cd  at  i>TC6  into  tnrs  room  ;  and  stood,  without  a 
word  •>.'  nolire  or  announcement,  in  the  presence 
of  his  gTiindfather. 

Mr.  Pecksniff  also  was  in  tlie  room  ;  and  Mary. 
tn  the  swift  instant  of  thtir  mutual  recognition, 
Mirtin  saw  the  old  man  <iroop  his  grey  head,  and 
hide  his  face  in  his  hands. 

It  smote  him  to  the  heart  In  his  most  selfish 
and  most  careless  day,  this  'inirer'ng'  remnant  of 
the  old  man's  ancient  love,  this  buttress  of  a 
ruin-.d  tower  he  had  built  up  in  the  time  gone  by, 
with  so  much  |)ride  and  hope,  would  have  caused 
a  pang  in  Martin's  heart.  But  now,  changed  for 
the  better  in  his  worst  res|)rct;  kwking  through 
an  altered  medium  on  his  tljrmer  friend,  the  guar- 
dian  of  his  childhood,  so  broken  and  bowed  down; 
resentment,  sullitiness,  selflconfidence,  and  pride, 
were  all  swept  aw.iy,  before  the  starting  tears 
upon  the  withered  cheeks.  He  could  not  bear  to 
Bee  them.  He  cnuld  not  bear  to  think  they  fell  at 
sight  of  him.  He  could  not  hear  to  view  reflected 
in  them,  the  reproachful  and  irrevocable  Past. 

He  hurriedly  advanced,  to  seize  the  old  man's 
nand  in  his,  when  Mr.  Pecksniff  interposed  him- 
self between  them. 

"No,  young  man!"  said  ]\Tr.  Pecksniff,  strik- 
ing himself  upon  the  breast,  and  stretching  out  his 
otiier  arm  towards  his  guest  as  if  it  were  a  wing 
to  shelter  him.  "  No  Sir.  None  of  that  Strike 
here  Sir,  here  I  Lanch  your  arrows  at  Me  sir, 
if  you  '11  have  the  goodness  ;  not  at  Him  !" 

"  Grandfather  I"  cried  Martin.  "  Hear  me  !  I 
implore  you,  let  me  speak  I" 

"  Would  you  Sir !  Would  you  !"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, dodging  about,  so  as  to  keep  himself  always 
between  them.  "  Is  it  not  enough.  Sir,  that  you 
come  into  my  house  like  a  thief  in  the  night,  or  I 
should  rather  say,  for  we  can  never  be  too  parti- 
cular on  the  subject  of  Truth,  like  a  thief  in  the 
day-time;  bringing  your  dissolute  companions 
with  you,  to  plant  themselves  with  their  backs 
against  the  insidt  s  of  parlour  doors,  and  prevent 
the  entrance  or  issuing  forth  of  any  of  my  house- 
hold ;"  Mark  had  taken  up  this  position,  and  held 
it  quite  unmoved  ;  "but  would  you  also  strike  at 
venerable  Virtue  ?  Would  you  ?  Know  that  it  is 
not  defenceless.  I  will  be  its  shield,  young  man. 
Assail  me.    Come  on,  Sir.     Fire  away  !" 

"  Pecksniff,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  feeble  voice. 
"Calm  yourself.      Re  quiet." 

"  I  can't  be  calm,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  and  I  } 
won't  be  quiet.     My  benefactor  and   my  friend  ! 
Shall  even  my  liouse  be  no  refuge  for  your  hoary  ' 
pillow  !" 

"  Stand  aside  !"  said  the  old  man,  stretching 
out  his  hand ;  "  and  let  me  see  what  it  is,  I  used 
to  love  so  dearly." 

"  It  is  riorht  that  you  should  see  it,  my  friend," 
Sdid  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  It  is  well  that  you  should 
Bee  it,  my  noble  Sir.  It  is  desirable  that  you 
should  contemplate  it  in  its  true  proportions.  Be- 
hold it !     Tliere  it  is  Sir.     There  it  is  !" 

Martin  could  hardly  be  a  mortal  man,  and  not 
express  in  his  face,  something  of  the  anger  and 
disdain,  with  which  Mr.  Pecksniff  inspired  him. 
But  beyond  this  he  evinced  no  knowledge  what- 
ever of  that  gentleman's  presence  or  existence. 
True,  he  had  once,  and  that  at  first,  glanced  at 
him  involuntarily,  and  with  supreme  contempt ; 
33 


but  for  any  other  heed  he  took  of  liiin,  tliere  might 
have  been  nothing  in  his  place  save  empty  air. 

As  Mr.  Pecksniff  withdrew  from  between  them, 
agreeably  to  the  wish  just  now  expressed  (which 
he  did,  during  the  delivery  of  the  observations  last 
recorded),  old  Martin,  who  had  taken  Mary  (Jra- 
ham's  hand  in  his,  and  whispered  kindly  to  her, 
as  telling  her  she  had  no  cause  to  be  alarniei 
gently  pushed  her  from  him,  behind  his  chair 
and  looked  steadily  at  his  grandson. 

"  And  that,"  he  said,  "  is  he.  Ah  I  that  is  he  I 
Say  what  you  wish  to  say.      But  com  ;  no  nearer." 

"  His  sense  ofjustice  is  so  fine,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, "that  he  will  hear  even  hnn  ;  although  he 
knows  beforehand  that  nothing  can  come  of  it. 
Ingenuous  mind  1"  Mr.  Pecksniff  did  not  addresa 
himself  immediately  to  any  person  in  saying  this, 
but  assuming  the  position  of  the  Chorus  in  a 
Greek  Tragedy,  delivered  his  opinion  as  a  com- 
mentary on  the  proceedings. 

"Grandfather!"  said  Martin,  with  great  ear- 
nestness. "  From  a  painful  journey,  from  a  hard 
life,  from  a  sick  bed,  from  privation  and  distress, 
from  gloom  and  disappointment,  from  almost 
hopelessness  and  despair,  I  have  come  back  to 
you." 

"  Rovers  of  this  sort,"  observed  Mr.  Pecksniff 
as  Chorus,  "  very  commonly  come  back  when 
they  find  they  don't  meet  with  the  success  they 
expected  in  their  marauding  ravages-" 

"  But  for  this  faithful  man,"  said  Martin,  turn- 
ing towards  Mark,  "whom  I  first  knew  in  this 
place,  and  who  went  away  with  me  voluntarily,  aa 
a  servant,  but  has  been,  throughout,  my  zee  loaa 
and  devoted  friend;  but  for  him,  I  musthavp  Had 
abroad.  Far  from  home,  far  from  any  lielp  or 
consolation;  far  from  the  probability  even  of  my 
wretched  fate  being  ever  known  to  any  one  who 
cared  to  hear  it  —  oh  that  you  would  let  me  say, 
of  being  known  to  you!" 

The  old  man  looked  at  Mr.  Pecksniff.  Mr. 
Pecksniff  looked  at  him.  "  Did  you  speak,  my 
worthy  Sir?  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  with  a  smile. 
The  old  man  answered  in  the  negative.  "  I  know 
what  you  thought,"  said  iMr.  Pecksniff,  with  ano- 
ther  smile.  "Let  him  go  on,  my  friend.  The 
development  of  self-interest  in  the  human  mind  is 
always  a  curious  study.     Let  him  go  on,  Sir." 

"Go  on  !"  observed  the  old  man  ;  in  a  incchani- 
cal  obedience,  it  appeared,  to  Mr.  Pecksniff's  sug- 
gestion. 

"  I  have  been  so  wretched  and  so  poor,"  said 
Martin,  "  that  I  am  indebted  to  the  charitable  help 
of  a  stranger  in  a  land  of  strangers,  f^)r  the  mean.4 
of  returning  here.  All  tiiis  tells  against  me  ia 
your  mind,  I  know,  I  have  given  )iiu  cause  to 
think  I  have  been  driven  here  whv-llj  by  want, 
and  have  not  been  led  on,  in  any  degree,  by  affec- 
tion or  regret.  When  I  parte'i  from  "ou.  Grand 
fither,  I  deserved  that  suspicion,  but  I  do  not  new 
I  do  not  now." 

The  Chorus  put  its  hand  m  its  waistcoat,  anij 
smiled,  "  Let  him  go  on  my  worthy  Sir,"  it  said. 
"  I  know  what  you  are  thinking  of,  but  don'l  ei 
press  it  prematurely." 

Old  Martin  raised  his  eyes  to  Mr  PecksnilPi 
face,  and  appearing  to  derive  rene'".  ed  instructioo 
from  his  looks  and  words,  said,  .^nce  again  ; 

"  Go  on !" 


258 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"1  have  little  more  to  say,"  rrturncd  Martin. 
"  And  as  I  say  it  now,  with  little  or  no  hope, 
Grandfather;  whatever  dawn  of  hope  I  had  on 
entering  tiie  room  ;  believe  it  to  be  true.  At  least 
believe  it  to  be  true." 

"  Beautiful  Truth !"  exclaimed  the  Chorus, 
looking  upward.  "How  is  your  name  profaned 
by  vicious  [)ersons  !  You  don't  live  in  a  well,  my 
holy  principle,  but  on  the  lips  of  false  mankind. 
It  is  hard  to  bear  with  mankind,  dear  Sir," — ad- 
dressing the  elder  Mr. ChuzzJcwit ;  "but  let  us 
do  so,  meekly.  It  is  our  duty  so  to  do.  Let  us 
be  among  the  Few  who  do  llieir  duty.  If,"  pur- 
sued the  Chorus,  soaring  up  into  a  lofty  flight, 
"as  the  poet  informs  us,  England  expects  Every 
man  to  do  his  duty,  England  is  the  most  sanguine 
country  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  will  find 
itself  continually  disappointed." 

"Upon  that  subject,"  said  Martin,  looking 
calmly  at  the  old  man  as  he  spoke,  but  glancing 
once  at  Mary,  whose  face  was  now  buried  in  her 
hands,  apon  the  back  of  his  easy  chair:  "upon 
that  subject,  which  first  occasioned  a  division  be- 
tween us,  my  mind  anu  heart  are  incapable  of 
change.  Whatever  influence  tiiey  have  under- 
gone, since  that  luniiappy  tirpe.  has  not  been  one 
to  weaken  but  to  strengthen  me.  I  cannot  pro- 
fess sorrow  for  that,  nor  irresolution  in  that,  nor 
shame  in  that.  Nor  would  you  wish  me,  I 
know.  But  that  I  might  have  trusted  to  your 
love,  if  I  had  thrown  myself  manfully  upon  it; 
that  I  might  have  won  yow  over  « ilh  ease,  if  I 
hud  been  more  yielding,  and  more  considerate; 
that  I  should  have  best  remembered  myself  in 
forgetting  myself,  and  recollecting  you;  reflection, 
solitude,  and  misery,  have  taught  me.  I  caine 
resolved  to  say  this,  and  to  ask  your  forgiveness: 
not  so  much  in  hope  for  the  future,  as  in  regret 
for  the  past:  for  all  that  I  would  ask  of  you,  is, 
that  you  would  aid  me  to  live.  Help  me  to  get 
honest  work  to  do,  and  I  would  do  it.  My  con- 
dition places  nie  at  the  disadvantage  of  seeming 
to  have  only  my  selfish  ends  to  serve,  but  try  if 
that  be  so,  or  not.  Try  if  I  be  self-willed,  obdu- 
rate, and  haughty,  as  I  was  ;  or  have  been  disci- 
plined in  a  rough  school.  Let  the  voice  of  nature 
and  association  plead  between  us.  Grandfather; 
and  do  not,  for  one  fault,  however  thankless,  quite 
reject  me !" 

As  he  ceased,  the  grey  head  of  the  old  man 
drooped  again  ;  and  he  concealed  his  face  behind 
his  outspread  fingers. 

"My  dear  Sir,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff",  bending 
over  him,  "  you  must  not  give  way  to  this.  It  is 
Very  natural,  and  very  amiable,  but  you  must  not 
allow  llic  shameless  conduct  of  one  whom  you 
long  ago  cast  off,  to  move  you  bo  far.  Rouse 
yourstJl".  Think,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "think  of 
Me,  my  friend." 

"  1  will,"  returned  old  Martin,  looking  up  into 
his  face.     "  You  recall  mc  to  myself,      i  will." 

"  Why,  what,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  sitting  down 
beside  him  in  a  chair  which  he  drew  U|)  lor  the 
purpose,  and  tapping  him  playfully  on  the  arm, 
•  what  is  the  matter  with  my  strong-minded  com- 
l>ntriot,  if  1  may  venture  to  take  the  liberty  of 
calling  him  L"  that  eiidfariiig  expression?  Shall 
I  have  to  scold  .»iy  eoi.djiilor,  or  to  reason  with  an 
intellfct  like  his  ?     1  lln'iik  not." 

"I^io.    no.     'I'here    is    no   oec.ision,"    said    the 


old    man.      "A    momentary    feeling.      Nothing 
more." 

"Indignation,"  observed  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  wtii 
bring  the  scalding  tear  into  the  hoiitsl  eye,  I 
know" — he  wiped  liis  own  elaborately.  "But 
we  have  higher  duties  to  perform  than  !hat. 
Rouse  yoursel'i  Mr.  Chuzzlevvil.  Shall  1  give  rx. 
pression  to  your  thoughts,  my  friend  V 

"  Yes,"  said  old  Martin,  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  and  looking  at  him,  half  in  vacancy  and 
halt  in  admiration,  as  if  he  were  tascinatcd  by 
the  man.  "Speak  for  me,  Peeksnifl'  I'hank 
you.     You  are  true  to  me.     Thank  you  I" 

"Do  not  unman  mc,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
shaking  his  hand  vigorously,  "  or  1  shall  be  uri- 
equal  to  tlie  task.  It  is  nut  agreeable  to  my  feel- 
ings, my  good  Sir,  to  address  the  person  who  is 
now  bel()re  us,  ti^r  when  1  ejected  him  fr(<m  this 
house,  af^.cr  hearing  of  his  unnatural  conduct 
from  your  lips,  I  renounced  communication  with 
him  for  ever.  But  you  desire  it;  and  that  is  suf- 
ficient. Young  man!  The  door  is  immediately 
behind  the  coiiipanion  of  your  int'ainy.  Blush  if 
you  can;  begone  without  a  blush,  if  you  can't." 

Martin  looked  as  steadily  at  his  grandtiitlier  us 
if  there  had  been  a  dead  silence  all  this  time. 
The  old  man  looked  no  li  ss  steadily  at  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. 

"  When  I  ordered  you  to  leave  this  house  upon 
the  last  occasion  of  your  being  dismissed  I'rom  il 
with  di.^grace,"  said  Mr.  Peeksnilf ;  "  when,  stung 
and  stiuiulaled  beyond  endurance  by  your  shame 
less  Conduct  to  this  extrai  rdinarily  iiobl<.-iiiinded 
individual,  I  exclaimed,  'Go  fbrlii  !'  I  told  you 
that  I  wept  for  your  depravity.  Do  not  suppose 
that  the  tear  which  stands  in  my  eye  at  tins  mo- 
inefit,  is  shed  tor  you.  It  is  shed  for  him,  Sir. 
It  is  shed  tiir  him." 

Here  Mr.  Pecksniff  accidentally  dropping  the 
tear  in  question  on  a  bald  part  of  Mr.  Chuzzlcwit's 
head,  wiped  the  place  with  his  pocket-hundker- 
ehief,  and  b(  gged  pardon. 

"It  is  shed  for  him.  Sir,  whom  you  seek  to 
make  the  victim  of  your  arts,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
snift":  "whom  you  seek  to  plunder,  to  deceive, 
and  to  mislead.  It  is  shed  in  (-ympatliy  with 
him,  and  admiration  of  him  ;  not  in  pity  lor  him, 
for  happily  he  knows  what  you  are.  You  shall 
not  wrong  him  furtlar,  Sir,  iii  any  wa},"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  quite  tr.insported  with  enthusiasm 
"  while  I  have  Life.  You  may  lieslride  iny  stnse- 
iess  corse.  Sir.  That  is  very  liktly.  1  can 
imagine  a  mind  like  yours  deriving  great  s.itis- 
taetioti  from  any  measure  of  that  kind.  But 
while  I  continue  to  be  called  upon  to  exist.  Sir, 
yon  must  strike  at  him  tlirou^jji  me.  Ay<' I"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  shaking  his  h<ad  at  Mirlin  with 
indignant  jocularity  ;  "and  in  such  a  cause  you 
will  find  me,  my  young  Sir,  an  L'giy  ("ustomcr  !" 

Still  Martin  looked  steadily  and  mildly  at  liik 
grandfather.  "  Will  you  give  me  no  answer,"  he 
said,  at  length,  "not  a  word  '" 

"  You  Ih'ar  what  has  been  said,"  replied  the  old 
man,  without  averting  his  cyi.'s  fn.in  the  face  of 
Mr.  Pecksniff:   who  nodded  encouragingly. 

"  I  have  not  heard  your  voice.  I  liave  not  heard 
your  sfiirit,"  returned  M.irlin. 

"Till  him  again,"  said  the  old  man,  still  gazing 
up  in  Mr.  Pecksniff's  face. 

"  I  only  hear,"  replied  Martin,  stroug  in  hi* 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


25l> 


pur)X)se  from  the  f.rst,  and  stronerer  in  it  as  he  fc!t 
how  Pecksniff  winced  and  slirunk.  beneath  his 
contempt;  "1  only  hear  what  you  say  to  me, 
grandt'ither." 

Perhiips  it  was  well  for  Mr.  Pecksniff  that  his 
Venerable  friend  found  in  his  (Mr.  Pecksniff's) 
features  an  exclusive  and  engrossincj  object  of  con- 
templation, for  if  his  eyes  had  gone  astray,  and  he 
hid  coiiipired  youiifr  Martin's  bearing-  with  that 
ijf  his  zealous  defender,  the  latter  disinterested 
pttitlcman  would  scarcely  have  shown  to  greater 
advaiitdge  than  on  the  memorable  afternoon  when 
h'-  took  Tom  Pinch's  last  receipt  in  full  of  all  de- 
mands. One  really  niijlit  have  thought  there  was 
some  quality  in  Mr.  Pecksniff — an  emanation 
from  the  brightness  and  purity  within  him  per- 
haps—  whifti  set  off  and  adorned  his  foes:  they 
looked  so  gallant  and  so  tnaniy  beside  him. 

"  Not  a  word  ?"  said  Martin  for  the  second 
time. 

"  I  remember  that  T  have  a  word  to  say,  Peck- 
sniff," observed  the  old  man.  "  But  a  word.  You 
spoke  of  being  indebted  to  the  charitable  help  of 
some  stranger  for  the  means  of  returning  to  Eng 
land.  Who  is  he  ?  And  what  help,  in  money, 
did  he  render  you  ?" 

Although  he  asked  this  question  of  Martin,  he 
did  not  look  towards  him,  but  kept  his  eyes  on 
Mr.  Pecksniff  as  before.  It  appeared  to  have  be- 
come a  habit  with  him,  both  in  a  literal  and  figura- 
tive sense,  to  look  to  Mr.  Pecksniff  alone. 

Martin  took  out  his  pencil,  tore  a  leaf  from  his 
pocket-iiook,  and  hastily  wrote  down  the  particn- 
I-.rs  of  his  debt  to  Mr.  Bevan.  The  old  man 
stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  paper,  and  took  it  ; 
Dut  his  eyes  did  not  wander  from  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
face. 

"  It  would  be  a  poor  pride  and  a  false  humility," 
said  Martin,  in  a  low  voice,  "to  say,  I  do  not 
wish  that  to  be  paid,  or  that  I  have  any  present 
hope  of  bluing  able  to  pay  it.  But  I  never  felt  my 
poverty  so  deeply  as  I  feel  it  now." 

"  Read  it  to  me,  Pecksniff,"  said  the  old  man. 

Mr.  Pecksniff,  after  approaching  the  perusal  of 
tlie  paper  as  if  it  were  a  manuscript  confession  of 
a  murder,  complied. 

"  I  think,  Pecksniff,"  said  old  Mirtin,  "  I  could 
wish  that  to  be  discharged.  I  should  not  like  the 
lender,  who  was  abroad  ;  who  had  no  opportunity 
of  making  inquiry,  and  who  did  (as  he  thought)  a 
kind  action  ;  to  suffer." 

"  An  honourable  sentiment,  my  dear  Sir.  Your 
OA'ii  entirely.  But  a  dangerous  precedent,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  permit  me  to  suggest." 

"  It  shall  not  be  a  precedent,"  returned  the  old 
man.  "  It  is  the  only  recognition  of  him.  But 
we  will  talk  of  It  again.  You  shall  advise  me. 
There  is  nothing  else?" 

"  Nothing  else,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  buoyantly, 
"but  for  you  to  recover  this  intrusion:  this  cow- 
ardly  and  indefensible  outrage  on  your  feelings  : 
with  all  possible  dispitch  ;  and  smile  again." 

"  You  have  nothing  more  to  say  ?"  inquired  the 
old  man,  laying  bis  hand  with  unusual  earnest- 
ness on  Mr.  Pecksniff's  sleeve, 

Mr.  Pecksniff  would  not  say  what  rose  to  his 
lips.     For  reproaches,  he  observed,  were  useless. 

"You  have  nothing  at  all  to  urge?  You  are 
sure  of  that?     If  you  have;  no  rratter  what  it  is; 


speak  freely.  I  will  oppose  nothing  that  you  ask 
of  me,"  said  the  old  man. 

The  tears  rose  in  such  abundance  to  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff's eyes  at  this  proof  of  unlimited  confidtuice 
on  the  part  of  his  friend,  that  he  was  fiin  to  clasp 
the  bridge  of  his  nose  convulsively  befoie  lie  could 
at  all  compose  himself.  Wlien  he  had  the  power 
of  utterance  again,  he  said,  witli  great  emotion, 
that  he  hoped  he  should  live  to  deseive  this;  and 
added,  that  he  had  no  other  ob.scrvation  wiiatever 
to  make. 

For  a  few  moments  the  old  man  sat  looking  at 
him,  with  that  blank  and  motionless  evpression 
which  is  not  uncommon  in  the  faces  of  those 
whose  facultic!s  are  on  the  wane,  in  age.  But  he 
rose  up  firmly  too,  and  walkid  towards  the  door, 
from  which  Mark  withdrew  to  mafcc  way  for  him. 

Tlie  obsequious  Mr.  Pecksniff  proffered  his 
arm.  The  old  man  took  it.  Turning  at  the  door, 
he  said  to  Martin,  waving  him  off  with  his  hand, 

"  You  have  heard  him.  Go  away.  It  is  all 
over.     Go  I" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  murmured  certain  cheering  ex- 
pressions of  s}'mpatliy  and  encouragemeat  as  they 
retired;  and  Martin,  awakening  from  the  stupor 
into  which  the  closing  portion  of  this  scene  had 
plunged  him,  to  the  opjiortunity  afforded  by  their 
departure,  caught  the  innocent  cause  of  all  in  his 
embrace,  and  pressed  her  to  his  heart. 

"Dear  girl!"  said  Martin.  "  He  lias  not  chang- 
ed you.  Why,  what  an  impotent  and  harmless 
knave  the  fellow  is!" 

"  You  have  restrained  yourself  so  nobly  !  You 
have  borne  so  much  I" 

"  Restrained  myself!"  cried  Martin,  cheerfully. 
"  You  were  by,  and  were  unchanged,  I  knew. 
What  more  advantage  did  I  want?  The  fjight  of 
me  was  such  bitterness  to  the  dog,  that  I  had  my 
triumph  in  his  being  forced  to  endure  it.  But  tell 
me,  love  —  for  the  few  hasty  words  we  can  ex- 
change now,  are  precious  —  what  is  this,  which 
has  been  rumoured  to  me?  Is  it  true,  that  you 
are  persecuted  by  this  knave's  addresses  ?" 

"I  was,  dear  Martin,  and  to  some  extent  am 
now;  but  my  chief  source  of  unhappiness  has  been 
anxiety  for  you.  Wliy  did  you  leave  us  in  such 
terrible  suspense?" 

"Sickness,  distance;  the  dread  of  hinting  at 
our  real  condition,  the  i;iipossibility  of  concealing 
it  except  in  perfect  silence;  the  knowledge  that 
the  truth  would  have  pained  you  infinitely  more 
than  uncertainty  and  doubt,"  said  Martin,  hur- 
riedly ;  as  indeed  everything  else  was  done  and 
said,  in  those  few  hurried  moments,  "  were  the 
causes  of  my  writing  only  once.  But  Pecksniff? 
You  needn't  fear  to  tell  me  the  whole  tale:  for 
you  saw  me  with  him  fice  to  fice,  hearing  hira 
speak,  and  not  taking  hiin  by  the  throat :  what  is 
the  history  of  his  pursuit  of  you?  Is  it  known  to 
my  grandfather  ?" 

»  Yes." 

"  And  he  assists  him  in  it  ?" 

"  No,"  she  answered  eagerly, 

"Thank  Heaven!"  cried  Martin,  "thdt  it 
leaves  his  mind  unclouded  in  that  one  respect !" 

"I  do  not  think,"  said  Mary,  "it  was  known 
to  him  at  first.  When  *hip  man  had  sufficiently 
prepared  his  mind,  he  revealed  it  to  him  by  de- 
grees.    I  think  so,  but  I  only  know  it,  from  my 


260 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


own  imp^e^5sion  :  not  from  anylliing  they  told 
me.     Then  he  spoke  to  me  alone." 

"  My  grundt'ulher  did  ?"  said  Martin. 

"  Yes — spoke  to  me  alone,  and  fold  mc — " 

"  What  the  hound  had  said,"  cried  Martin. 
*  Don't  repeat  it." 

"  And  said  I  knew  well  what  qualities  he  pos- 
•essed ;  that  he  was  moderately  rich ;  in  good 
repute;  and  high  in  his  favour  and  confidence. 
But  seeing  me  very  much  distressed,  he  said  that 
he  would  not  control  or  force  my  inclinations, 
but  would  content  himself  with  telling  me  the  fact. 
He  would  not  pain  me  by  dwelling  on  it,  or  re- 
verting  to  it :  nor  has  he  ever  done  so  since,  but 
has  truly  kept  his  word." 

"The  man  himself? — "  asked  Martin. 

"  He  has  had  few  opportunities  of  pursuing 
his  suit.  I  have  never  walked  out  alone,  or  re- 
mained alone  an  instant  in  his  presence.  Dear 
Martin,  I  must  tell  you,"  she  continued,  "that 
tlie  kindness  of  your  grandfaliier  to  me,  remains 
unchanged.  I  am  his  companion  stifl.  An  in- 
describable tenderness  and  compassion  seem  to 
have  mingled  themselves  with  his  old  regard ; 
and  if  I  were  his  only  child,  I  could  not  have  a 
gentler  father.  What  former  fancy  or  old  habit 
survives  in  this,  when  his  heart  has  turned  so 
cold  to  you,  is  a  mystery  I  cannot  penetrate  ;  but 
it  has  been,  and  it  is,  a  happiness  to  me,  that  I 
remained  true  to  him  ;  that  if  he  should  wake 
from  his  delusion,  even  at  the  point  of  death,  I 
am  here,  love,  to  recall  you  to  his  thoughts." 

Martin  looked  with  admiration  on  her  glowing 
face,  and  pressed  his  lips  to  hers. 

"  I  have  sometimes  heard,  and  read,"  she  said, 
■  'hat  those  whose  powers  had  been  enfeebled  long 
ago,  md  whose  lives  had  faded,  as  it  were,  into  a 
dream,  have  been  known  to  rouse  themselves  be- 
fore death,  and  inquire  for  familiar  faces  once 
very  dear  to  them  ;  but  forgotten,  unrecognised, 
hated  even,  in  the  meantime.  Think,  if  with  his 
old  impressions  of  this  man,  he  should  suddenly 
resume  his  former  self,  and  find  in  him  his  only 
friend  !" 

"  1  would  not  urge  you  to  abandon  him,  dear- 
est," said  Martin,  "though  I  could  count  the 
years  we  are  to  wear  out  asunder.  But  the  in- 
flut-nce  this  fellow  exercises  over  him,  has  steadily 
increased,  I  fear."' 

Slie  could  not  help  admitting  that.  Steadily, 
imptTceptibly,  and  surely,  until  now  it  was  para- 
mount  and  supreme.  She  herself  had  none;  and 
yet  he  treated  her  with  more  affection  than  at 
any  previous  time.  Martin  thought  the  incon- 
sistency a  part  of  his  weakness  and  decay. 

"  Does  the  influence  extend  to  fear  ?"  said 
Marlin.  "  Is  he  timid  of  asserting  his  own 
opinion  in  the  presence  of  this  infatuation?  1 
fancied  so  just  now." 

'  I  have  thought  so,  often.  Often  when  we  are 
Billing  alone,  almost  as  we  used  to  do,  and  I  have 
been  reading  a  favourite  book  to  him  or  he  has 
been  talking  quite  cheerfully,  I  have  obs(;rved  that 
the  (entrance  of  Mr.  Pecksniff  has  changed  his 
whole  demea>nour.  He  has  broken  ofl' immediate- 
ly, ar  i  become  what  you  have  seen  to-day.  When 
we  first  came  here  lie  had  his  impetuous  out- 
breaks,  in  which  it  was  not  easy  for  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff with  hi.s  utmost  plausibility  to  appease  him. 
Ba»  these  have  long  since  dwindled  away.     He 


defers  to  him  in  everything,  and  has  no  opinion 
upon  any  question,  but  that  which  is  forced  upon 
him  by  this  treacherous  man.' 

Such  was  the  account;  r^adiy  furnished  in 
whispers,  and  interrupted,  brief  as  it  was,  by  many 
false  alarms  of  Mr.  Pecksniff's  return  ;  which 
Martin  received  of  his  grandfather's  dL-clinc,  and 
of  that  good  gentleman's  ascendancy.  He  heard 
of  Tom  Pinch  ino,  and  Jonas  too.  with  not  a  liltle 
about  himself  into  the  bargain  ;  for  though  lovers 
are  remarkable  for  leaving  a  great  deal  unsaid  on 
all  occasions,  and  very  properly  desiring  to  come 
back  and  say  it,  they  are  remarkable  also  tor  a 
wonderful  power  of  condensation ;  and  can,  in 
one  way  or  other,  give  utterance  to  more  language 
—  eloquent  language — in  any  given  sliort  spac6 
of  time,  than  all  the  six  hundred  and  fifty-eight 
members  in  the  Commons  House  of  Parliament 
of  the  United  Kingdom  of  Great  Britain  and  Ire. 
land ;  who  are  strong  lovers,  no  doubt,  but  of 
their  country  only,  which  makes  all  the  differ- 
enoe ;  for  in  a  passion  of  that  kind  (which  is  not 
always  returned),  it  is  the  custom  to  use  as  many 
words  as  possible,  and  express  nothing  wirilever. 

A  caution  from  Mr.  Tapley  ;  a  hasty  inter- 
change  of  farewells,  and  of  something  else  which 
the  proverb  says  must  not  be  told  of  afterwards; 
a  white  hand  held  out  to  Mr.  Tapley  himself, 
which  he  kissed  with  the  devotion  of  a  knight, 
errant;  more  farewells,  more  something  else's;  a 
parting  word  from  Martin  that  he  would  write 
from  London  and  would  do  great  things  there  yet 
(Heaven  knows  what,  but  he  quite  believed  it;; 
and  Mark  and  he  stood  on  the  outuide  of  the 
Pecksniffian  halls. 

"  A  short  interview  after  such  an  absence  I" 
said  Martin,  sorrowfiilly.  "  But  we  are  well  out 
of  the  house.  We  might  have  placed  ourselves  in 
a  false  position  by  remaining  lliere,  even  so  long, 
Mark." 

"I  don't  know  about  ourselves.  Sir,"  he  re. 
turned  ;  "  but  somebody  else  would  have  got  into 
a  false  position,  if  he  had  happened  to  come  back 
again,  while  we  was  tiiere.  I  had  the  door  ail 
ready,  Sir.  If  Pecksniff  had  showed  his  head,  or 
had  only  so  much  as  listened  behind  it,  I  should 
have  caught  him  like  a  walnut.  He's  the  sort 
of  man,"  added  Mr.  Tapley,  musing,  "  as  would 
squeeze  soft,  I  know." 

A  person  who  was  evidently  going  to  Mr.  Peck. 
snitT's  house,  passed  them  at  tiiis  moment.  Me 
raised  his  eyes  at  the  mention  of  the  arciiitect'.i 
name;  and  when  he  had  gone  a  few  yards,  .-ifop. 
ped,  and  gazed  at  them.  Mr.  Tapley,  also,  lookt  d 
over  his  siioulder,  and  so  did  iVIartin  ;  for  the 
stranger,  as  he  passed,  had  looked  very  sharply 
at  them. 

"  Who  may  that  be,  I  wonder  1"  said  Martin. 
"  The  face  seems  fumiliar  to  me,  but  1  don't  know 
the  man." 

"He  seems  to  have  a  amiable  desire  that  his 
face  should  he  tolerable  familiar  to  us,"  said  Mr. 
Tapley,  "  for  he's  a  staring  pretty  hard.  He'd 
better  not  waste  his  beauty,  for  he  aint  got  much 
to  spare." 

Coming  in  sight  of  the  Dragon,  they  saw  a  tra- 
veiling  carriage  at  the  door. 

"  And  a  Salisbury  carriage,  eh  !"  said  Mr. Tap- 
ley.  "That's  what  he  came  in,  depend  upon  it. 
What's    in    the    wind    now?     A    new    pupil,   I 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


261 


■houldn  ♦  wiinder.  P'raps  it 's  a  order  for  another 
grammar-scliool,  of  the  same  pattern  as  the  last." 

Before  they  could  enter  at  the  door,  Mrs.  Lu[)in 
came  running  out;  and  beckoning  them  to  tlie 
carriiige  showed  them  a  portmanteau  with  the 
name  of  Chuzzlewit  upon  iL 

"  Miss  Pecksniff's  liusband  that  was,"  said  the 
good  womun  to  Martin.  "  I  didn't  know  what 
terms  3'ou  might  he  on,  and  was  quite  in  a  worry 
till  you  came  back." 

"  He  and  I  have  never  interchanged  a  word 
yet,"  observed  Martin;  "and  as  I  have  no  wish 
to  be  butler  or  worse  acquainted  with  him,  I  will 
not  put  myself  in  his  way.  We  passed  him  on 
the  road,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  am  glad  he  timed 
his  coming,  as  he  did.  Upon  my  word!  Miss 
Pecksniff's  husband  travels  gaily  1" 

"  A  very  fine-looking  gentleman  with  him — in 
the  best  room  now,"  whispered  Mrs.  Lupin, 
glancing  up  at  the  window  as  they  went  into  the 


house.  "  He  has  ordered  everything  that  can  bo 
got  for  dinner ;  and  has  the  glossiest  mustaches 
and  whiskers  that  ever  you  saw." 

"  Has  he  ?"  cried  Martin  ;  "  why  then  v\  e  '11 
endeavour  to  avoid  him  too,  in  the  ho\>G  that  our 
seltldenial  may  be  strong  enough  for  the  sacrifice. 
It  is  only  for  a  few  hours,"  said  Martin,  dropping 
wearily  into  a  chair  behind  the  little  screen  in  tiie 
bar.  "Our  visit  has  met  with  no  success,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Lupin,  and  I  must  go  to  London." 

"  Dear,  dear !"  cried  the  hostess. 

"  Yes.  One  foul  wind  no  more  makes  a  winter, 
than  one  swallow  makes  a  summer  —  I  '11  try  it 
again.  Tom  Pinch  has  succeeded.  With  his  ad- 
vice to  guide  me,  I  may  do  the  same.  I  took 
Tom  under  my  protection  once,  God  save  the 
mark;"  said  Martin,  with  a  melancholy  smile; 
"and  promised  I  would  make  his  fortune.  Per- 
haps Tom  will  take  me  under  his  protection  now 
and  teach  me  how  to  earn  my  bread." 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

FURTHER  CONTINUATION  OF  THE  ENTERPRISE  OF  MR.  JONAS  AND  HIS 

FRIEND. 


It  was  a  special  qualit}',  among  the  many  ad- 
miiable  qualities  possessed  by  Mr.  Pecksniff,  that 
the  more  he  was  found  out,  the  more  hypocrisy 
he  practised.  Let  him  be  discomfited  in  one 
quarter,  and  he  refreshed  and  recompensed  him- 
self by  carrying  the  war  into  another.  If  his 
workings  and  windings  were  detected  by  A,  so 
much  the  greater  reason  was  tiiere  for  practising 
without  loss  of  time  on  B,  if  it  were  only  to  keep 
his  hand  in.  He  had  never  been  suoij  a  saintly 
and  improving  spectacle  to  all  about  him,  as  after 
his  detection  by  Thomas  Pinch.  He  had  scarcely 
ever  been  at  once  so  tender  in  his  humanity,  and 
so  dignific-d  and  exalted  in  his  virtue,  as  when 
young  Martin's  scorn  was  fresh  and  hot  upon 
liim. 

Having  this  large  stock  of  superfluous  senti- 
ment and  morality  on  hand  which  must  positively 
be  cleared  off  at  any  sacrifice,  Mr.  Pecksniff  no 
pooner  heard  his  son-in-law  announced,  than  he 
regarded  him  as  a  kind  of  wholesale  or  general 
order,  to  be  immediately  executed.  Descending, 
therefore,  swiftlv  to  the  parlour,  and  cla.sping  the 
young  man  in  hi.«  arms,  he  exclaimed,  witii  luoks 
and  gestures  that  denoted  the  perturbation  of  his 
spirit : 

"  Jonas  !  My  child — she  is  well  ?  There  is  no- 
thing the  matter  ?" 

"  What,  you're  at  it  again,  are  you  ?"  replied 
his  aon-in-law.  "Even  with  me?  Get  away  with 
you.  will  you  ?" 

"  Tell  rne  she  is  well,  tiien,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
"  Tell  me  she  is  well,  my  Boy  !" 

"  She 's  well  enough,"  retorted  Jonas,  discn- 
g'aging  hiniself.  "There's  nothiiig  the  matter 
with  her." 

"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  her  !"  cried 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  sittijig  down  in  the  nearest  chair, 
and  rubbing  up  his  hair.  "  Fie  upon  my  weak- 
ness !  I  cannot  help  it  Jonas.  Thank  you.  I 
•  ni  better  now.  Hkw  is  my  otiier  child;  my 
cJdvsi;  my  Cherry  werrychigo  ?"  said  Mr.  Peck- 


sniff, inventing  a  playful  little  name  for  her,  in 
the  restored  lightness  of  his  heart. 

"  She  's  much  about  the  same  as  usual,"  return- 
ed Mr.  Jonas.  "She  sticks  pretty  close  to  liie 
vinegar-bottle.  You  know  she 's  got  a  sweet, 
heart,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  I  have  heard  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  from 
head-quarters;  from  my  cliild  herself".  I  will  n-jf 
deny  that  it  moved  me  to  contemplate  tlie  oss  of 
my  remaining  daughter,  Jonas  —  I  am  afl  lid  we 
parents  are  selfish;  J  am  afraid  we  are  —  but  it 
has  ever  been  the  study  of  my  lifii  to  qualify  tiieiji 
for  the  domestic  hearth  ;  and  it  is  a  sphere  which 
Cherry  will  adorn." 

"  .She  need  adorn  some  sphere  or  other,"  ofj- 
served  his  son-ir.-law,  with  charming  frankness. 
"  For  she  aint  very  ornamental  in  general." 

"  My  girls  are  now  pinvided  for,"  said  Mr. 
Pfcksniff.  "  They  are  now  happily  provided  for; 
and  I  have  not  laboured  in  vain  I" 

This  is  exactly  what  Mr.  Pecksniff  would  have 
said,  if  one  of  his  daughters  had  drawn  a  prize 
of  thirty  thousand  pounds  in  the  lottery,  or  the 
other  had  picked  up  a  valuable  purse  in  the  street, 
which  nobody  appeared  to  claim.  In  either  of 
these  cases,  he  would  have  invoked  a  patriarclial 
blessing  on  the  fortunate  head,  with  great  solom. 
nity,  and  would  have  taken  immense  credit  to 
himself,  as  having  meant  it  from  tlie  infant's 
cradle. 

"  Suppose  we  talk  about  something  else,  now," 
observed  Jonas,  drily;  "just  tor  a  change.  Aro 
you  quite  agreeable?" 

"  Quite,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  Ah,  you  wag; 
you  naujrhty  wag  !  You  laugh  at  poor  old  fond 
papa.  Well!  He  de.serves  it.  And  he  don't 
mind  it  either,  for  his  feelings  are  their  own  re- 
ward.     You  have  come  to  stay  with  me,  Jonas  7" 

"No.     I  've  got  a  friend  with  me,"  said  Jonab. 

"  Bring  your  friend  !"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  in  a 
jTush  of  fiospitality.  "  Bring  any  number  of  you/ 
friends  I" 


202 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"  This  aint  the  sort  of  man  to  be  bruUght,"  said 
Jonas,  contemptuously.  "  I  think:  1  sue  myself 
*  bringing'  him  to  your  house,  for  a  treat  I 
Tliank'ee  all  the  same  ;  but  he  's  a  little  too  near 
the  top  of  the  tree  for  that,  Pecksniff." 

The  good  man  pricked  up  his  ears  ;  his  interest 
was  awakened.  A  position  near  the  top  of  the 
tree  was  greatness,  virtue,  goodness,  sense,  genius ; 
or,  it  should  rather  be  suid,  a  dispensation  from 
all,  an  J  in  itself  sornetlung  immeasurably  better 
thun  all ;  with  Mr.  Pecksniff.  A  man  who  was 
able  to  look  down  upon  Mr.  Pecksniff,  could  not 
be  looked  up  at,  by  tli;it  gentleman,  witli  too  great 
an  amount  of  deference,  or  from  a  position  of  too 
much  huuiility.  So  it  always  is  with  great 
spirits 

"  I  '11  tell  you  what  you  may  do,  if  you  like," 
said  Jonas :  "  you  m;iy  come  and  dine  with  us  at 
the  Dragon.  We  were  Ibrced  to  come  down  to 
Salisbury,  last  niglil,  on  some  business,  and  I  got 
liiiii  to  bring  me  over  here  this  morning,  in  liis 
carriiige ;  at  leasl,  not  his  own  carriage,  for  we 
had  a  break-down  in  the  night,  but  one  we  hired 
instead;  ii 's  all  the  same.  Mind  what  you're 
about,  you  know.  He's  not  used  to  all  sorts  ;  he 
only  mixes  witli  the  best  I' 

"  Some  young  nobleman  who  has  been  borrow- 
ing money  of  you  at  good  interest,  eh  ?"  said  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  sliaking  his  forelinger  facetiously.  "  I 
shall  be  delighted  to  know  tlie  gay  sprig.'* 

*'  Borrowing  !"  echoed  Jonas.  "  Borrowing  ! 
When  you  're  a  twentieth  part  as  rich  as  he  is, 
you  may  siiut  up  shop !  We  should  be  pretty 
well  off,  if  we  could  buy  his  fiirnilure,  and  plute, 
and  pictures,  by  clubbing  togetiier.  A  likely  man 
to  borrow:  Mr.  Montague  I  Why,  since  I  was 
lucky  enoug!)  (come!  and  I  '11  say,  sharp  enough, 
too)  to  get  a  share  in  the  Insurance  OtEce  that 
he's  President  of,  1  've  made  —  never  n)ind  what 
I  've  made,"  said  Jonas,  seeming  to  recover  all  at 
once  his  usuiil  caution.  "  You  know  me  pretty 
well,  and  I  don't  blub  p.bout  such  things.  But, 
Ecod,  I  've  made  a  tritle." 

"  Keally,  niy  dear  Jonas,"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
with  mucii  warmth,  "a  g<?ntleman  like  this  should 
receive  some  attention.  Would  he  like  to  see  the 
church  ?  Or  if  he  has  a  taste  for  the  fine  arts — 
wliich  I  have  no  doubt  he  has,  from  the  descrip- 
tion you  give  of  his  circumstances  —  I  can  send 
him  down  a,  few  portfolios.  Salisbury  Cathedral, 
my  dear  Jonas,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff;  the  mention 
of  the  portfolios,  and  his  anxiety  to  display  him- 
self to  advantage,  suggesting  his  usual  plirase- 
ology  in  that  regard  ;  "  is  an  edifice  replete  with 
venerable  associations,  and  strikmgly  suggestive 
of  the  loftiest  emotions.  It  is  here  we  contem- 
plutc  the  work  of  bygone  ages.  It  is  here  we 
listrn  to  the  swelling  organ,  as  we  stroll  through 
the  reverberating  aisles.  We  have  drawings  of 
liiis  celebrated  structure  from  the  North,  from  the 
Souti),  from  tiie  East,  from  the  West,  from  tiie 
Soulh-Iv.ist,  from  the  Nor-West " 

During  this  digression,  and  indeed  during  the 
whole  dialoiruo,  Jonas  had  been  rocking  on  his 
chair,  with  liis  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  head 
tJirown  cunningly  on  one  side,  ile  lookeil  at  Mr. 
Pecksniff  now  with  such  shrewd  meaning  twink- 
'ing  in  his  eyes,  that  Mr.  Pixksnilf  stopped,  and 
nuKcd  him  what  he  was  goiny  to  say. 

"  Ecod  ."  he  answered.     "  Pecksnilf,  if  1  knew 


how  you  meant  to  leave  your  money,  1  could  put 
you  in  the  way  of  doubling  it,  in  no  time.  It 
wouldn't  be  bad  to  keep  a  chance  like  this  snug 
in  the  family.     But  you  're  such  a  deep  one  !" 

"Jonas!"  cried  Mr.  Pecksniff,  much  affected, 
"I  am  not  a  diplomatical  character:  my  hear?  ia 
in  my  hand.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  in- 
considerable savings  I  have  accumulated  in  the 
course  of — I  hope — a  not  dishonourable  or  useless 
career,  is  already  given,  devised,  and  bequeathed 
(correct  me,  my  dear  Jonas,  if  I  am  technically 
wrong),  with  expressions  of  confidence,  which  I 
will  not  repeat;  and  in  securities  which  it  is  un- 
necessary to  mention  ;  to  a  person,  whom  I  can- 
not, whom  I  will  not,  whom  I  need  not,  name." 
Here  he  gave  the  hand  of  his  son-in-law  a  fervent 
squeeze,  as  if  he  would  have  added,  "  God  bless 
you  ;  be  very  care-lul  of  it  when  you  get  it  !" 

Mr.  Jonas  only  shook  his  head  and  laughed, 
and,  seeming  to  think  better  of  what  he  had  hud 
in  his  mind,  said,  "  No.  He  would  keep  his  own 
counsel."  But  as  he  observed  tliut  he  vvould  take 
a  walk,  Mr.  Pecksniff  insisted  on  accompanying 
him,  remarking  that  he  could  leave  a  card  tiir 
Mr.  Montague,  as  they  went  along,  by  way 
of  gentleman-usher  to  himself  at  dinner-time. 
Which  he  did. 

In  the  course  of  their  walk,  Mr.  Jonas  affected 
to  maintain  that  close  reserve  which  had  operated 
"s  a  timely  check  upon  him  during  the  foregoing 
dialogue.  And  as  he  made  no  attempt  to  con- 
ciliate Mr.  Pecksniff,  but,  on  the  contrary,  was 
more  boorish  and  rude  to  him  than  usual,  that 
gentleman,  so  far  from  suspecting;  his  real  design, 
laid  himself  out  to  be  attacked  witli  advantage. 
For  it  is  in  the  nature  of  a  knave  to  think  the 
tools  with  which  he  works  indispensable  to 
knavery  ;  and  knowing  what  he  would  do  him- 
self in  such  a  case,  Mr.  Pecksniff  argued,  "  if  this 
young  man  wanted  anything  of  me  lor  his  own 
ends,  he  would  be  polite  and  deferential." 

The  more  Jonas  repelled  him  in  his  hints  and 
inquiries,  the  more  solicitous,  therefore,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff became  to  be  initiated  into  tlie  golden  mys- 
teries at  which  he  had  obscurely  glanced.  Why 
should  there  be  cold  and  worldly  secrets,  he  ob- 
served, between  relations?  What  was  life  with- 
out confidence  ?  If  the  chosen  husband  of  hia 
daughter,  the  man  to  whom  he  bad  delivered  her 
with  so  much  pride  and  ho()e,  sueh  bounding  and 
such  beaming  joy  ;  if  he  were  not  a  green  spot  in 
the  barren  waste  of  litt^,  where  was  that  Oasis  to 
be  found  ? 

Little  did  Mr.  Pecksniff  think  on  what  a  very 
green  spot  he  planted  one  foot  at  that  moment 
Little  did  he  foresee  when  he  said,  "  All  is  buc 
dust  I"  how  very  shortly  he  would    come  down 
with  his  own  ! 

Inch  by  inch,  in  his  grudging  and  ill-condition- 
ed way  :  sustained  to  the  life,  for  the  hope  of 
making  .Mr.  Pecksniff  suffer  in  that  tender  place, 
the  pocket,  where  Jonas  smarted  so  terribly  him- 
self,  gave  him  an  additional  and  malicious  interest 
in  the  wiles  he  was  set  on  to  practise  :  incli  by 
inch,  and  bit  by  bit,  Jonas  rulber  allowed  the 
da/./.liiig  j)rospei'ts  of  the  .Anglo- Bengalee  estab- 
lishment to  escape  him,  than  puruded  them  before 
his  greedy  listener.  And  in  the  same  niggardly 
spirit,  he  left  Mr.  Pecksniff  to  infer,  if  he  cliodc 
(which  he  did  choose,  of  course;,  that  a  cunsciuiw 


MARTIN   CIIUZZLEWIT. 


2btl 


oess  of  not  having  any  great  natural  gifts  of 
Bpeecli  and  manner  hiinaelf,  rendered  hiin  d>'sir- 
3US  to  have  llie  credit  of  introducing  to  !SIr.  Mon- 
tague some  one  who  was  well  endowed  in  tliose 
rtspects,  and  so  atone  for  his  own  deficiencies. 
Otherwise,  he  muttered  discontentedly,  he  would 
have  seen  his  beloved  father-in-law  "  far  enough 
off,"  before  he  would  have  taken  him  into  his  con- 
fidence. 

Primed  in  this  artful  manner,  Mr.  Pecksniff 
presented  himself  at  dinner-time  in  such  a  state 
of  suavity,  benevolence,  cheerfulness,  politeness, 
and  Cordiality,  as  even  he  had  perhaps  never 
attained  before.  The  frankness  of  the  country 
gentleman,  the  refinement  of  the  artist,  the  good- 
humoured  allowance  of  the  man  of  the  world  ; 
philanthropy,  forbearance,  piety,  toleration,  all 
blended  together  in  a  flexible  adaptability  to  any- 
thing and  everything;  were  expressed  in  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  as  he  shook  hands  with  the  great 
speculator  and  capitalist. 

"Welcome,  respected  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
"to  our  immble  village  I  We  are  a  simple  peo- 
ple; primitive  clods,  Mr.  Montague;  but  we  can 
appreciate  the  honour  of  your  visit,  as  my  dear 
son-in-law  can  testify.  It  is  very  strange,"  said 
Mr.  Pecksniff,  pressing  his  hand  almost  reveren- 
tially, "  but  I  seem  to  know  you.  That  towering 
forehead,  my  dear  Jonas,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff, 
aside,  "  and  those  clustering  masses  of  rich  hair 
—  I  must  have  seen  you,  my  dear  sir,  in  the 
sparkling  throng." 

Nothing  was  more  probable,  they  all  agreed. 

"  I  could  have  wished,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  "  to 
have  had"  the  honour  of  introducing  you  to  an 
elderly  inmate  of  our  house :  to  the  uncle  of  our 
friend.  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  Sir,  would  have  been 
proud  indeed  to  have  taken  you  by  the  hand." 

"  Is  the  gentleman  here  now  ?"  asked  Mon- 
tague, turning  deeply  red, 

"  He  is,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"  You  Slid  nothing  about  that,  Chuzzlewit." 

"I  didn't  suppose  you'd  care  to  hear  of  it," 
returned  Jonas.  "  You  wouldn't  care  to  know 
him,  I  can  promise  you." 

"Jonas!  my  dear  Jonas  I"  remonstrated  Mr. 
Pecksniff.     "  Really !" 

"Oil  !  it's  all  very  well  for  you  to  speak  up 
for  him,"  said  Jonas.  "You  have  nailed  him. 
You  '11  get  a  fortune  by  him." 

"O  ho!  Is  the  wind  in  that  quarter!"  cried 
Montague.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  I"  and  here  they  all 
laughed — especially  Mr.  Pecksniff. 

"No,  no!"  said  that  gentleman,  clapping  his 
8on-in-l.iw  pi  lyfiilly  uiwn  the  shoulder.  "  Yon 
must  not  believe  all  that  my  young  relative  says, 
Mr.  M'>ntagne.  You  may  believe  him  in  otHcial 
business,  and  trust  him  in  official  business,  but 
you  must  not  attach  importance  to  his  flights  of 
fancy," 

"Upon  my  life,  Mr.  Pecksniff,"  cried  Mon- 
tag'Me,  "  I  attach  the  greatest  importance  to  that 
Sal  observation  of  his.  I  trust  and  hope  it's 
tl -e.  Money  cannot  be  turned  and  turned  again 
quickly  rnnug'i  in  the  ordinary  course,  Mr.  Pock- 
sniff.  There  is  notiiiMg- like  building  our  furtunes 
on  the  wenkne.-ses  of  mankind." 

"  Oh,  fie  I  (Jh,  fie  !  Oh,  fie,  for  shame  !"  cried 
Mr.  Pecksnifi'.  But  they  all  laughed  again  — 
especially  Mr.  Pecksniff. 


I       "  I  give  you  my  honour  that  we  do  it,"  said 
Monl.igue. 

"  On,  fie,  fie  I"  cried  Mr.  PccksnilT.  "  You  are 
very  pleasant.  That  1  am  sure  you  don't  I  Tint 
I  am  sure  you  don't  I   How  can  you,  you  know  ?" 

Again  they  all  laughed  in  concert;  and  agaja 
Mr.  Pecksniff  laughed  especially. 

This  was  very  agreeable,  indted.  It  was  con- 
fidential,  easy,  straight-forward  ;  and  still  lefl  .Mr. 
Pecksniff  inthe  position  of  being  m  a  gentle  w.'T 
the  Mentor  of  the  party.  The  greatest  achieva. 
ments  in  the  article  of  cookery  that  the  Dragon 
had  ever  performed,  were  set  before  them ;  the 
oldest  and  best  wines  in  the  Dragon's  cellar  saw 
the  light  on  that  occasion  ;  a  thousand  bubbles, 
indicative  of  the  wealth  and  station  of  Mr.  Mon. 
tague  in  the  depths  of  his  pursuits,  were  con- 
stantly rising  to  the  surface  of  the  conversation; 
and  they  were  as  frank  and  merry  as  three  honest 
men  could  be.  Mr.  Pecksniff  thought  it  a  pity  ; 
he  said  so;  that  Mr.  Montague  should  think  light- 
ly of  mankind  and  their  weaknesses.  He  was 
anxious  upon  this  subject;  his  mind  ran  upon  it; 
in  one  way  or  other  he  was  constmtly  coming 
back  to  it;  he  must  make  a  convert  of  him,  lie 
s  lid.  And  as  often  as  Mr.  .Montague  repeated  his 
sentiment  about  building  fortunes  on  the  weak. 
nesses  of  mankind,  and  added  frankly,  "  We  do 
it!"  just  as  often  Mr.  Pecksniff  repeated,  "Oh, 
fie  1  Oh,  fie,  for  shame !  I  am  sure  you  don't. 
How  can  you,  you  know  I"  laying  a  gieattr  stress 
each  time  on  those  last  words. 

The  frequent  repetition  of  this  playful  inquiry 
on  the  part  of  Mr.  Pecksniff,  led  at  last  to  playful 
answers  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Montague;  but  after 
some  little  sharp-shooting  on  both  sides,  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff became  grave,  almost  to  tears;  observing 
that  if  Mr.  Montague  would  give  him  leave,  he 
would  drink  the  health  of  his  young  kinsman, 
-Mr.Jonas  :  congratulating  him  upon  the  valuable 
and  distinguished  friendship  he  had  formed,  but 
envying  him,  he  would  confess,  his  usefulness  to 
his  fellow-creatures.  For  if  he  under'stood  the 
objects  of  that  Institution  with  wiiii.'h  he  was 
newly  and  advantageously  connected — knowing 
them  but  imperfectly — they  were  calculated  to  do 
Good;  and  for  his  (Mr.  PecksnitTs)  part,  if  he 
could  in  any  way  promote  them,  he  thought  he 
would  be  able  to  lay  his  head  upon  his  pillow 
every  night,  with  an  absolute  certainty  of  going 
to  sleep  at  once. 

The  transition  from  this  accidental  remark  (for 
it  was  quite  accidental,  and  had  fallen  from  Mr. 
Pecksniff  in  the  openness  of  his  soul),  to  the  dis- 
cussion  of  the  subject  as  a  matter  of  business, 
was  easy.  Books,  papers,  statements,  tables,  cal. 
culations  of  various  kinds,  were  soon  spread  out 
before  them  ;  and  as  they  were  all  framed  with 
one  object,  it  is  not  surprising  that  they  should  all 
have  tended  to  one  end.  But  still,  whenevc/ 
Montague  enlarged  upon  the  profits  of  the  office, 
and  said  that  as  long  as  there  witc  gnWs  upon  the 
wing  it  must  succeed,  Mr.  Pecksniff  mildly  said, 
"  Oh,  fie  I" — and  might  indeed  have  remonstrated 
with  him,  but  that  he  knew  he  was  joking.  Mr 
Pecksniff  did  know  he  was  joking ;  because  Im 
said  so. 

There  never  had  been  before,  and  there  never 
would  bo  again,  such  an  opportunity  for  i.'ie  IB 
vestment  of  a  considerable  sum  (the  rate  of  wd 


264 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


vantage  increased  in  proportion  to  the  amount 
invested),  as  at  that  moment.  The  onl)'  liiiu'  that 
had  at  all  approacht-d  it,  was  the  time  when  Jonas 
had  come  into  the  concern;  which  nnide  him  ill- 
natured  now,  and  inclined  him  to  pick  out  a  doubt 
in  this  place,  and  a  tlaw  in  that,  and  ^rumbliii};ly 
to  advise  Mr.  Pecksniff  to  think  better  of  it.  The 
sum  which  would  complete  the  proprietorship  in 
this  snun-  concern,  was  nearly  equal  to  iVIr.  Peck- 
sniff's whole  hoard  :  not  counting  Mr.  Chuzzlewil, 
that  is  to  say,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  money  in 
the  Bank,  the  possession  of  which  inclined  him 
the  more  to  make  a  dash  with  his  own  private 
KI)rats  for  the  capture  of  such  a  whale  as  Mr. 
Montnguo  described.  The  returns  began  almost 
immediately,  and  were  immense.  The  end  of  it 
was,  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  agreed  to  become  the  last 
partner  and  proprietor  in  the  Anglo-Bengalee,  and 
made  an  appointment  to  dine  with  Mr.  Montague, 
at  Salisbury,  on  the  next  day  but  one,  then  and 
there  to  complete  the  negotiation. 

It  took  so  long  to  bring  the  subject  to  this  head, 
that  it  was  nearly  midnight  when  they  parted. 
When  Mr.  Pecksniff  walked  down  stairs  to  the 
door,  he  found  Mrs. Lupin  standing  there:  look- 
ing out. 

"Ah,  my  good  friend!"  he  said:  "not  a-bed 
yet!     Contemplating  the  stars,  Mrs.  Lupin?" 

"  It's  a  beautiful  starlight  night,  Sir." 

"A  beautiful  starlight  night,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff,  looking  up.     "  Behold  the  planets,  how  they 

ehine  !  Behold  the those  two  persons  who  were 

here  this  morning,  liave  left  your  house,  I  hope, 
Mrs.  Lupin  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir.     They  are  gone." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff. 
"Behold  the  wonders  of  the  firmament,  Mrs. 
Lupin  !  How  glorious  is  this  scene  !  When  I  look 
«p  at  those  shining  orbs,  I  think  that  each  of  them 
is  winking  to  the  other  to  take  notice  of  the  vanity 
of  men's  pursuits.  My  fellow-men  I"  cried  Mr. 
Pecksniff,  shaking  his  head  in  pity;  "you  are 
much  mistaken ;  my  wormy  relatives,  you  are 
much  deceived  !  The  stars  are  perfectly  contented 
(I  su()pose  so)  in  their  several  spheres.  Why  are 
not  you  ?  Oh  !  do  not  strive  and  struggle  to 
enrich  yourselves,  or  to  grt  the  better  of  each 
other,  my  deluded  friends,  but  look  up  there,  with 
me !" 

Mrs.  Ijtipin  shook  her  head,  and  heaved  a  sigh. 
It  was  very  affecting. 

"  r>ook  up  there,  with  me  !"  repeated  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, stretching  out  his  h.md  ;  "  with  me,  an  hum- 
ble individuni  who  is  also  an  Insect  like  yoiir- 
P'  Ives.  Can  silver,  (J^old,  or  precious  stones,  sparkle 
nkc  those  constellations?  I  think  not.  Then  do 
n"t  thirst  for  silver,  gold,  or  precious  stones;  but 
look  up  there,  with  me!" 

Witli  these  words,  the  good  man  patted  Mrs. 
Lupin's  hand  l)et\vfi>ii  his  own,  as  if  he  would 
have  added,  "think  of  this,  my  yood  woman  I" 
and  walked  away  in  a  sort  of  ecstasy  or  rapture, 
with  his  hat  under  his  arm. 

.lonas  sat  in  the  attitude  in  which  Mr.Pcek- 
tniff  had  kll  him,  gaznig  moodily  at  ins   friend: 


who,  surrounded  by  a  heap  of  documents,  wax 
writing  something  on  an  oblong  slip  of  paper. 

"  You  mean  to  wail  at  Salisbury  over  the  dav 
after  to-morrow,  do  you,  men  .'"  said  Jonas. 

"  You  heard  our  ap()ointment,"  returned  Mon 
tague,  without  raising  liis  eyes.  "  Is  any  case  1 
should  have  wailed  to  see  after  the  boy." 

They  appeared  to  have  changed  places  again; 
Montague  being  in  high  spirits ;  and  Jonas 
gloomy  and  lowering. 

"  You  don't  want  me,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Jonas. 

"  I  want  you  to  put  your  name  here,"  he  re- 
turned,  glancing  at  him  with  a  smile,  "  as  soon  as 
I  have  tilled  up  the  stamp.  I  may  as  well  have 
your  note  of  hand  for  that  extra  capital.  That 's 
all  I  want.  If  you  wish  to  go  home,  I  can  man- 
age Mr.  Pecksniff  now,  alone.  There  is  a  perlect 
understanding  between  us." 

Jonas  sat  scowling  at  him  as  he  wrote,  in 
silence.  When  he  had  finished  his  writing,  and 
had  dried  it  on  the  blotting-paper  in  his  travel- 
ling-desk ;  he  looked  up,  and  tossed  the  pen 
towards  him. 

"  What,  not  a  day's  grace,  not  a  day's  trust, 
eh  ?"  said  Jonas,  bitterly,  "  Not  after  the  pains 
I  have  taken  with  to-night's  work  ?" 

"To-night's  work  was  a  part  of  our  bargain," 
replied  Montague;  "and  so  was  this." 

"  You  drive  a  hard  bargain,"  .said  Jonas,  at 
vancing  to  the  table.     "  You  know  best.     Give  it 
h.re!" 

Montague  gave  him  the  paper.  After  pausing 
as  if  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  put  his 
name  to  it,  Jonas  dipped  his  pen  hastily  in  the 
nearest  inkstand,  and  began  to  write.  But  he  had 
scarcely  marked  the  paper  wlien  lie  started  back, 
in  a  panic. 

"  Why,  what  the  devil 's  this?"  he  said.  "  It 's 
bloody  I" 

He  had  dipped  the  pen,  as  another  moment 
showed,  into  red  ink.  But  he  attached  a  strange 
degree  of  importance  to  the  mistake.  He  asked 
how  it  had  come  then-,  who  had  brought  it,  why 
it  had  been  brought ;  and  looked  at  Montague,  at 
first,  as  it  he  thought  he  had  put  a  trick  upon 
him.  Even  when  he  used  a  different  pen,  and  the 
right  ink,  he  made  some  scratclies  on  another 
paper  first,  as  half-believing  they  v.'ould  turn  red 
also. 

"Black  enough,  this  time,"  he  said,  handing 
the  note  to  Montague.     "  Good-bye  !" 

"Going  now  !  How  do  you  mean  to  get  awaj 
from  here  ?" 

"  I  shall  cross  early  in  the  morning,  to  the  high 
road,  before  you  are  out  of  bed  ;  ai»d  catch  tlio 
day-coach,  going  up.     Good-bye  !" 

"  You  are  in  a  hurry  I" 

"  I  have  Something  to  do,"  said  Jonas.  "Good 
bye !" 

His  friend  looked  aler  him  as  he  went  out, 
surprise,  which  gradually  gave  place  to  aa  uir  of 
satisfaction  and  relief 

"  It  happens  all  the  better.  It  brings  about 
what  I  wanted,  without  any  difficulty,  f  shAti 
travel  liome  alone." 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT, 


205 


CHAPTER  XLV 


IN  WHICH  TO?^  PINCH  AND  HIS  SISTER  TAKE  A  LITTLE  PLEASURE;  BUT 
QUITE  IN  A  DOMESTIC  WAY,  AND  WITH  NO  CEREMONY.  ABOUT  IT. 


Tom  Pinch  and  his  sisler  having  to  part,  for  the 
desputcli  of  the  rnoriiin^r's  business,  immediately 
after  the  dispersion  of  the  other  actors  in  tiie  scene' 
upon  the  wharf  with  which  the  reader  has  been 
ahead)'  made  acquainted,  had  no  opportunity  of 
discussing'  the  subject  at  that  time.  But  Tom,  in 
las  solitary  office,  and  Ruth,  in  the  triangular 
parlour,  thought  about  nothing  else  all  day;  and, 
when  their  hour  of  meeting  in  the  afternoon  ap- 
proached, they  were  very  full  of  it,  to  be  sure. 

There  was  a  little  plot  between  them,  that  Tom 
should  always  come  out  of  the  Temple  by  one 
Way  ;  and  that  was,  past  the  Fountain.  Coming 
tlirougii  Fountain  Court,  he  was  just  to  glance 
down  the  steps  leading  into  Garden  Court,  and  to 
look,  once  all  round  him  ;  and  if  Ruth  had  come 
to  meet  him,  there  he  would  see  her ;  not  saun- 
ttring,  you  understand  (on  account  of  the  clerks), 
but  coming  briskly  up,  with  the  best  little  laugh 
upon  her  face  that  ever  played  in  opposition  to 
tiio  Fountain,  and  beat  it  all  to  notiiing.  For, 
fifty  to  one,  Tom  had  been  looking  for  her  in  the 
wrong  direction,  and  had  quite  given  her  up, 
while  she  had  been  tripping  tovi'ards  him  from 
the  first:  jingling  that  little  reticule  of  hers  (with 
all  the  keys  in  it)  to  attract  his  wandering  obser- 
vation. 

Whether  there  was  life  enough  left  in  the  slow 
vegetation  ot  Fountain  Court  for  the  smoky  shrubs 
to  have  any  consciousness  of  the  brightest  and 
purest-hearted  little  woman  in  the  world,  is  a 
question  for  gardeners,  and  those  who  are  learned 
in  the  loves  of  plants.  But,  that  it  was  a  good 
tiling  tor  that  same  paved  yard  to  have  such  a 
delicate  little  figure  through  it;  that  it  passed  like 
a  smile  from  the  grimy  old  houses,  and  the  worn 
flagstones,  and  left  them  duller,  darker,  sterner 
than  before;  there  is  no  sort  of  doubt.  The  Tem- 
ple fountain  might  have  leaped  up  twenty  feet  to 
greet  the  spring  of  hopeful  maidenhood,  that  in 
her  person  Ftole  on,  sparkling,  through  the  dry 
and  dusty  channels  of  the  Law  ;  tlie  cliirping 
sj)arrovvs,  bred  in  'I'emple  chinks  and  crannies, 
might  have  held  tiieir  peace  to  listen  to  imaginary 
skylarks,  as  so  fresh  a  little  creature  passed  :  the 
dingy  bousfhs,  unused  to  droop,  otherwise  than  in 
their  puny  growth,  might  have  bent  down  in  a 
kindred  griicefulness,  to  shed  their  benedictions 
oil  her  graceul  head  ;  old  love-letters,  shut  up  in 
iron  boxes  in  the  neighbouring  offices,  and  made 
of  no  account  among  the  heaps  of  family  papers 
into  which  they  had  strayed,  and  of  which,  in 
tiieir  degeneracy,  they  .'ormed  a  part,  might  have 
stirred  and  liuttered  with  a  moment's  recollection 
ol' their  ancient  tenderness,  as  she  went  lightly  by. 
Anything  might  have  happened  that  did  not  hap- 
pen, and  ne^er  will,  for  the  love  of  Ruth. 

Somt-thing  happened,  >oo,  upon  the  afternoon 
of  which  the  history  treats.  N^t  lor  her  love.  Oh 
H'l  I  quite  by  accident,  and  without  the  least  refer- 
ence to  her  at  all. 

Either  she  was  a  little  too  soon,  oi  Tom  was  a 
34 


little  too  late — she  was  so  precis.;  in  general,  that 
she  timed  it  to  half  a  minute — but  no  Tom  was 
there.  Well!  But  was  anybody  else  there,  that 
she  blushed  so  deeply,  after  looking  round,  and 
tripped  off  down  the  steps  with  such  unusual  ex- 
pedition ? 

Why,  the  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Westlock  was  pass- 
ing at  that  moment.  The  Temple  is  a  public 
thoroughfare  ;  Ihcy  may  write  up  on  the  gates 
that  it  is  not,  but  so  long  as  the  gates  are  left  open 
it  is,  and  will  be  ;  and  Mr.  Westlock  had  as  good  a 
right  to  be  there  as  anybody  else.  But  why  did 
she  run  away,  then  ?  Not  being  ill-dressed,  for 
she  was  much  too  neat  for  that,  why  did  she  run 
away  ?  The  brown  hair  that  had  fallen  down  be. 
neath  her  bonnet,  and  had  one  impertinent  imp 
of  a  false  flower  clinging  to  it,  tioastlul  of  ita 
license  before  all  men,  that  could  not  have  been 
the  cause,  for  it  looked  charming.  Oh  !  foolish, 
panting,  frightened  little  heart;  why  did  she  run 
away  ! 

Merrily  the  tiny  fountain  played,  and  merrily 
the  dimples  sparkled  on  its  sunny  fice.  John 
Westlock  hurried  after  her.  Softly  the  whispei- 
ing  water  broke  and  fell,  and  roguishly  the  dim- 
ples twinkled,  as  he  stole  upon   her  footsteps. 

Oh,  foolish,  panting,  timid  little  heart,  why  did 
she  feign  to  be  unconscious  of  his  coming  I  Why 
wish  herself  so  far  away,  yet  be  so  fluileringly 
happy  there  I 

"  I  felt  sure  it  was  you,"  said  John,  when  he 
overtook  her  in  the  sanctuary  of  Garden  Court 
"I  knew  I  couldn't  be  mistaken." 

She  was  so  surprised  ! 

"  You  are  waiting  for  your  brother,"  said  John, 
"  Let  me  bear  you  company." 

So  light  was  the  touch  of  the  coy  little  hand, 
that  he  glanced  down  to  assure  himself  he  had  it 
on  his  arm.  But  his  glance,  stopping  for  an  in- 
stant at  the  bright  eyes,  forgot  its  first  design,  and 
went  no  farther. 

They  walked  up  and  down  three  or  four  times, 
speaking  about  Tom  and  his  mysterious  employ- 
ment. Now  that  was  a  very  natural  and  innocent 
subject,  surely.  Then  why,  whenever  Ruth  litled 
up  her  eyes,  did  she  let  them  fall  again  imme- 
diately,  and  seek  the  uncongenial  pavement  of  the 
court?  They  were  not  such  eyes  as  shun  the 
light ;  they  were  not  such  eyes  as  require  to  bo 
hoarded  to  enhance  their  value.  They  were  much 
too  precious  and  too  genuine  to  stand  in  need  of 
arts  like  those.  Somebody  must  have  been  look 
ing  at  them  I 

They  found  out  Tom,  though,  quickly  enough. 
This  pair  of  eyes  descried  him  in  the  distance,  thti 
moment  he  appeared.  He  was  staring  about  him 
as  usual,  in  all  directions  but  the  right  one;  and 
was  as  obstinate  in  not  looking  towards  them,  ai 
if  he  had  intended  it.  As  it  was  plain  that,  being 
left  to  himself,  he  would  walk  away  home,  John 
Westlock  darted  off  to  stoo  him. 

This  made  ths  approach  of  poor  httle  Ruth,  bj 


266 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


herself,  one  of  the  most  embarrassing  of  circmii- 
Btances.  Tliere  was  Tom,  manifesting  extreme 
surprise  (he  had  no  presence  of  rniiKJ,  ili:it  Tom, 
on  small  occ.isions)  ;  there  was  John,  iiiaking  as 
light  of  it  as  iic  could,  but  explaining  at  the  same 
time,  with  most  utmecessar}'  elaboration;  and 
here  was  she,  coming  towards  them,  with  both 
of  them  looking  iit  her,  conscious  of  blushing  to  a. 
Itrrible  extent,  but  trying  to  throw  up  her  eye- 
brows Carelessly,  and  pout  her  rosy  lips,  as  if  she 
were  the  coolest  and  most  unconcerned  of  little 
Women. 

Merrily  tiie  fjuntain  plashed  and  plashed,  until 
the  dimples,  merging  into  one  another,  swelled 
into  a  general  smile,  that  covered  the  wiiole  sur- 
face of  tiie  basin. 

"  VVh;il  an  extraordinary  meeting!"  said  Tom. 
"  I  should  never  have  dreamed  of  seeing  you  two 
together,  here." 

"  Quite  accidental,"  John  was  heard  to  murmur. 

"Exictly,"  cried  Tom;  "that's  what  I  mean, 
you  know.  If  it  wasn't  accidental,  there  would 
be  nothing  remarkable  in  it." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  John. 

"Such  an  out-ol-the-way  place  for  you  to  have 
met  in,"  pursued  Tom,  quite  delighted.  "  Such 
an  unlikely  spot  I" 

John  rather  disputed  that.  On  the  contrary,  he 
considered  it  a  very  likely  spot,  indeed.  He  was 
constantly  passing  to  and  fro  there,  he  said.  He 
shouldn't  wonder  if  it  were  to  happen  again.  His 
only  wonder  was,  that  it  had  never  happened 
before. 

By  this  time  Ruth  had  got  on  the  further  side 
of  her  brother,  and  had  taken  his  arm.  She  was 
squeezing  it  now,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Are  you 
going  to  s(op  here  all  day,  you  dear,  old,  blunder- 
ing Tom  ?" 

Tom  answered  the  squeeze  as  if  it  liad  been  a 
speech.  "  John,"  he  said,  "  if  you'll  give  my  sis- 
ter  your  arm,  we'll  take  her  between  us,  and  walk 
on.  I  have  a  curious  circumstance  to  relate  to 
you.  Our  meeting  could  not  have  happened  bet- 
ter." 

Merrily  the  fountain  leaped  and  danced,  and 
merrily  the  smiling  dimples  twinkled  and  ex- 
panded more  and  more,  until  tliey  broke  into  a 
laugh  agiiinst  the  basin's  rim,  and  vanished. 

"Tom,"  said  his  friend,  as  they  turned  into  the 
noisy  street,  "  I  have  a  proposition  to  make.  It 
is,  that  you  and  your  sister  —  if  she  will  so  far 
Honour  a  poor  bachelor's  dwelling — give  me  a 
great  pleasure,  and  come  and  dine  with  me." 

"  What,  to-day  ?"  cried  Tom. 

"  Yes,  to  d.iy.  It's  close  by,  you  know.  Priy, 
Miss  I'inch,  insist  upon  it.  It  will  be  vi-ry  disin- 
terested, for  I  have  nothinjr  to  give  you." 

"Oh'  you  must  not  believe  th:it,  Ruth,"  said 
Tom  "He  is  the  most  tremendous  fellow,  in  his 
jioustkceping,  that  I  ever  heard  of,  for  a  single 
man.  He  ought  to  be  Lord  Mayor.  Well  I  what 
do  you  say  ?     Shall  we  go?" 

"If  you  please,  Tom,"  rejoined  his  dutiful  little 
Biatcr. 

"  Hut  I  moan,"  said  Tom,  regarding  her  with 
■iniling  admiration,  "  is  there  anything  you  ought 
lo  wear,  and  haven't  got  7  1  inn  sure  1  don't 
know,  John  :  she  may  not  be  able  to  take  her  bon- 
net off,  for  iinything  I  can  tell." 

There  was  a  great  deal  cf  laughing;  at  tliis,  and 


there  were  divers  compliments  from  John  Wex, 
lock — not  compliments,  he  said,  at  kast  (and  really 
he  was  right),  but  good,  plain,  honest  truths,  which 
no  one  could  deny.  Ruth  laughed,  and  all  that, 
but  she  made  no  objection  ;  so  it  was  an  engage 
ment. 

"  If  I  had  known  it  a  little  sooner,"  said  John, 
"  I  would  have  tried  another  pudding.  Not  ia 
rivalry;  but  merelj"  to  exalt  tliat  fiinous  one.  I 
wouldn't  on  any  account  have  had  it  made  witb 
suet." 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Tom. 

"  Because  that  cookery  book  advises  suet,"  said 
John  Westlock  ;  "and  our's  was  made  with  flour 
and  eggs." 

"  Oh  good  gracious  !"  cried  Tom.  "  Our's  was 
made  with  flour  and  eggs,  was  it  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 
A  beefsteak  pudding  made  with  flour  and  eggs! 
Why  anybody  knows  better  than  that.  /  know 
better  than  that !      Ha,  ha,  ha!" 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Tom  had  been 
present  at  the  making  of  the  pudding,  and  had 
been  a  devoted  believer  in  it  all  through.  But  he 
was  so  delighted  to  have  this  j(jke  against  his  busy 
little  sister,  and  was  tickkd  to  that  degree  at 
having  found  her  out,  that  he  stopped  in  Temple 
Bar  to  laugh  ;  and  it  was  no  more  to  Tom,  that 
he  was  anathematized  and  knocked  about  by  the 
surly  passengers,  than  it  would  have  been  to  a 
post ;  tor  he  continued  to  exclaim  with  unabated 
good  humour,  "  flour  and  eggs  !  a  beefsteak  pud- 
ding made  with  flour  and  eggs !"  until  John 
Westlock  and  his  sister  fairly  ran  away  from  him, 
and  left  him  to  have  his  laugh  out  by  himself; 
which  he  had  ;  and  then  came  dodging  across  the 
crowded  street  to  them,  with  such  sweet  temper 
and  tenderness  (it  was  quite  a  tender  joke  of 
Tom's)  beaming  in  his  face,  God  bless  it,  that  it 
might  have  pursued  the  air,  though  Temple  Bar 
had  been,  as  in  the  golden  days  gone  by,  embel- 
lished  with  a  row  of  rotting  human  heads. 

There  are  snug  chambers  in  tho.se  Inns'  where 
the  bachelors  live,  and,  ior  the  desolate  fellows 
they  pretend  to  be,  it  is  quite  surprising  how  well 
they  get  on.  John  was  very  pathetic  on  the  sub- 
ject  of  his  dreary  life,  and  the  deplorable  make> 
shifts  and  apologetic  contrivances  it  involved;  but 
he  really  seemed  to  make  hfmriclf  pretty  comfort- 
able.  His  rooms  were  the  p;rlection  of  neatness 
and  convenience  at  any  rate;  and  if  he  were  any- 
thing but  comfortable,  the  fault  was  certainly  not 
theirs. 

He  had  no  sooner  ushered  T^-n  and  his  sister 
into  his  best  room  (where  there  was  a  beautiful 
little  vase  of  fresh  flowers  on  the  table,  all  ready 
for  Ruth — just  as  if  he  had  exp-^cted  her,  Tom 
said),  than  seizing  his  hat,  he  bustled  out  again,  in 
his  most  energetically  bustling  way;  and  pre- 
sently came  hurrying  back,  as  they  stiw  through 
the  half-opened  door,  atten<led  by  a  tlery-faced 
matron  attired  in  a  crunched  bonnet,  with  particu- 
larly long  strings  to  it  hansring  down  her  back ; 
in  coiijunelii)n  with  whom,  he  instantly  began  to 
lay  the  cloth  tor  dinner,  polishing  up  the  wine- 
glasses  with  his  own  hands,  brightening  the  silvB» 
top  of  the  ijcpper-castor  on  his  coat-sleeve,  draw, 
ing  corks  and  fllling  d(!eanters,  with  a  skill  una 
expeditii)!!  that  were  quite  dazzling.  And  as  if, 
in  the  ourso  of  this  rubbing  and  polishi  ig,  ht 
iiad  rubbed  an  enchanted  lump  or  a  magic  ring, 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWir. 


267 


obedient  to  which  tliere  were  twenty  thousand 
iupernatural  slaves  at  least,  suddenly  there  ap- 
j<eared  a  being-  in  a  white  waistcoat,  carryiiiji 
iinder  his  arm  a  napkin,  and  attended  by  another 
being-  with  an  obionf;  box  upon  his  head,  t'roin 
which  a  banquet,  piping  hoi,  was  taken  out  and 
Bet  upon  the  table. 

Salmon,  l.unb,  peas,  innonent  young  potatoes,  a 
Cool  sal.d,  sliced  eucuuilier,  guine.i-fowl,  and  tart 
— all  there.  They  all  eaim-  at  the  right  time. 
Where  they  came  I'roin  didn't  appear;  but  the 
oblong  box  was  constantly  going  and  coming,  atid 
making  its  arrival  known  to  the  man  in  the  u  liiti^ 
wuistco:it  by  bumping  modestly  ag-iinst  the  out- 
side ot'  the  door;  for,  after  its  first  appearance,  it 
entered  the  room  no  more.  IJe  was  never  sur- 
prised, this  man;  he  never  seemed  to  wonder  at 
the  extraordinary  things  lie  found  in  the  box;  but 
took  them  out  with  a  iiice  expressive  ol'  a  steady 
purpose  and  impenetrable  character,  and  put  them 
tn  the  table.  He  was  a  kind  man;  gentle  in  his 
manners,  and  much  interested  in  what  they  ate 
and  drank,  fie  was  a  learned  man,  and  knew  the 
flavour  of  John  Westloek's  private  sauces,  which 
he  soltly  and  ♦eelingly  described,  as  he  handed  the 
little  bottles  round.  He  was  a  grave  man,  and  a 
noiseless;  for  dinner  bt:ing  done,  and  wine  and 
fi  uil  arranged  upon  the  board,  he  vanished,  box 
and  all,  like  something  that  had  never  been. 

"  Didn't  I  say  he  was  a  tremendous  fellow  in 
his  h(iusekeeping  ?"  cried  Tom.  "  Bless  my  soul! 
It 's  wonderful." 

"  Ah,  Miss  Pinch,"  said  John.  "  This  is  the 
blight  side  of  the  life  we  Icid  in  such  a  place.  It 
w.iuld  be  a  dismal  life,  indeed,  if  it  didn't  brighten 
Uj'  to-day." 

•*  Don't  believe  a  word  he  says,"  cried  Tom. 
"He  lives  here  lil^e  a  monarch,  and  wouldn't 
ch  mge  his  mode  of  lil(3  for  any  consideration.  lie 
on.y  pretends  to  grumble." 

Vo,  John  really  did  not  appear  to  pretend;  for 
he  was  nncomnionly  earnest  in  his  desire  to  have 
it  \  nderstood,  that  he  was  as  dull,  solitary,  and 
uncomfortable  on  ordinary  occasions  as  an  unfor- 
lunate  voung  man  could,  in  reason,  be.  It  was  a 
wretched  lile,  he  said  ;  a  miserable  life.  Ele  thought 
ot'f;ettiog  rid  of  the  chambers  as  soon  as  possiiile  ; 
and  meant,  in  fact,  to  put  a  bill  up  very  shortly. 

"  Well  1"  said  Tom  Pinch,  "  I  don't  know  where 
you  can  go,  John,  to  be  more  comfortable.  Thai's 
all  !  Can  say.     What  do  you  say,  Ruth  ?" 

Futh  tritied  with  the  cherries  on  her  plate,  and 
Baid  that  she  thought  IVIr.  Westlock  ought  to  be 
quite  ha[)py,  and  that  she  had  no  doubt  he  was. 

All,  li'wlish,  panting,  frightened  little  heart,  how 
timidly  she  said  il  I 

"  But  you  are  t'orgetting  what  you  had  to  tell, 
Tom  :  what  occurred  this  morning,"  she  added 
in  the  same  breath. 

"So  I  am,"  suid  Tom.  "We  have  been  so 
talkative  on  other  topics,  that  I  declare  I  have  not 
had  lime  to  think  of  it.  I  '11  tell  it  you  at  once, 
John,  in  case  I  should  forget  it  altogether." 

Ol.  Tom's  relating  what  had  passed  upon  the 
••^haif,  his  friend  was  very  much  surprised,  and 
took  ■'ncli  a  great  interest  in  the  narrative  as  Tom 
couid  not  (juite  understand.  He  believed  he  knew 
the  o'<l  lady  whose  acquaintance  they  had  made, 
he  sa  d  ;  and  that  he  might  venture  to  say,  from 
their  description  of  her,  that  her  name  was  Gamp. 


But  of  what  nature  the  communicatioi.  could 
have  been  which  Tom  had  borne  so  unexjx'cUdly  ; 
why  its  delivery  had  been  entrusted  to  him  ;  lio'.v 
il  hapfiened  tlial  tlie  parties  were  involved  toge- 
ther;  and  wliat  secret  lay  at  the  bollorn  ol'  the 
whole  atVair;  perplexed  liim  very  much.  'J'ora 
had  been  sure  of  his  taking  some  interest  in  tae 
matter;  hut  was  nut  prepared  lc>r  the  .strong  in- 
terest he  showed,  Il  held  John  VVesllock  to  the 
subject,  even  utter  Ruth  had  leit  the  room;  and 
evidently  made  him  anxious  to  pursue  il  furtiier 
than  as  u  mere  subject  of  conversation, 

"  I  shall  renioiislrate  with  my  landlord,  of 
course,"  said  Tom:  "though  he  is  a  very  singu- 
lar secret  sort  of  man,  and  not  lii'.ely  to  ailord  me 
much  satistaction ;  even  if  he  knew  what  was  in 
the  letter." 

"  Wliich  you  may  swear  lie  did,"  John  inter 
posed. 

"  You  think  so  ?" 

"  I  am  certain  of  it." 

"  Well :"  said  Tom,  "  I  shall  remonstrate  with 
him  when  I  see  hiin  (he  goes  in  and  out  in  a 
strange  way,  but  1  will  try  to  cuteh  him  to-inorrow 
morning),  on  his  having  asked  me  to  execute  such 
an  unpleasant  commission.  And  I  have  been 
thinking,  John,  that  if  1  went  down  to  Mrs. 
Whal's-her-name's  in  the  city,  where  I  was  be- 
fore, you  know  —  Mrs.  Todgers's  —  to-morrow 
morning,  I  might  find  poor  Mercy  Pecksniff 
there,  perhaps,  and  be  able  to  explain  to  her  how 
I  came  to  have  any  hand  in  the  business." 

"  You  are  perfectly  riglit,  Tom,"  returned  hiii 
friend,  alter  a  short  interval  of  reflection.  "  You 
cannot  do  better.  It  is  quite  clear  to  me  that 
whatever  the  business  is,  tliere  is  little  good  in  it; 
and  it  is  so  desirable  for  you  to  disentangle  your- 
self from  any  appearance  of  wilful  connection 
with  it,  that  I  would  counsel  you  to  see  her  hus. 
band,  if  you  can,  and  wash  your  hands  of  it,  by  a 
plain  statement  of  the  facts.  I  have  a  misgiving 
that  there  is  something  dark  at  v\  ork  here,  Tom. 
I  will  tell  you  why,  at  another  time:  when  I  have 
made  an  inquiry  or  two  myself." 

All  this  sounded  very  mysterious  to  Tom  Pinclu 
But  as  he  knew  he  could  rely  upon  his  I'riend,  he 
resolved  to  follow  this  advice. 

Ah,  but  it  would  have  been  a  good  thing  to 
have  had  a  coat  of  invisibility,  wlierein  to  have 
watched  little  Ruth,  when  she  was  left  to  herself 
in  John  Westloek's  chambers,  and  John  and  her 
brother  were  talking  thus,  over  tiieir  wine!  The 
gentle  way  in  which  slie  tried  to  get  up  a  little 
conversation  with  the  fiery-faced  matron  in  the 
crunched  bonnet,  who  was  waiting  to  attend  her : 
after  making  a  desperate  rally  in  regard  of  her 
dress,  and  attiring  herself  in  a  washed-out  yellow 
gown  with  sprigs  of  the  same  upon  it,  so  that  it 
looked  like  a  tesselated  work  of  pats  of  butter. 
That  would  have  been  pleasant.  The  grim  and 
griffin-like  inflexibility  with  which  the  fiery-faced 
matron  repelled  these  engaging  advances,  as  pro- 
ceeding from  a  hostile  and  dangerous  power,  who 
Could  have  no  bu.^iness  there,  unless  it  were  to 
deprive  her  of  a  customer,  or  suggest  what  be- 
came of  the  self-eimsuniing  tea  and  sugar,  and 
other  general  trifles.  'I'hat  wouli!  ii-ave  been  agree- 
able. The  bashful,  winning,  glorious  curiosity, 
with  which  little  Ruth,  when  fierv-lace  was  gone, 
peeoed  into  the  books  and  nick  nack/i  'Jjal  wtr« 


268 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


lying  about,  and  liad  a  particular  interest  in  eomo 
delicate  pii  per -matches  on  the  chimney-piece: 
wondering  who  could  have  made  them.  Tliat 
would  have  been  worth  seeing.  The  lalleriog 
hand  with  which  she  tied  those  flowers  together; 
with  which,  almost  blushing  at  her  own  fair  self 
as  imaged  in  the  glass,  she  arranged  tliem  in  her 
breast,  and  looking  at  them  with  her  head  aside, 
now  half  resolved  to  take  them  out  again,  now 
half  resolved  to  leave  them  where  they  were. 
That  would  have  been  delightful  I 

John  seemed  to  think  it  all  delightful :  for  com- 
ing in  with  Tom  to  lea,  he  took  iiis  seat  beside  her 
like  a  man  enchanted.  And  wlien  the  tea-service 
had  been  removed,  and  Tom,  sitting  down  at  the 
piano,  became  absorbed  in  some  of  his  old  organ 
tunes,  he  was  still  beside  her  at  the  open  window, 
looking  out  upon  the  twilight. 

There  is  little  enough  to  see,  in  Furnival's  Inn. 
It  is  a  shady,  quiet  place,  echoing  to  the  footsteps 
of  the  stragglers  who  have  business  there ;  and 
rather  monotonous  and  gloomy  on  summer  even- 
ings. Wliat  gave  it  such  a  charm  to  them,  that 
they  remained  at  the  window  as  unconscious  of 
the  flight  of  tmie  as  Tom  himself,  the  dreamer, 
while  the  melodies  whicii  had  so  often  soothed  his 
spirit,  were  hovering  again  about  him  I  What 
power  infused  into  the  lading  light,  the  gathering 
darkness;  tlie  stars  that  here  and  there  appeared  ; 
the  evening  air,  the  city's  hum  and  stir,  the  very 
chiming  of  the  old  church  clocks;  such  exquisite 
enthralment,  that  the  divinest  regions  of  the  earth 
spread  out  bi;fore  their  eyes  could  not  have  held 
them  captive  in  a  stronger  chain  I 

The  shadows  dcepLiied ;  deepened ;  and  the 
room  became  quite  dark.  Still  Tom's  fingers 
wandered  over  the  keys  of  the  piano ;  and  still 
the  window  had  its  pair  of  tenants. 

At  length,  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  her 
breath  upon  iiis  forehead,  roused  Tom  from  his 
/everie. 

"Dear  me!"  he  cried,  desisting  with  a  start. 
*  I  am  afraid  I  have  been  very  inconsiderate  and 
unpolite." 

Tom  little  thought  how  much  consideration  and 
politeness  he  had  shown  ! 

"Sing  sometliing  to  us,  my  dear,"  said  Tom. 
"  Let  us  hear  your  voice.     Come  !" 

John  Wesllock  added  his  entreaties,  with  such 
earnestness  that  a  flinty  heart  alone  could  have 


resisted  them.  Her's  was  not  a  flinty  hear'..  Oh 
dear  no!     Quite  another  thing. 

So  down  she  sat,  and  in  a  pleasant  voice  began 
to  sing  the  ballads  Tom  loved  well.  Old  rhyming 
stories,  with  here  and  there  a  pause  for  a  few  sim. 
pie  chords,  such  as  a  harper  might  have  sounded 
in  the  ancient  time  while  looking  upward  for  the 
current  of  some  half-remembered  legend  ;  words 
of  old  poets,  wedded  to  such  measures  that  tl»e 
strain  of  music  might  have  been  the  poet's  breatli, 
giving  utterance  and  expression  to  his  thoughts ; 
and  now  a  melody  so  joyous  and  light-hearted, 
tliat  the  singer  seemed  incapable  of  sadness,  until 
in  her  inconstancy  (oh  wicked  little  siiimrl)  she 
relapsed,  and  broke  the  listeners'  hearts  again  : 
these  were  the  simple  means  she  used  to  please 
them.  And  that  these  simple  means  prevailed, 
and  she  did  please  them,  let  t!ie  still  darkened 
chamber,  and  its  long-deferred  illumination  wit- 
ness ! 

The  candles  came  at  last,  and  it  was  time  for 
moving  homeward.  Cutting  paper  carefully,  an(> 
rolling  it  about  the  stalks  of  these  same  flowers, 
occasioned  some  delay;  but  even  this  was  done  it 
time,  and  Ruth  was  ready. 

"  Good  night  I"  said  Tom.  "  A  memorable  and 
deiightlul  visit,  John  !     Good  night!" 

John  thought  he  would  walk  with  them. 

"No,  no.  Don't!"  said  Tom.  "What  noi>- 
oense !  We  can  get  home  very  well  alone.  I 
couldn't  think  of  taking  you  out." 

But  John  said  he  would  rather. 

"Are  you  sure  you  would  rather?"  said  Tom. 
"  I  am  afr.iid  you  only  say  so  out  of  politeness." 

John  being  quite  sure,  gave  his  arm  to  Ruth, 
and  led  her  out.  Fiery-face,  who  was  again  in 
attendance,  acknowledged  her  departure  with  so 
cold  a  curtsey  that  it  was  hardly  visible;  and  ciil 
Tom,  dead. 

Their  host  was  bent  on  walking  the  whole  dis- 
taricc,  and  would  not  listen  to  Tom's  dissuasions. 
Happy  time,  happy  walk,  happy  parting,  hapjiy 
dreams!  Hut  there  are  socne  sweet  day-dreams, 
so  there  are,  that  put  the  visions  of  the  night  to 
shame. 

Busily  the  Temple  fountain  murmured  in  the 
moonlight,  while  Ruth  lay  sleeping  with  her  flow- 
ers beside  her ;  and  John  Westlock  sketched  a 
portrait — whose  ? — from  memory. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

IN  WHICH  MISS  PECKSNIFF  MAKES  LOVE,  MR.  JONAS  MAKES  WRATH.  MRS. 
GA.MP  MAKES  TEA,  AND  MR.  CHUFFEY  MAKES  BUSINESS. 


Os  the  next  day's  ofticial  duties  coming  to  a 
dos(%  Tom  hurried  houie  wiliioiit  losing  anytime 
by  the  way;  and,  after  dinner  and  a  short  rest, 
sallied  out  again,  acconi|>ani(d  by  Ruth,  to  pay 
his  projected  visit  to  Tixig.  rs's.  Tom  took  Ruth 
with  him,  not  only  because  it  was  a  jrrtat  pleasure 
V  liim  to  hav(!  hi-r  for  his  companion  whenever 
lie  could,  but  liicause  he  wished  lier  to  cherish  and 
Wimfori  poor  Alerry  ;  which  >h.,  fiir  her  own  part 
(hayintf  heard  the  wr.tcli.  d  history  t.f  that  young 
HJtc  from  Tom),  was  all  uagrrness  to  do. 


"  She  was  so  glad  to  see  me,"  said  Tom,  "  thai 
I  am  sure  she  will  be  glad  to  see  you.  Your  hym- 
palhy  is  certain  to  be  much  more  delicate  and  nc- 
ce|)table  than  mine." 

"  1  am  very  far  from  being  certain  of  that, 
Tom,"  she  replied;  "and  indecti  you  do  yourself 
no  injustice.  Indeed  you  do.  But  I  hope  she  may 
like  me,  Tom." 

"  Oh,  she  is  sure  to  do  that !"  cried  Tom  con 
fidently. 

"  What  a  number  of  friends  I  should  have,  il 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


260 


sverybody  was  of  j'our  way  of  thinking  !  Should'nt 
I,  Tom,  dear  ?"  said  his  Utile  sister,  pinching  him 
upon  the  cheek. 

Tom  hiughtd,  and  said  that  with  reference  to 
(his  piirticulfir  case  he  had  no  doubt  at  all  of  find- 
ittir  a  disciple  in  Merry,  "  For  you  women,"  siiid 
Tom,  "  you  women,  my  dear,  are  so  kind,  and  in 
your  kindness  have  such  nice  perception  ;  you 
know  so  well  how  to  be  affectionate  and  full  of 
solicitude  without  appearing  to  be;  your  gentleness 
i)f  feeling  is  like  your  touch  :  so  light  and  easy, 
that  the  one  enables  you  to  deal  with  wounds  of 
tiie  mind  as  tenderly  as  the  other  enables  you  to 

deal  with  wounds  of  the  body.  You  are  such " 

"My  goodness,  Tom  I"  his  sister  interposed. 
"  You  ought  to  fiill  in  love  immediately." 

Tom  put  this  observation  off  good-humouredly, 
but  somewhat  gravely  too;  and  they  were  soon 
Very  chatty  again  on  some  other  subject. 

As  they  were  passing  through  a  street  in  the 
City,  not  far  from  Mrs.  Todgers's  place  of  resi- 
dence, Ruth  cheeked  'I'om  before  the  window  of  a 
large  Upholstery  and  Furniture  Warehouse,  to  call 
his  attention  to  something  very  magnificent  and 
ingenious,  displayed  there  to  the  best  advantage, 
for  the  admiration  and  temptation  of  the  public. 
Tom  had  h;izarded  some  most  erroneous  and  ex- 
travagantly wrong  guess  in  relation  to  the  price 
of  this  article,  and  had  joined  his  sister  in  laugh- 
ing  heartily  at  his  mistake,  when  he  pressed  her 
arm  in  his,  and  pointed  to  two  persons  at  a  little 
distance,  who  were  looking  in  at  the  same  win- 
dow with  a  deep  interest  in  the  chests  of  drawers 
and  tables. 

"Hush  I"  Tom  whispered.  "Miss  Pecksniff, 
and  the  young  gentleman  to  whom  she  is  going 
to'  be  married." 

"  Why  does  he  look  as  if  lie  was  going  to  he 
buried,  Tom  .'"  inquired  his  little  sister. 

"Whv,  he  is  naturally  a  dismal  young  gentle- 
man, I  believi',"  said  Tom ;  "  but  he  is  very  civil 
and  inoffensive." 

"  I  suppose  they  are  furnishing  their  hou.ie," 
whispered  Ruth. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  they  are,"  replied  Tom.  "  We 
had  better  avoid  speaking  to  them." 

Tliey  could  not  very  well  avoid  looking  at  them, 
however,  especially  as  some  obstruction  on  the 
pavement,  at  a  little  distance,  happened  to  detain 
them  where  they  were  for  a  few  moments.  Miss 
Pecksnitfliiid  quite  the  air  of  having  taken  the  un- 
happy Moddle  captive,  and  brought  him  up  to  the 
contemplation  of  the  furniture  like  a  lamb  to  the 
altar.  He  offered  no  resistance,  but  was  perfectly 
resigned  and  quift.  Tiie  melancholy  depicted  in 
the  turn  of  his  languishing  head,  and  in  his  de- 
jected attitude,  was  extreme;  and  though  there 
was  a  full-sized  four-post  bedstead  in  the  window, 
such  a  tear  stood  trembling  in  his  eye,  as  seemed 
to  blot  it  out. 

"  Augustus,  my  love,"  said  Miss  Pecksniff, 
*  ask  the  price  of  the  eight  rosewood  chairs,  and 
the  loo  table." 

"  Perhaps  they  are  ordered  already,"  said  Au- 
gustus.    "Perhaps  they  are  Another's." 

"They  can  make  more  like  them,  if  they  are," 
rejoined  Miss  Pecksniff. 

"  No,  no,  they  can't,"  said  Moddle.  "  It 's  im- 
possible !" 

He  appeared,  for  the  moment,  to  be  quite  over- 


whelmed and  stupified  bv  the  prospert  of  his  jp 
pro.ichinj)  hajipiiiiss  ;  bi.I  itcuverinsf,  entered  the 
shop.  He  returned  innncciialtly  :  saying  in  a  lone 
of  des|)air, 

"  'I'vvenly-four  pound  ten  I" 

Miss  Pecksniff, turning  to  receive  this  announce, 
nient,  became  conscious  of  tlie  oh.servution  ot  Tom 
Pinch  and  his  sister. 

"Oh,  really  I"  cried  Miss  Pecksniff,  glancing 
about  her,  as  if  for  some  convenient  means  of 
sinking  into  the  earth.  "  Ufion  my  v\uid,  I — 
there  never  was  such  a  — to  think  that  one  should 
be  so  very — Mr.  Augustus  Moddle  :  IMiss  Pineli  1" 
Miss  Pecksniff  was  quite  gracious  to  Misa 
Pinch  in  this  triumphanl  introduction;  exceed, 
ingly  gracious.  She  was  more  than  gracious; 
she  was  kind  and  cordial.  Whether  the  recol- 
lection, of  the  old  service  Tom  had  rendered  her 
in  knocking  Mr.  Jonas  on  the  head,  had  wrought 
this  change  in  her  opinions;  or  wlietlier  se|)ara- 
tion  from  her  parent  had  reconciled  her  to  all  hu- 
man kind,  or  to  all  that  increasing  portion  of  hu- 
man  kind  which  was  not  friendly  to  him ;  or 
whether  the  delight  of  having  some  new  female 
acquaintance  to  whom  to  eominunicatc  her  inte. 
resting  prospects,  was  paramount  to  every  other 
consideration ;  cordial  and  kind  Miss  PecksnitT 
was.  And  twice  Miss  Pecksniff  kissed  Misa 
Pinch  upon  the  cheek. 

"Augustus — Mr.  Pinch,  you  know.  My  dear 
girl  I"  said  Miss  Pecksniff,  aside.  "  I  never  was 
so  ashamed  in  my  life." 

Ruth  begged  her  not  to  think  of  it. 
"  I  mind  your  brother  less  than  any  body  else," 
simpered  Miss  Pecksniff.  "But  the  indelicacy  of 
meeting  any  gentleman  under  such  sircumstunces! 
Augustus,  my  child,  did  you — " 

Here  Miss  Pecksniff  whispered  in  his  ear.  The 
suffering  Moddle  repeated: 
"Twenty-four  pound  ten  I" 
"  Oh,  you   silly   man !     I   don't  mean  them," 

said  Miss  Pecksniff.  "I  am  speaking  of  the " 

Here  she  whispered  him  again. 
"  H  it 's  the  same  patterned  chintz  as  that  in  the 
window;  thirty-two,  twelve,   six;"  said  Moddle, 
with  a  sigh.     "And  very  dear." 

Miss  Pecksniff  stopped  him  from  giving  anv 
further  explanation  by  laying  her  hand  upon  hi's 
lips,  and  betraying  a  soft  embarrassment.  She 
then  asked  Tom  Pinch  wliicli  way  lie  was  going. 
"  I  was  going  to  see  if  I  could  find  your  sister," 
answered  Tom,  "to  whom  I  wished  to  say  a  few 
wordis.  We  were  going  to  Mrs.  Todgers's,  where 
1  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her  before. 

"It's  of  no   use  your  going  on,  thin,"   said 
Cherry,  "for  we  have  not  long   lelt  then  ;  and  I 
know  she  is  not  at  home.     But  I  Ml  tiike  you  to 
my  sister's  house,  if  you  please.     Augustus — Mr 
Moddle,  I  mean — and  myself,  are  on  our  way  to  tea 
there,  now.       You   needn't  think  of  /liw,"   she 
added,  nodding  her  head,  as  she  observed  some 
hesitation  on  Tom's  part.     "  [lu  is  not  at  home." 
"  Are  you  sure  ?"  asked  Tom. 
"  Oh,  I  am  quite  sure  of  that.     I  dc  n't  want 
any  more  revenge,"  said  Miss  Pecksnifl",  expres" 
sively.     "  But,  really,  I  nmst  beg  you  two  gentie. 
men  to  walk  on,  and  allow  me  to  f'ollov\-  with  Mis« 
Pinch.     My  dear,  I  never  was  so  taken  by  sur 
prise !" 

In   furtherance   of  this   bashful  arranjremeni. 


870 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


Moddle  gave  his  arm  to  Tom ;  and  Miss  Peck- 
sniff linlced  her  own  in  Ruth's. 

"Of  course,  my  love,"  said  Miss  Pecksniff',  "  it 
would  be  useless  for  me  to  distruise,  utter  what 
you  have  seen,  that  I  am  about  to  be  united  to  the 
gentleman  who  is  walking  with  your  brother.  It 
Would  be  in  vain  to  conceal  it.  What  do  you 
think  of  him  ?  Pray,  let  me  have  your  candid 
opinion." 

Ruth  intimated  that,  as  far  as  she  could  judge, 
be  was  a  very  eligible  swain. 

"  I  am  curious  to  know,"  said  Miss  Pecksniff, 
with  loquacious  frankness,  "  whether  you  have 
observed,  or  fancied,  in  this  very  short  sp.ice  of 
lime,  that  he  is  of  a  rather  melancholy  turn  ?" 

"  So  very  short  a  time,"  Ruth  pleaded, 

"  No,  no :  but  don't  lot  that  itsterfere  with  your 
answer,"  returned  Miss  Pecksniff.  "  I  am  curi- 
ous to  hear  what  you  say." 

Ruth  acknowledged  that  he  had  inipressed  her 
at  first  sight  as  looking  "r.itlier  low." 

"No,  really?"  said  Miss  Pecksniff.  "Well! 
that  is  quite  remarkable!  F^verybody  says  tiie 
Bame.  Mrs.  'I'odgers  s:iys  the  same;  and  Augus- 
tus informs  me  that  it  is  quite  a  joke  among  tlie 
gentlemen  in  the  house.  Indeed,  but  for  the  posi. 
live  commands  I  have  laid  upon  him,  1  believe  it 
would  have  been  the  occasion  of  loaded  fire-arms 
being  resorted  to  more  than  once.  What  do  you 
think  is  the  cause  of  his  appearance  of  depres- 
sion ?" 

Ruth  thought  of  several  thinofs;  such  as  his  di- 
gestion,  his  tailor,  his  mother,  and  tiie  like,  iiut, 
hesitating  to  give  utterance  to  any  one  of  them, 
she  refrained  from  expressing  an  opinion. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Miss  Pecksniff,  "1  shouldn't 
wish  it  to  be  known,  but  I  don't  mind  tnentioning 
it  to  you,  having  known  your  brother  lor  so  niany 
years  —  I  refused  Augustus  tiirue  times.  He  is 
of  a  most  amiable  and  sensitive  nature;  al^A'uys 
loady  to  shed  tears,  if  you  look  at  liiTii,  which  is 
extremely  charming  ;  and  he  has  never  recovered 
the  effect  of  that  cruelty.  For  it  mv/s  cruel,"  s.iid 
Miss  Pecksniff,  u  illi  a  self-coiivictinij  caiidour  that 
might  have  adorned  the  diatlem  of  lier  own  papa. 
"  There  is  no  doul)t  ol"  it.  I  lohk  hack  upon  my 
conduct  now  with  blushes,  I  always  liked  liim. 
I  felt  that  he  was  not  to  me  what  the  ciowd  of 
young  men  who  had  made  proposils  had  (leeti, 
but  something  very  different.  Then  what  right 
had  I  to  reiiise  him  three  times  ?" 

"  It  was  a  severe  trial  of  his  lidclity,  no  doubt," 
said  Rut!). 

"My  dear,"  returned  Miss  Pecksniff,  "it  was 
wrong.  But  such  is  the  caprice  and  thoughtless- 
ness of  our  sex  1  Let  me  he  a  warning  to  you. 
Dun't  try  the  feelings  of  any  one  who  makes  you 
an  offer,  as  I  have  tried  the  feelings  of  Augustus; 
but  if  you  ever  feel  towards  a  person  as  1  really 
felt  towards  him,  at  the  very  time  when  I  was 
driving  him  to  distraction,  let  that  feeling  fimi 
expression,  if  that  [lerson  throws  himself  at  your 
feet,  as  Augustus  Moddle  did  at  mine.  Think," 
uaid  Miss  Pecksniff,  "wh.it  my  feelings  would 
have  been,  if  I  had  goaded  iiim  to  suicide,  and  it 
jad  got  into  the  papers!" 

Ruth  observed  that  she  would  have  been  full  of 
remorse,  no  doubt. 

•'Remorse  !"  cried  Miss  Pecksniff,  in  a  sort  of 
•Dug  and  Comfortable  penitence.     "What  my  re- 


,  morse  is  at  this  moment,  even  afler  making  repa- 
I  ration  by  accepting  him,  it  would  be  impo.ssible  to 
I  tell  you!     Looking  back  upon  my  giddy  self,  my 
:  di^ar,  now   that   I    am   sobered   down    and    made 
thoughtful,  by  treading  on  the  very  brink  ot'  m,i. 
trimony  ;  and  contemplating  myself"  as  1  was  wh#n 
,  I  was  like  what  you  are  now;  I  shudder;  I  shud- 
I  der.     What  is  the  consequence  ot  my  past  c-jn- 
I  duct?     Until  Augustus  bads  me  to  ilie  altar,  he 
is  not  sure  of  me.      I  have  blighted  and  withered 
the  affections  of  his  heart  to  that  extent  tlu.t  he  ia 
not  sure  of  me.     I  see  that  preying  on  his   mind 
and    feeding    on    his    vitals.     What    are    the    re- 
proaches of  my  Conscience,  when  I  see  this  in 
the  man  I  love  !" 

Ruth  endeavoured  to  express  some  sense  of  her 
unbounded  and  fluttering  confidence;  and  pre- 
sumed that  she  was  going  to  be  married  soon. 

"Very  soon,  indeed,"  returned  Miss  PecksnifE 
"  As  soon  as  our  house  is  ready.  We  are  furnisl>- 
ing  now  as  fast  as  we  can." 

In  the  sam.e  vein  of  confidence.  Miss  Pecksniff 
ran  through  a  general  inventory  of  the  article? 
that  were  already  bought,  and  the  articles  that  re- 
mained to  be  purchased;  what  garments  she  in- 
tended to  be  married  in,  and  where  the  ceremony 
was  to  be  performed;  and  gave  Miss  Pinch,  in 
short  (as  she  told  her),  early  and  exclusive  infor- 
mation on  all  points  of  interest  connected  with 
the  event. 

While  this  was  going  forward  in  the  rear,  Tom 
and  Mr.  Moddle  walked  on,  arm  in  irm,  in  the 
front,  in  a  state  of  prot'ound  silence,  vi'hich  Tom 
at  last  broke  :  after  thinking  for  a  long  time  what 
he  could  say  that  should  refer  to  an  indifferent 
to])ic,  in  respect  of  which  lie  might  rely,  with  some 
!  degree  of  certainty,  on  Mr.  Moddle's  bosom  being 
I  unruffled, 

i  "  1  wonder,"  said  Tom,  "  that  in  these  crowded 
!  streets,  the  foot-passengers  are  not  oftencr  rui 
'  over." 

Mr.  Moddle,  with  a  dark  look,  replied: 
"  The  drivers  won't  do  it." 
"  Do  you  mean  ?"  Tom  began — 
"  That  there  are  some  men,"  interrupted  Mod- 
die,  with  a  hollow  laugh,  "  who  can't  get  run  over. 
They  live   a  charmed   life.     Coal  wagons  recoil 
from   them,  and  even    cabs   refuse    to   run   them 
down.     "Ay!"   said    Augustus,  marking    Tom's 
astonishment.     "There   are  such  men.     One  of 
'em  is  a  friend  of  mine." 

"  Upon  my  word  and  honour,"  thought  Tom, 
"  this  young  gentleman  is  in  a  stale  of  mmd, 
which  is  very  serious,  indeed  !"  Abandoning  all 
idea  of  conversation,  he  did  not  venture  to  si;y 
another  word  ;  but  he  was  careful  to  keep  a  tiglit 
hold  upon  Augustus's  arm,  lest  he  should  fly  into 
the  road;  and  making  another,  and  a  more  suo- 
cessliil  attempt,  should  gel  up  a  private  little  Jug- 
gernaut before  the  eyes  of  his  betrothed.  Tom 
was  so  afraid  of  his  committing  this  rash  act,  that 
he  had  scarcely  ever  experienced  such  a  mentJil 
rc'lief  as  when  they  arrived  in  safety  at  Mrs.  Jonas 
(/huzzlewit's  house. 

"  Walk  up,  pray,  Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Miss  Peck- 
sniff. For  Tom  halted,  irresolutely,  at  the  door. 
"  I  am  doubtful  whether  I  should  be  welcome," 
replied  Tom,  "or,  I  ought  rather  to  say,  I  have 
no  doubt  about  it.  I  will  send  up  a  messng^e,  I 
think." 


MARTIX   (^HT^ZZLEWIT. 


271 


••  But  what  nonsense  that  is  I"  returned  IWiss 
Peckstiilf,  speaking  apart  to  'I'oin.  "  He  is  not 
at  home,  I  am  certain;  I  know  he  is  not;  and 
Merry  hasn't  the  least  idea  that  you  ever " 

"  No,"  interrupted  Tom.  "Nor  would  I  huve 
her  know  it,  on  any  account.  I  am  not  so  proud 
of  that  scuffle,  I  assure  you." 

"  Ah,  but  then  you  are  so  modest,  you  see," 
returned  Miss  Pecksnitf,  with  a  smile  "  But 
pray  walk  up.  If  you  don't  wish  her  to  know  it, 
and  do  wish  to  speak  to  her,  pray  w.ilk  up.  Pray 
walk  up,  Miss  Pinch.     Don't  stand  here." 

Tom  still  iiesitated  ;  for  he  felt  that  he  was  in 
an  awkward  position.  But  Cherry  passing'  him 
at  this  juncture,  and  leadmg  his  sister  upstairs; 
and  the  house-door  beings  at  the  same  time  shut 
behind  them  ;  he  followed  withr)ut  quite  knowiu}; 
whether  it  was  well  or  ill-judjjed  so  to  do. 

"  Merr}',  my  darling  I"  said  the  fair  Miss  Peck- 
eniff,  openintj  the  door  of  the  usual  sitlino-room. 
"  Here  are  Mr.  Pinch  and  his  sister  come  to  see 
you  I  I  thought  we  should  find  you  here,  Mrs. 
I'odgers !  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Gamp?  And 
how  do  you  do,  Mr.  Chuffcy  ?  though  it's  of  no 
use  asking  you  the  question,  I  am  well  aware."      I 

Honouring  each  of  these  parties,  as  she  severally  ! 
addressed  ihein,  with  an  acid  smile;  Miss  Chanty 
presented  Mr.  Moddle. 

"  I  believe  you  have  seen  him  before,"  she 
pleasantly  observed.  "Augustus,  my  sweet  child, 
bring  me  a  chair." 

The  sweet  child  did  as  he  was  told  ;  and  was 
then  about  to  retire  into  a  corner  to  mourn  in 
secret,  when  Miss  Charily,  calling  him  in  an 
audible  whisper  "a  little  pet,"  gave  liim  le.ive  to 
come  and  sit  beside  her.  It  is  to  be  hoped,  for 
the  general  cheerfulness  of  mankind,  that  such  a 
doleful  little  pet  was  never  seen  as  Mr.  Moddle 
looked  when  he  complied.  So  despondent  was 
his  temper,  that  he  showed  no  outward  thrill  of 
ecstasy,  when  Miss  Pecksniff  placed  her  lily  hand 
in  his,  and  concealed  this  mark  of  her  favour 
from  the  vulgar  gaze,  by  covering  it  with  a  corner 
of  her  shawl.  Indeed,  he  was  infinitely  more 
rueful  then  than  he  h:id  been  before;  and,  sitting 
uncomfortably  upright  in  his  chair,  surveyed  tlie 
company  with  watery  eyes,  which  seemed  to  s;iy, 
without  the  aid  of  language,  "  Oh,  good  grai-ious  I 
look  here!  Won't  some  kind  Christian  help 
me !" 

But  the  ecstasies  of  Mrs.  Gamp  were  sufficient 
to  have  furnished  forth  a  score  <if  young  lovers; 
and  they  were  chiefly  awakened  by  the  sight  of 
Tom  Finch  and  his  sister.  Mrs.  Gamp  was  a 
lady  of  lh.it  happy  temperament  which  can  be 
ecstatic  V  i'hout  any  other  stimulating  c.iusc  than 
a  general  desire  to  est;il>lish.  a  large  and  [irc^fitable 
connection.  She  added  daily  so  many  striiiirs  to 
her  bow,  that  she  made  a  perfect  harp  of  it ;  and 
upon  that  instrument  she  now  began  to  perform 
fln  extemporaneous  concerto. 

"  Why,  goodness  me  I"  she  said.  "  Mrs.  Chuz- 
rlewit !  To  think  as  I  should  see  her>eath  this 
blessed  ouse,  which  v\ell  I  know  it,  Miss  Peck- 
enitF,  my  sweet  yonng  lady,  to  be  a  ouse  as  there 
is  not  a  many  like,  worse  luck  and  wishin'  it 
ware  not  so,  which  then  this  tearful  walley  would 
be  changed  into  a  fiowerin'tfuardian,  .Mr.ChnfFcy  ; 
to  think  as  I  sfiouhJ  see  beneath  this  indiwidgle 
roofi  identically   comin',    Mr.  Pinch   (I   take  the 


liberty,  though  almost  unbeknown),  and  do  assure 
you  of  it,  sir,  the  smilinest  and  sweetest  face  aa 
ever,  Mrs.  Clinzzlewit,  I  see,  exceptin'  yourn,  my 
dear  good  lady,  and  your  good  lady's  too,  sir,  Mr 
Moddle,  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  speak  so  plain 
of  what  is  plain  enough  to  them  as  needn't  look 
through  millstones,  Mrs.  Todgers,  to  find  out  wot 
is  wrote  upon  the  wall  behind.  Which  no  offence 
is  meant,  ladies  and  gentlemen;  none  bi  in'  look, 
I  hope.  To  think  as  1  should  see  that  smiliiie..%t 
and  sweetest  face  which  me  and  another  triend 
of  mine,  look  notige  of  among  the  packai;es  down 
London  Bridge,  in  this  promiscutiUs  place,  is  » 
surprige  iii-deed  I" 

Having  contrived,  in  this  happy  manner,  to 
invest  every  member  of  her  audience  \'.  ith  un 
individual  share  and  immediate  personal  interest 
in  her  address,  Mrs.  Gamp  dropped  several  curt- 
seys to  Ruth,  and  smilingly  shaking  her  head  a 
great  many  times,  pursued  the  thread  of  her  dis- 
course : 

"  Now,  ain't  we  rich  in  beauty  this  here  joyful 
arternoon,  I  'in  sure  !  I  knows  a  lady,  which  her 
name,  I'll  not  deceive  you,  Mrs.  (iuizzlcwit,  is 
Harris,  her  husband's  brother  beiri'  six  toot  three, 
and  marked  with  a  mad  bull  m  Wellinton  boots 
upon  his  left  arm,  on  account  of  his  precious 
mother  havin'  been  worrited  by  one  into  a  shoe- 
maker's  siiop,  when  in  a  sitiwation  which  blessed 
is  the  man  as  has  his  quiver  full  (;f  sech,  as  many 
times  I  've  said  to  Gamp  when  words  has  roge 
betwixt  us  OM  account  of  the  expense — and  often 
have  1  said  to  Mrs  Harris,  '  Oh,  Mrs.  Harris, 
ma'am  I  your  countenance  is  quite  a  angel's  !' 
Which,  but  for  pimples,  it  would  be.  '  No,  Sairey 
Gamp,'  says  she,  'you  best  of  hard-wcrking  and 
industrious  creeturs  as  ever  was  underpaid  at 
any  price,  wliich  underpaid  you  are,  quite  diff'rent. 
Harris  had  it  done  afore  marriage  at  ten  and  six,' 
she  says,  'ami  wore  it  faithful  next  his  heart  'till 
the  colour  run,  when  the  money  was  declined  to 
be  give  back,  and  no  arrangement  could  be  come 
to.  But  he  never  said  it  was  a  angel's,  Sairey, 
wotever  he  ini;,dit  have  thought.'  If  Mrs.  Harris's 
husband  was  here  now,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  looking 
round,  and  cluiekling  as  she  drop|!ed  a  general 
curtsey,  "he'd  speak  out  plain,  he  would,  and 
his  dear  wile  would  be  the  last  to  blame  him  ! 
For  if  ever  a  woman  lived  as  know'd  not  wot  it 
was  to  form  a  wish  to  pizon  them  as  hud  good 
looks,  and  iiad  no  reagion  give  her  by  the  best  of 
husband;-,  Mrs.  Harris  is  that  ev'nly  dispogician  I' 

With  these  words  the  worthy  woman,  who 
appeared  1o  have  dropped  in  to  take  tea  as  a  deli- 
cate little  attention,  rather  than  to  have  any 
engagement  on  the  premises  in  an  ofiicial  capacity, 
cros.sed  to  Mr.  ChulTey,  who  was  seated  in  the 
same  corner  as  of  old,  and  shook  him  by  the 
shoulder. 

"  Rouge  yourself,  and  look  up!  Come  !"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp.     "  Here's  company,  Mr.  Chutfey." 

"I  am  sorry  for  it,"  cried  the  old  man,  looking 
humbly  round  the  room.  "I  know  I'm  in  the 
way.  I  ask  pardon,  but  I  've  nowhere  else  to  go 
lo.     Where  is  she  ?" 

Merry  went  to  him  immediately. 

"  Ah  I"  said  the  old  man,  patting  her  on  me 
cheek.  "  Here  she  is.  Here  she  is  !  She'sneTer 
hard  on  poor  old  Chuffey,     Poor  old  Chuff!" 

As  £.iie  took  her  seat  upon  a  low  chair  by  the 


272 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES    OF 


old  man's  side,  and  put  herself  within  the  reacli 
of  his  hand,  stie  Inoked  up  once  at  'I'oin.  It  w;is 
a  sad  look  that  slie  cast  upon  him,  though  there 
was  a  f.iint  smile  trembling  on  her  face.  It  w;is 
a  speaking  I00I5,  and  Tom  knew  what  it  said. 
"You  see  how  misery  has  changed  me.  I  can 
feel  for  a  dependant  now,  and  set  some  value  on 
his  attaciimesit." 

"Ay,  ay  I"  cried  Chuffey  in  a  soothing  tone. 
*  Ay,  ay,  ay  !  Never  mind  him.  It 's  hard  to  bear, 
but  never  mind  him.  He 'II  die  one  day.  There 
are  three  liundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  the  year 
— three  liundred  and  sixty-six  in  leap-year — and 
he  may  die  on  any  one  of 'em." 

"  You  're  a  wearing  old  soul,  and  that 's  the 
sacred  truth,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  contemplating  him 
from  a  little  dist mce  with  anything  but  favour,  as 
he  continued  to  mutter  to  himself.  "It's  a  pity 
you  don't  know  wot  you  say,  for  you  'd  tire  your 
own  patience  out  if  you  did,  and  fret  yourself  into 
a  hap[)y  releage  for  all  as  knows  you." 

"His  son,"  murmured  the  old  man  lifting  up 
his  hand.     "  His  son  !" 

"  Well  I  'm  sure  !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp.  "  You  're 
a  settlin'  of  it,  Mr.  Chuffey.  To  your  satigefac- 
tion,  Sir,  I  hope.  But  I  wouldn't  lay  a  new  pin- 
cushion  on  it  myself,  Sir,  though  you  are  so  well 
infi)rmed.  Drat  the  old  creeter,  he 's  a  layin' 
down  tlie  law  tolerable  confident,  too !  A  deal  he 
knows  of  sons!  or  darters  either!  Suppose  you 
was  to  favour  us  with  some  remarks  on  twins, 
Sir,  would  you  be  so  good  I" 

The  bitter  and  indignant  sarcasm  which  Mrs. 
Gamp  con  veyed  into  these  taunts  viJas  altogether  lost 
on  the  unconscious  Chuffey,  who  appeared  to  be 
as  little  cognizant  of  their  delivery  as  of  his  hav- 
ing given  Mrs.  Gamp  offence.  But  that  high- 
minded  woman,  being  sensitively  alive  to  any  in- 
vasion of  her  professional  province,  and  imagin- 
ing that  Mr.  Chuffey  had  given  utterance  to  some 
prediction  on  the  subject  of  sons,  which  ought  to 
have  emanated  in  the  first  instance  from  herself 
as  the  only  lawful  autlinrit}',  or  which  should  at 
least  have  been  on  no  account  proclaimed  without 
her  sanction  and  concurrence,  was  not  so  easily 
appeased.  She  continued  to  sidle  at  Mr.  Chuffey 
with  looks  of  sharp  host-lity,  and  to  defy  him 
with  many  other  ironical  remarks,  uttered  in  that 
low  key  which  commonly  denotes  su()pressed  in- 
dignation ;  until  the  entrance  of  the  tea-board, 
and  a  requ<:st  from  Mrs.  Jonas  that  she  would 
make  lea  at  a  side-tahle  tor  the  party  that  had 
unexpectedly  assemliled,  restored  her  to  herself. 
She  smiled  again,  and  entered  on  her  ministration 
with  lier  own  particular  urbanity. 

"And  quite  a  family  it  is  to  make  te.i  for," 
said  Mrs.  Gamp;  "and  wot  a  happiness  to  do  it! 
My  good  young  'ooman" — to  the  servant-girl — 
"p'raps  somebody  would  like  to  try  a  new-laid 
egg  or  two,  not  bih  d  too  hard.  Likeways,  a  few 
rounds  o'  buttered  toast,  lirst  cuttin'  otf  the  crust, 
in  conse(]uetice  of  tender  teeth,  and  not  too  many 
cf 'em ;  which  Gamp  iiimself,  Mrs.  Chuzzlewit, 
at  one  bIo\i',  being  in  liquor,  struck  out  four,  two 
single,  and  two  double,  as  was  took  by  Mrs.  Har- 
ris for  a  keepsake,  and  is  carried  in  her  pocket  at 
this  pn.'sent  hour,  along  with  two  cramp-bones,  a 
bit  o'  ginger,  and  a  grater  like  a  blessed  infant's 
»)««.  in  tin,  with  a  little  heel  to  put  the  nutmeg 


in:  as  many  times  I  've  seen  and  said,  ana   u»ei 
for  caudle  when  requned  within  the  month." 

As  the  privileges  of  the  side-table  ;  besides  in- 
cluding the  small  prerogatives  of  silting  next  th< 
toast,  and  taking  two  cups  of  tea  to  oiIkt  per)ple'8 
one,  and  always  taking  them  at  a  crisis,  that  is  to 
say,  bel'ore  putting  fresh  water  into  the  teapot, 
and  after  it  had  been  standing  for  some  time;  also 
comprehended  a  full  view  of  the  compnny,  and 
an  opportunit}'  of  addressing  them  as  from  a  ros- 
trum, Mrs.  Gamp  discharged  the  functions  erv 
trusted  to  her  with  extreme  good-humour  and  affa- 
bility. Sometifnes,  resting  her  saucer  on  the  palm 
of  her  outspread  iiand,  and  supporting  her  elbow 
on  the  table,  she  stopped  between  her  sips  of  tea 
to  fivour  the  circle  with  a  smile,  a  wink,  a  roll 
of  the  head,  or  some  other  mark  of  notice  ;  and 
at  those  periods,  her  countenance  was  lighted  up 
with  a  degree  of  intelligence  and  vivacity,  which 
it  was  almost  impossible  to  separate  from  the  be- 
nignant  influence  of  distilled  waters. 

But  for  Mrs.  Gamp,  it  would  have  been  a  curi- 
ously silent  party.  Miss  Pecksniff  only  spoke  to 
her  Augustus,  and  to  him  in  whispers.  Angus- 
tus  spoke  to  nobody,  but  sighed  for  every  one,  and 
occasionally  gave  himself  such  a  sounding  slap 
upon  the  forehead  as  would  make  Mrs.  Todgers, 
who  was  rather  nervous,  start  up  in  her  chair  with 
an  involuntary  exclamation.  Mrs,  Todgers  was 
occupied  in  knitting,  and  seldom  spoke.  Poor 
Merry  held  the  hand  of  cheerful  little  Ruth  be- 
tween  her  own,  and  listening  with  evident  plea, 
sure  to  all  she  said,  but  rarely  speaking  herself^ 
sometimes  smiled,  and  sometimes  kissed  her  on 
the  cheek,  and  sometimes  turned  aside  to  hide  the 
tears  that  trembled  in  her  eyes.  Tom  felt  this 
change  in  tier  so  much,  and  was  so  glad  to  see 
how  tenderly  Ruth  dealt  with  her,  and  how  slw 
knew  and  answered  to  it,  that  he  had  not  tite 
heart  to  make  any  tnovement  towards  their  de- 
parture, although  he  had  long  since  given  utter- 
ance to  all  he  came  to  say. 

The  old  clerk,  subsiding  into  his  usual  state, 
remained  profoundly  silent,  while  the  rest  of  tl)e 
little  assembly  were  thus  occupied,  intent  upon 
the  dreams,  whatever  they  might  be,  which  hard- 
ly seemed  to  stir  the  surface  of  his  sluggish 
thoughts.  The  bent  of  these  dull  fancies  com- 
bining probably  with  the  silent  feasting  that  was 
going  on  about  him,  and  some  struggling  rece.t 
lection  of  the  last  approach  to  revelry  he  had  wit- 
nessed, suggested  a  strange  question  to  his  mind. 
He  looked  round  upon  a  sudden,  and  said, 

"  Who's  lying  dead  upstairs?" 

"  No  one,"  said  Merry  turning  to  him.  "  What 
is  the  matter  ?     We  are  all  here." 

"  All  here  I"  cried  the  old  man,  "  All  here ! 
Where  is  he  then — my  old  master,  Mr.  Chuzzle 
wit,  who  had  the  only  son  ?     Where  is  he  ?" 

"  Hush  !  Hush  !"  said  Merry,  speaking  kindly 
to  him.  "  That  happened  long  ago.  Don't  you 
recollect?" 

"  Recollect !"  rejoined  the  old  man,  with  a  cry 
of  grief.  "As  if  I  could  forget!  As  if  I  ever 
could  forget  I" 

He  put  his  hand  up  to  his  face  for  a  moment 
and  then  repeated,  turning  round  exactly  as  bfl 
fore — 

"  Who  's  lying  dead  up-stairs  ?" 


MARTIN    C  H  J  Z  Z  L  E  VV  1  T. 


273 


"  No  oe  !"  said  Mrrry. 

At  first  he  guzid  aiifjrily  upon  her,  as  upon  a 
itranger  who  endeavoured  to  deceive  him;  but, 
oecring  into  her  fiice,  and  seeing  tliat  it  was  in- 
deed she,  he  shook  iiis  head  in  sorrowful  conipas- 
Bion. 

"You  think  not.  But  they  don't  tell  you.  No, 
no,  poor  tiiinff  I  They  don't  tell  you.  Who  are 
these,  and  why  ai'e  they  merry-making  here,  if 
there  is  no  one  dead  ?  Foul  play  !  Go  see  who 
it  is !" 

She  made  a  sign  to  them  not  to  speak  to  him, 
whici)  indeed  they  had  httle  inclination  to  do; 
and  remained  silent  herself.  So  did  he  for  a 
short  time;  but  then  he  repeated  the  same  ques- 
tion with  ai.  «;agerncss  that  had  a  peculiar  terror 
in  it. 

"  There  's  some  one  dead,"  he  said,  "  or  dying ; 
and  I  want  to  Know  wiio  it  is.  Go  see,  go  seel 
Wiiere  's  Jonas?" 

"  In  the  country,"  she  replied. 

The  old  man  gazed  at  her  as  if  he  doubted  what 
she  said,  or  had  not  heard  her;  and,  rising  from 
his  chair,  walked  across  the  room  and  up  stairs, 
whispering  as  he  went,  "Foul  play  I"  They 
heard  his  footsteps  overhead,  going  up  into  that 
«5orner  of  the  room  in  wliich  the  bed  stood  (it  was,' 
Uiere  old  AntiMuy  had  died);  and  then  they  heard 
hii!i  Coming  U'  wn  again  immediately.  His  fancj' 
«  as  not  so  strong  or  wild  that  it  pictured  to  him 
anything  in  the  deserted  bed-chamber  which  was 
not  there;  for  he  relumed  much  calmer,  and  ap- 
peared to  have  satisfied  himself. 

"  They  don't  tell  you,"  he  said  to  Merry  in  his 
quavering  voice,  as  he  sat  down  again,  and  patted 
her  upon  the  head.  "They  don't  tell  me  either; 
but  I  '11  watch,  I  '11  watch.  They  shall  not  hurt 
you ;  don't  be  frightened.  When  you  have  sat 
up  watching,  I  have  sat  up  watching  too.  Ay, 
ay,  I  have !"  he  piptd  out,  c'enching  his  weak, 
shrivelled  hand.  "  Many  a  night  I  have  been 
ready  .'" 

He  said  this  with  such  trembling  gaps  and 
pauses  in  his  want  of  breath,  and  said  it,  in  his 
jealous  secrecy,  so  closely  in  her  ear,  that  little 
or  nothing  of  it  was  understood  by  the  visitors. 
But  they  had  heard  and  seen  enough  of  the  old 
man  to  be  disquieted,  and  to  have  left  their  seats 
.7nd  gathered  about  liim  ;  thereby  affording  Mrs. 
Gamp,  whose  professional  coolness  was  not  so 
easily  disturbed,  an  eligible  opportunity  for  con- 
centrating the  whole  resources  of  her  powerful 
mind  and  appetite  upon  the  toast  and  butter,  tea 
and  eggs.  She  had  brought  them  to  bear  upon 
those  viands  with  such  vigour,  that  her  face  was 
in  the  highest  state  of  intlammation.  when  she  | 
new  (there  being  nothing  left  to  eat  or  drink)  saw 
fit  to  interpose. 

"  Why,  highty  tighty,  sir!"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp, 
"  is  these  your  manners  ?  You  want  a  pitcher 
of  cold  water  throv.  'd  over  you  to  bring  you  round  ; 
that 's  my  belief;  and  if  you  was  under  Betsy 
Prig  you  'd  have  it,  too,  I  do  assure  you,  Mr. 
Chuffey.  Spanish  Flies  is  the  only  thing  to  dniw 
tills  nonsense  out  of  you;  and  if  anybody  wanted 
to  do  you  a  kindness,  they  'd  clap  a  blister  of 'em 
on  your  head,  and  put  a  mustard  poultice  on  your 
back.  Who  's  dead,  indeed  !  It  wouldn'  be  no 
grievious  loss  if  some  one  was,  I  think  1" 
35 


"He's  quiet  now,  Mrs.  Gamp,"  said  Merry 
"  Don't  disturb  him." 

"Oil,  bother  the  old  wictim,  Mrs.  Chuzzlewii," 
replied  that  zealous  lady,  "  I  ain't  no  patience 
with  him.  You  give  him  his  own  way  too  much 
by  half.     A  worrilin'  vve.xagious  creeter  I" 

No  doubt  with  the  view  of  carrying  out  ihe 
precepts  she  enforced,  and  "  bothering  tlie  old  vie. 
tim"  in  practice  as  well  as  in  tlicory,  Mrs.  Gamp 
took  him  by  tiie  collar  of  his  coat,  and  gave  him 
some  dozen  or  two  hearty  shakes  backward  and 
forward  in  his  chair;  that  exercise  being  consid- 
ered by  the  disciples  of  the  Prig  scho<il  ot  nursing 
(who  are  very  numerous  among  professional  la- 
dies)  as  exceedingly  conducive  to  repose,  and 
highly  beneficial  to  the  performance  of  the  ner- 
vous functions.  Its  effect  in  this  instance  was  to 
render  the  patient  so  giddy  and  addle-headed  that 
he  could  say  nothing  more,  which  Mrs.  Gamp 
regarded  as  the  triumph  of  her  art. 

"  There  I"  she  said,  loosening  the  old  man's 
cravat,  in  consequence  of  his  being  rather  black 
in  the  face,  after  this  scientific  treatment.  "  Now, 
I  hope,  you  're  easy  in  your  mind.  If  you  should 
turn  at  all  faint,  we  can  soon  rewive  you,  sir,  I 
promige  you.  Bite  a  person's  thumbs,  or  turn 
their  fingers  the  wrong  way,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp, 
smiling  with  the  consciousness  of  at  once  impart- 
in/,'-  pleasure  and  instruction  to  her  auditors, "  and 
tliey  comes  to  wonderful,  Lord  bless  you  !  • 

As  this  excellent  woman  had  been  formally 
entrusted  with  the  care  of  Mr.  Chuffey  on  a  pru- 
licus  occasion,  neither  Mrs.  Jonas  nor  anybody 
ike  had  the  resolution  to  interfere  directly  will* 
her  mode  of  treatment ;  though  all  present  (Tom 
Pinch  aud  his  sister  especially)  appeared  to  be 
disposed  to  ditFer  from  her  views.  For  such  is 
the  rash  boldness  of  the  uninitiated,  that  they  will 
frequently  set  up  some  monstrous  abstract  prin- 
ciple, such  as  humanity,  or  tenderness,  or  the  like 
idle  folly,  in  obstinate  defiance  of  all  precedent 
and  usage;  and  will  even  venture  to  maintain  the 
same  against  the  persons  who  have  made  the  pre- 
cedtnts  and  established  the  usage,  and  who  must 
therefore  be  the  best  and  most  impartial  judges 
of  the  subject. 

"Ah  Mr.  Pinch  !"  said  Miss  Pecksniflf,  "It 
all  comes  of  this  unfortunate  marriage.  If  my 
sister  had  not  been  so  precipitate,  and  had  not 
united  herself  to  a  Wretch,  there  would  have  been 
no  Mr.  C;hufTey  in  the  house." 

"  Hush  !"  cried  Tom.     "  She  '11  hear  you." 

"  I  should  be  very  sorry  if  she  did  hear  me, 
Mr.  Pinch,"  said  Cherry,  raising  her  voice  a  little, 
"for  it  is  not  in  my  nature  to  add  to  the  uneasi- 
ness of  any  person — far  less  of  my  own  sister,  I 
know  what  a  sister's  duties  are,  Mr.  Pinch,  and  I 
hope  I  always  showed  it  in  my  practice.  AugUE>- 
tus,  my  dear  child,  find  my  pocket-handkerchief^ 
and  give  it  to  me. 

-Augustus  obeyed,  and  took  Mrs.  Todgera  aside 
to  pour  his  griefs  into  her  friendly  bosom. 

"  I  am  sure,  Mr.  Pinch."  said  Charity,  looking 
after  her  betrothed  and  glancing  at  her  sister, 
"  that  I  ought  to  be  very  grateful  for  the  blessing* 
I  enjoy,  and  those  which  are  yet  in  store  for  m«. 
When  I  contrast  Augustus" — here  she  was  mu 
dest  and  embarrassed — "  who,  I  don't  mind  say 
ing  to  you,  is  all  softness,  mildness,  and  dev«» 


274 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


t»on,  with  tlie  detestable  man  who  is  my  sister's 
husband  ;  and  when  I  think,  Mr.  Pincli,  that  in 
the  dispensations  of  this  world,  our  cases  might 
have  been  reversed ;  I  have  mucli  to  be  thanlit'ul 
for,  indeed,  and  much  to  make  me  humble  and 
contented." 

Contented  she  might  have  been,  but  humble 
she  assuredly  was  not.  Her  lace  and  manner 
evinced  something  so  widely  difitrent  from  hu- 
mility, that  Tom  could  not  help  uiidcrstunding 
and  despising  the  base  motives  that  were  work- 
ing in  her  breast.  He  turned  away,  and  said  to 
Ruth,  tiiat  it  was  time  for  them  to  go. 

"I  will  write  to  your  husband,"  said  Tom  to 
Merry,  "  and  explain  to  him,  as  I  would  have 
done  if  I  had  met  him  here,  tiiat  if  he  lias  suh- 
tained  any  inconvenience  through  my  means,  it 
is  not  my  fault:  a  postman  not  being  more  in- 
nocent of  the  news  he  brings  than  I  was  when  I 
handed  him  that  letter." 

"I  thank  you!"  said  Merry.  "It  may  do 
Bome  good.     Heaven  bless  you  !" 

She  parted  tenderly  from  Ruth,  who  with  her 
brother  was  in  the  act  of  leaving  the  room,  when 
a  key  was  heard  in  the  lock  of  the  door  below, 
and  immediately  afterwards  a  quick  footstep  in 
the  passage.  Tom  stopped,  and  looked  at  Merry. 

It  was  Jonas,  she  said  timidly. 

"I  had  better  not  meet  him  on  the  stairs,  per- 
haps," said  Tom,  drawing  his  sister's  arm  through 
his,  and  commg  back  a  step  or  two.  "  I  'II  wait 
for  him  here  a  moment." 

He  had  scarcely  said  it,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  Jonas  entered.  His  wife  came  forward  to 
receive  him ;  but  he  put  hor  aside  with  his  hand, 
and  said  in  a  surly  tone : 

"  I  didn't  know  you'd  got  a  party." 

As  he  looked,  at  the  same  time,  either  by  acci- 
dent or  design,  towards  Miss  Pecksniff;  and  as 
Miss  Pecksniff  was  only  too  delighted  to  quarrel 
with  him,  she  instantly  resented  it. 

"Oh  dear!"  she  said,  rising.  "Pray  don't  let 
us  intrude  upon  your  domestic  happiness!  That 
would  be  a  pity.  We  have  taken  tea  here,  sir,  in 
your  absence;  but  if  you  will  have  tlic  goodness 
to  send  us  a  note  of  the  expense,  receipted,  we 
shall  be  happy  to  pay  it.  Augustus,  my  love,  we 
will  go,  if  you  please.  Mrs.  Todgers,  unless  you 
wish  to  remain  here,  we  shall  be  happy  to  take 
you  with  us.  It  would  be  a  pity,  indeed,  to  spoil 
the  bliss  which  this  gentleman  always  brings 
with  him  :  especially  into  his  own  home." 

"Charity!  Charity!"  remonstrated  her  sister, 
in  such  a  heartfelt  tone  that  she  might  have  been 
imploring  her  to  show  the  cardinal  virtue  whose 
name  she  bore. 

"Merry,  my  dear,  I  am  much  obliged  to  you 
for  your  advice,"  returned  Miss  Pecksniff,  with  a 
stately  scorn :  by  the  way,  she  had  not  been 
offered  any :   "  but  /  am  not  his  slave " 

"  No,  nor  wouldn't  have  been  if  you  could," 
lulcrruptcei  Jonns.     "  We  know  all  about  it." 

"  What  did  you  say,  sir  ?"  cried  Miss  Peck- 
miiff,  sharply. 

"  Didn't  you  hear  ?"  retorted  Jonas,  lounging 
down  upon  a  ch.iir.  "  I  am  not  a-going  to  say  it 
agair..  If  you  like  to  stay,  you  may  stay.  If 
rrra  like  to  po,  you  may  go.  But  if  you  stay, 
fthraae  to  bt;  civil," 

•  Beast  I"  cried  Miss  Pecksniff,  sweeping  past 


him.  "  Augustus  !  He  is  beneath  your  notice  !" 
Augustus  had  been  making  some  faint  ana  sickly 
demonstration  of  shaking  his  fisi.  "Come  away, 
cliild,"  screamed  Miss  Pecksniff,  "  I  commana 
you !" 

The  scream  was  elicited  from  her  by  Augustus 
manifesting  an  intention  to  return  and  grapple 
with  him.  But  Miss  Pecksniff  giving  the  fiery 
youth  a  pull,  and  Mrs.  Todgers  giving  him  a 
push,  they  all  three  tumbled  out  of  the  room  to- 
gether, to  the  music  of  Miss  Pecksniff's  shrill 
remonstrances. 

All  this  time,  Jonas  had  seen  nothing  of  Tom 
and  his  sister ;  for  they  were  almost  behind  the 
door  when  he  opened  it,  and  he  had  sat  down 
with  his  back  towards  them,  and  had  purposely 
kept  his  eyes  upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  street 
during  his  altercation  with  Miss  Pecksniff,  in 
order  that  his  seeming  carelessness  might  in- 
crease  the  exasperation  of  that  wronged  young 
damsel.  His  wife  now  faltered  out  that  Tom 
had  been  waiting  to  see  him ;  and  Tom  ad- 
vanced. 

The  instant  he  presented  himself,  Jonas  leap- 
ed up  from  his  chair,  and  swearing  a  great  oath, 
caught  it  in  his  grasp,  as  if  he  would  have  felled 
Tom  to  the  ground  with  it.  As  he  most  unques- 
tionably would  have  done,  but  that  his  very 
passion  and  surprise  made  him  irresolute,  and 
gave  Tom,  in  his  calmness,  an  opportunity  of 
being  heard. 

"  You  have  no  cause  to  be  violent,  sir,"  said 
Tom.  "  Though  what  I  wish  to  say  relates  to 
your  own  affairs,  I  know  nothing  of  them,  and 
desire  to  know  nothing  of  them." 

Jonas  was  too  enraged  to  speak.  He  held  the 
door  oj)en ;  and  stamping  his  foot  upon  the 
ground,  motioned  Tom  away. 

"  As  you  cannot  suppose,"  said  Tom,  "that  I 
am  here,  with  any  view  of  conciliating  you  o* 
pleasing  myself,  I  am  quite  indifferent  to  your 
reception  of  me,  or  your  dismissal  of  me.  Hear 
what  I  have  to  say,  if  you  are  not  a  madman.  I 
gave  you  a  letter  the  other  day,  when  you  were 
about  to  go  abroad." 

"  You  thiefi  you  did  !"  retorted  Jonas.  "  I  'U 
pay  you  for  the  carriage  of  it  one  day,  and  settle 
an  old  score  besides.     I  will." 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  Tom,  "you  needn't  waste 
foul  words  or  idle  threats.  I  wish  yon  to  under 
stand;  plainly  because  I  would  rather  keep  clear 
of  you  and  everytliing  that  concerns  you  :  not 
because  I  have  the  least  apprehension  of  your 
doing  me  any  injury  :  whicli  would  bo  weak  in. 
deed;  that  I  am  no  party  to  the  contents  of  that 
letter.  That  I  know  nothing  of  it.  That  I  waa 
not  even  aware  that  it  was  to  be  delivered  tc 
you ;  and  that  I  had  it  from " 

"  By  the  Lord  !"  cried  Jonas,  fiercely  catching 
up  the  chair,  "  I  '11  knock  your  brains  out,  if 
you  speak  another  word." 

'l"om,  nevertheless,  persisting  in  his  intention, 
and  opening  his  lips  to  speak  again,  Jonas  set 
ui)On  him  like  a  savage ;  and  in  the  quickness 
and  ferocity  of  his  attack  would  have  surely  done 
him  some  grievous  injury,  defenceless  as  he  was, 
and  embarrassed  by  having  his  frightened  sister 
clinging  to  his  arm,  if  Merry  had  not  run  between 
them,  crying  to  Tom  for  the  love  of  Heaven  to 
leave  the  house.   The  agony  of  this  poor  creature, 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


275 


Jie  terror  of  his  sister,  the  impossibility  of  making 
himself  audible,  and  the  equal  impossibility  of 
bearing'  up  a^rainst  Mrs.  Gatnp,  who  threw  licr- 
eelf  upon  him  like  a  fc';itlier-!)('d,  and  forced  him 
backwards  down  the  stairs  by  the  mere  oppression 
of  her  dead-wciglit,  prevailed.  Tom  shook  the 
dust  of  tli;it  house  off  his  feet,  without  having 
mentioned  Nadfjett's  name. 

If  the  name  could  have  passed  his  lips  ;  if  Jonas, 
in  the  insolence  of  his  vile  nature,  had  never 
roused  him  to  do  that  old  act  of  manlimss,  for 
which  (and  not  for  liis  last  offence)  he  hated  him 
with  such  malignity;  if  Jonas  could  have  learned, 
Bs  then  he  could  and  would  have  learned,  through 
Tom's  means,  what  unsuspected  spy  there  was 
upon  him  ;  he  would  have  been  saved  from  the 
commission  of  a  Guilty  Deed,  then  drawing  on 
towards  its  black  accomplishment.  But  the  fatality 
was  of  his  own  working;  the  pit  was  of  his  own 
digging  ;  the  gloom  that  gathered  round  him,  was 
the  shadow  of  his  own  life. 

His  wife  had  closed  the  door,  and  thrown  her- 
self before  it,  on  the  ground,  upon  her  knees.  She 
held  up  her  hands  to  him  now,  and  besought  him 
not  to  be  harsh  with  her,  for  she  had  interposed 
in  fear  of  bloodshed. 

"So,  so  !"  said  Jonas,  looking  down  upon  her, 
as  he  fetched  his  breath.  "  These  are  your  friends, 
are  they,  wiien  I  am  away?  You  plot  and  tam- 
per with  this  sort  of  people,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  indeed!  I  have  no  knowledge  of  these 
secrets,  and  no  clue  to  their  meaning.  I  have 
never  seen  him  since  I  left  home  but  once — but 
twice — before  to-day." 

"  Oh  !"  sneered  Jonas,  catching  at  this  correc- 
tion. "  But  once,  but  twice,  eh  ?  Wiiich  do  you 
mean  ?  Twice  and  once,  perhaps.  Three  times! 
How  many  more,  you  lying  jade  ?" 

As  he  made  an  angry  motion  with  his  hand, 
she  shrunk  down  hastily.  A  suggestive  action  ! 
Full  of  a  cruel  truth  ! 

"  How  many  more  times?"  he  repeated. 

"No  more.  The  other  mornmg,  and  to-day, 
and  once  besides." 

He  was  about  to  retort  upon  her,  when  the 
clock  struck.  He  started,  stopped,  and  listened  : 
appearing  to  revert  to  some  engagement,  or  to 
some  other  subject,  a  secret  within  his  own 
breast,  recalled  to  him  by  this  record  of  the  pro- 
gress of  the  hours. 

"  Don't  lie  there.     Get  up!" 

Having  helped  her  to  rise,  or  rather  hauled  her 
up  by  the  arm,  he  went  on  to  say : 

"  Listen  to  me,  young  lady  ;  and  don't  whine 
when  you  have  no  occasion,  or  I  may  make  some 
for  you.  If  I  find  him  in  my  house  again,  or  find 
that  you  have  seen  him  in  anybody  else's  house, 
you'll  repent  it.  If  you  are  not  deaf  and  dumb 
to  everything  that  concerns  me,  unless  you  have 
my  leave  to  hear  and  speak,  you  '11  repent  it.  If 
you  don't  obey  exactly  what  I  order,  you  'II  repent 
Jt.     Now,  attend.     What 's  the  time?" 

"  it  struck  Eight  a  minute  ago." 

He  looked  towards  her  intently  ;  and  said,  with 
a  laboured  distinctness,  as  if  he  had  got  the  words 
off  by  heart: 

"  I  have  been  travelling  day  and  night,  and  am 
tired.  I  have  lost  some  money,  and  that  don't 
improve  me.  Put  my  supper  in  the  little  off  room 
below,  and  have  the  truckle-bed  made.     I  shall 


sleep  there  to-night,  and  maybe  to-morrow  night ; 
and  if  I  can  sleep  all  day  to-morrow,  so  much  the 
better,  for  I've  got  trouble  to  sleep  off,  if  I  c;in. 
Keep  the  house  quiet,  and  don't  call  me.  Mind  ! 
Don't  c;ill  me.  Don't  let  anybody  call  me.  Let 
me  lie  there." 

She  said  it  should  be  done.    .Was  that  all? 

"  What !  you  must  be  prying  and  questioning  ?" 
he  angrily  retorted.  "  What  more  do  you  want 
to  know  ?" 

"  I  want  to  know  nothing,  Jonas,  but  what  you 
tell  me.  All  hope  of  confidence  between  us,  has 
long  deserted  me." 

"  Ecod,  I  should  hope  so !"  he  muttered. 

"  But  if  you  will  tell  me  what  you  wish,  I  will 
be  obedient,  and  will  try  to  please  you.  I  make 
no  merit  of  that,  for  I  have  no  friend  in  my  father 
or  my  sister,  but  am  quite  alone.  I  am  very 
humble  and  submissive.  You  told  me  you  would 
break  my  spirit,  and  you  have  done  so.  Do  not 
break  my  heart  too  !" 

She  ventured,  as  she  said  these  words,  to  lay 
her  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  He  suffered  it  to 
rest  there,  in  his  exultation  ;  and  the  whole  mean, 
abject,  sordid,  pitiful  soul  of  the  man,  looked  at 
her,  for  the  moment,  through  his  wicked  eyes. 

For  the  moment  only :  for,  with  the  same  hur- 
ried return  to  something  within  himself,  he  bade 
her,  in  a  surly  tone,  show  her  obedience  by  exe- 
cuting his  commands  without  delay.  When  she 
had  withdrawn,  he  paced  up  and  down  the  room 
several  times ;  but  always  with  his  right  hand 
clenched,  as  if  it  held  something;  which  it  did 
not,  being  empty.  When  he  was  tired  of  this,  ha 
threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  thoughtfully 
turned  up  the  sleeve  of  his  right  arm,  as  if  he 
were  rather  musing  about  its  strength  than  er. 
amining  it;  but  even  then,  he  kept  the  hand 
clenched. 

He  was  brooding  in  this  chair,  with  his  eyea 
east  down  upon  the  ground,  when  Mrs.  Gamp 
came  in  to  tell  him  that  the  little  room  was  ready 
Not  being  quite  sure  of  her  reception  after  inter 
fering  in  the  quarrel,  Mrs.  Gamp,  as  a  means  of 
interesting  and  propitiating  her  patron,  affected  a 
deep  solicitude  in  Mr.  Chuffey. 

"  How  is  he  now,  sir  ?"  she  said. 

"Who?"  cried  Jonas,  raising  his  head,  and 
staring  at  her. 

"To  be  sure  ?"  returned  the  matron,  with  a 
smile  and  a  curtsey.  "  What  am  I  a  thinking  of! 
You  vpasn't  here,  sir,  when  he  was  took  so 
strange.  I  never  see  a  poor  deer  creetur  took  so 
strange  in  all  my  life,  except  a  patient  much 
about  the  same  age,  as  I  once  nussed,  which  liis 
calling  was  the  custom-'us,  and  his  name  was 
Mrs.  Harris's  own  father,  as  pleasant  a  singer, 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  as  ever  you  heerd,  with  a  voice 
like  a  Jew's-harp  in  the  bass  notes,  that  it  tooi\ 
six  men  to  hold  at  sech  times,  foammg  frighi- 
ful." 

"Chuffey,  eh?"  said  Jonas,  carelessly,  seeing 
that  she  went  up  to  the  old  clerk,  and  looked  at 
him.     "  Ha !" 

"  The  creetur's  head 's  so  hot,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp 
"  that  you  might  eat  a  flat-iron  at  it.  And  no 
wonder,  I  am  sure,  considerin'  the  things  he 
said  !" 

"  Said  !"  cried  Jonas.     "  What  did  he  say  ?" 

Mrs.  Gamp  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart,  iv  pul 


276 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OP 


some  check  upon  its  palpitations,  and  turning  up 
her  eyes,  replied  in  a  faint  voice  : 

"The  awfullest  things,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  as  ever 
I  heerd  !  Which  Mrs.  Harris's  father  never  spoke 
a  word  wlien  took  so,  some  does  and  some  don't, 
except  sayin'  when  he  come  round,  '  Where  is 
Sairey  Gamp?'  But  raly,  sir,  when  Mr.  Chuffey 
comes  to  ask  who's  lyin'  dead  upstairs,  and " 

"Who's  lying  dead  up-stairs  I"  repeated  Jonas, 
standing  aghast. 

Mrs.  Gamp  nodded,  made  as  if  she  were  swal- 
lowing, and  went  on : 

"Who's  lyin'  dead  up-stairs;  sech  was  his 
Bible  language ;  and  where  was  Mr.  Chuzzlewit 
as  had  the  only  son  ;  and  when  he  goes  up  stairs 
a  lookin'  in  the  beds  and  wandering  about  the 
rooms,  and  comes  down  again  a  whisperin'  softly 
to  his-self  about  foul  play  and  that;  it  give  me 
.«ich  a  turn,  I  don't  deny  it,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  that 
I  never  could  have  kep  myself  up  but  for  a  little 
drain  o'  spirits,  which  I  seldom  touches,  but  could 
always  wish  to  know  where  to  find,  if  so  dispogcd, 
never  knowin'  wot  may  happen  next,  the  world 
bein'  so  uncertain," 

"  Why,  the  old  fool 's  mad  !"  cried  Jonas,  much 
disturbed. 

•  That's  my  opinion,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp, 
"  and  I  will  not  deceive  you.  I  believe  as  Mr. 
ChufFey,  sir,  rekwires  attention  (if  I  may  make 
60  bold),  and  should  not  have  his  liberty  to  wex 
and  worrit  your  sweet  lady  as  he  does." 

"  Why,  who  minds  what  he  says  ?"  retorted 
,'onas. 

"Still  he  is  worritin',  sir,"  said  Mrs. Gamp.  "  No 
one  don't  mind  him,  but  he  is  a  ill  conwenience," 

"  Ecod  you  're  right,"  said  Jonas,  looking  doubt- 
fully at  the  subject  of  this  conversation.  "  I  have 
half  a  mind  to  shut  him  up." 

Mrs.  Gamp  rubbed  her  hands,  and  smiled,  and 
shook  her  head,  and  sniffed  expressively,  as  scent- 
ing a  job. 

"  Could  you — could  you  take  care  of  such  an 
idiot,  now,  in  some  spare  room  up-stairs  ?"  asked 
Jonas. 

"  Me  and  a  friend  of  mine,  one  off,  one  on,  could 
do  it,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  replied  the  nurse ;  "  our 
charges  not  bein'  high,  out  wishin'  they  was 
lower,  and  allowance  made  considerin'  not  stran- 
gers. Me  and  Betsey  Prig,  sir,  would  undertake  | 
Mr.  ChufFey,  reasonable,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  look- 
ing at  him  with  her  head  on  one  side,  as  if  he  had 
been  a  piece  of  goods,  for  which  she  was  driving 
a  bargain  ;  "  and  give  every  satigefaction.  Betsey 
Prig  has  nussed  a  many  lunacies,  and  well  she 
knows  their  ways,  which  puttin'  'em  right  close 
'ifore  the  fire,  when  fractious,  is  the  certainest  and 
most  compoging." 

While  Mrs.Gamp  discoursed  to  this  effect,  Jonas 
was  walking  up  and  down  the  room  again:  glanc- 
ing covertly  at  the  old  clerk,  as  he  did  so.  He 
now  made  a  stop,  and  said  : 

"I  must  look  after  hitii,  I  suppose,  or  I  may 

liavc  him  doing  some  mischief.    What  say  you?" 

"Nothin'   more  likely!"   Mrs.   Gamp    replied. 

As  well  I  have  experienged,  I  do  assure  you, 
air." 

"  Well  I  liook  after  him  for  the  present,  and — 
let  me  see — three  days  from  this  time  let  the  other 
woman  come  here,  and  we  '11  see  if  we  can  make 
p    bartrain   of  it.     About  nine  or  ten  o'clock   at 


night,  say.  Keep  your  eye  upon  him  in  the  meaiv. 
while,  and  don't  talk  about  it.  He's  as  mad  as  a 
March  hare  !" 

"  Madder  !"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp.  "  A  deal  jiad- 
der !" 

"  See  to  him,  then  ;  take  care  that  he  does  no 
harm;  and  recollect  what  I  have  told  you." 

Leaving  Mrs.  Gamp  in  the  act  of  repeating  all 
she  had  been  told,  and  of  producing  in  support  of 
her  memory  and  trustworthiness,  many  commen- 
dations  selected  from  among  the  most  remarkable 
opinions  of  the  celebrated  Mrs.  Harris,  he  de- 
scended to  the  little  room  prepared  for  liim,  and 
pulling  off  his  coat  and  his  boots,  put  them  out- 
side the  door  before  he  locked  it.  In  locking  it, 
he  was  careful  so  to  adjust  the  key,  as  to  bafRe 
any  curious  person  who  might  try  to  peep  in 
through  the  keyhole ;  and  when  he  had  taken 
these  precautions,  he  sat  dovi'n  to  his  supper. 

"  Mr. Chuff,"  he  muttered,  "  it'll  be  pretty  easy 
to  be  even  with  you.  It 's  of  no  use  doing  things 
by  halves,  and  as  long  as  I  stop  here,  I  '11  t;ike  good 
care  of  you.  When  I  am  off,  you  may  say  what 
you  please.  But  it 's  a  d — d  strange  thing,"  he 
added,  pushing  away  his  untouched  plate,  and 
striding  moodily  to  and  fro,  "  that  his  driveilings 
should  have  taken  this  turn  just  now." 

Af^er  pacing  the  little  room  from  end  to  end 
several  times,  he  sat  down  in  another  ch;iir. 

"  I  say  just  now,  but  for  anything  I  know,  he 
may  have  been  carrying  on  the  same  game  all 
along.     Old  dog  !     He  shall  be  gagged  !" 

He  paced  the  room  again  in  the  same  restless 
and  unsteady  way ;  and  then  sat  down  upon  the 
bedstead,  leaning  his  chin  upon  his  h;md,  and  look- 
ing at  the  table.  When  he  had  looked  at  it  for  a 
long  time,  he  remembered  his  supper ;  and  re- 
suming the  chair  he  had  first  occupied,  began  to 
eat  with  great  rapacity  :  not  like  a  hunery  man, 
but  as  if  he  were  determined  to  do  it.  He  drank 
too,  roundly  ;  sometimes  stoppmg  in  the  middle 
of  a  draught  to  walk,  and  change  liis  seat  and 
walk  again,  and  dart  back  to  the  table  and  fall  i(\ 
in  a  ravenous  hurry,  as  before. 

It  was  now  growing  dark.  As  the  gloom  of 
evening,  deepening  into  night,  came  on,  another 
dark  shade  emerging  from  within  him  seemed  to 
overspread  his  face,  and  slowly  change  if.  Slow- 
ly,  slowly;  darker  and  darker;  more  and  more 
haggard;  creeping  over  him  by  little  and  little; 
until  it  was  black  night  witijin  him  and  without. 

The  room  in  which  he  had  shut  himself  up, 
was  on  the  ground-floor,  at  the  back  of  the  house. 
It  was  lighted  by  a  dirty  skylight,  and  had  a  door 
in  the  wall,  opening  into  a  narrow  covered  passage 
or  blind-alley,  very  little  frequented  after  five  or 
six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  not  in  nmch  use 
as  a  thoroughfare  at  any  hour.  But  it  had  an 
outlet  in  a  neighbouring  street. 

The  ground  on  which  this  chamber  stood,  had, 
at  one  time,  not  within  his  recollection,  been  a 
yard  :  and  had  been  converted  to  its  present  pur- 
pose, for  use  as  an  office.  But  the  occasion  for  it 
died  with  the  man  who  built  it;  and  saving  that 
it  had  sometimes  served  as  on  apology  for  a  spare 
bed-room,  and  that  the  old  clerk  had  once  held  it 
(but  that  was  years  ago)  as  his  recognised  apart- 
ment ;  it  had  been  little  troubled  by  AnthonyChux. 
zlewit  and  Son.  It  was  a  blotched,  stained,  moul. 
dering  room,  like  a  vault;  and  there  were  water 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


277 


pipes  running'  tliroug-fi  it,  which  at  unexpected 
times  in  tlie  night,  when  other  things  were  quiet, 
olicked  and  gurjjled  suddenly,  as  if  tiiey  were 
choking. 

Tlie  door  into  the  court  had  not  been  opened 
for  a  long,  long  time  ;  but  the  key  had  always 
hung  in  one  place,  and  tiiero  it  hung  now.  He 
was  prepared  for  its  being  rusty  ;  lor  he  had  a  lit- 
Jle  bottle  of  oil  in  his  pocket  and  the  feather  of  a 
pen,  with  which  he  lubricated  the  key,  and  the 
lock  too,  carefully.  All  this  while  he  had  been 
without  his  coat,  and  had  nothing  on  his  feet  but 
his  stockings.  He  now  got  sotlly  into  bed,  in  the 
same  state,  and  tossed  from  side  to  side  to  tumble 
it.    In  his  restless  condition,  that  was  easily  done. 

When  he  arose,  he  took  from  his  portmanteau, 
which  he  had  caused  to  be  carried  into  that  place 
when  he  came  home,  a  pair  of  clumsy  shoes,  and 
put  them  on  his  feet;  also  a  pair  of  leather  leg- 
gings, such  as  countrymen  are  used  to  wear,  with 
straps  to  fasten  them  to  the  waistband;  in  which 
he  dressed  himself  at  leisure.  Lastly,  he  took 
out  a  common  frock  of  coarse  dark  jean,  which 
he  drew  over  his  own  under-clothing;  and  a  felt 
hat — he  had  purposely  left  his  own  upstairs. 
He  then  sat  down  by  the  door,  with  the  key  in 
his  hand :  waiting. 


He  had  no  light ;  the  time  was  dreary,  lonjf, 
and  awful.  The  ringers  were  practising  in  a 
neighbouring  church,  and  the  clashing  of  the  btli» 
was  almost  maddening.  Curse  the  clamouring 
bells,  they  seemed  to  know  that  he  was  listening 
at  the  door,  and  to  proelaim  it  in  a  crowd  of  voices 
to  all  the  town.     VVould  they  never  be  still  ? 

They  ceased  at  last;  and  then  the  silence  wag 
£0  new  and  terrible  that  it  seemed  the  prelude  to 
some  dreadful  noise.  Footsteps  in  the  court  I 
Two  men.  He  fell  back  from  the  door  on  tiptoe, 
as  if  they  could  have  seen  him  through  its  wood- 
en panels. 

They  passed  on,  talking  (he  could  make  out) 
about  a  skeleton  which  had  been  dug  up  yester- 
day,  in  some  work  of  excavation  near  at  hand, 
and  was  supposed  to  be  that  of  a  murdered  man. 
"So  murder  is  not  always  found  out,  you  see," 
they  said  to  one  another  as  they  turned  the  corner 

Hush  ! 

He  put  the  key  into  the  lock,  and  turned  it 
The  door  resisted  for  a  while,  but  soon  came  stif- 
fly open :  mingling  with  the  sense  of  fever  in  his 
mouth,  a  taste  of  rust,  and  dust,  and  earth,  and 
rotting  wood.  He  looked  out;  passed  out;  locked 
it  after  him. 

All  was  clear  and  quiet,  as  he  fled  away. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 


CONCLUSION  OF  THE  ENTERPRISE  OF  MR.  JONAS  AND  HIS  FRIEND. 


Did  no  men  passing  through  the  dim  streets 
shrink  without  knowing  why,  when  he  came  steal- 
ing up  behind  them  ?  As  lie  glided  on,  had  no 
child  in  its  sleep  an  indistinct  perception  of  a 
guilty  shadow  falling  on  its  bed,  that  troubled  its 
innocent  rest?  Did  no  dog  howl,  and  strive  to 
break  its  rattling  chain,  that  it  might  tear  him  ; 
no  burrowing  rat,  scenting  the  work  he  had  in 
his  hand,  essay  to  gnaw  a  passage  alter  him,  that 
it  might  hold  a  greedy  revel  at  the  feast  of  his 
providing?  When  he  looked  back,  across  his 
shoulder,  was  it  to  see  if  his  quick  footsteps  still 
fell  dry  upon  the  dusty  pavement,  or  were  already 
moist  and  clogged  with  the  red  mire  that  stained 
the  naked  feet  of  Cain  ! 

He  shaped  his  course  for  the  main  western  road, 
and  soon  reached  it:  riding  a  part  of  the  way, 
then  alighting  and  walking  on  again.  He  travel- 
led for  a  considerable  distance  upon  the  roof  of  a 
stage-coach,  which  came  up  while  he  was  afoot; 
and  when  it  turned  out  of  his  road,  bribed  the 
driver  of  a  return  post-chaise  to  take  him  on  with 
him  ;  and  then  made  across  the  country  at  a  run, 
and  saved  a  mile  or  two  before  he  struck  again  into 
the  road.  At  last,  as  his  plan  was,  he  came  up 
with  a  certain  lumbering,  slow,  night-coach,  which 
stopped  wherever  it  could,  and  was  stopping  then 
at  a  pubiic-house,  while  the  guard  and  coachman 
ate  and  drank  within. 

He  bargained  for  a  seat  outside  this  coach,  and 
took  it.  And  he  quitted  it  no  more  until  it  was 
within  a  few  milts  of  its  destination,  but  occu- 
pied the  same  place  all  night. 

All  night!  It  is  a  common  fancy  that  nature 
Reems  to  sleep  by  night.  It  is  a  false  fancy,  as 
who  should  know  better  than  he? 

The  fishes  slumbered  in  the  cold,  bright,  glis- 


tening streams  and  rivers,  perhaps;  and  the  birds 
roosted  on  the  branches  of  the  trees;  and  in  their 
stalls  and  pastures  beasts  were  quiet;  and  human 
creatures  slept.  But  what  of  that,  when  the  so- 
lemn night  was  watching,  when  it  never  winked, 
when  its  darkness  watched  no  less  than  its  light  I 
The  stateiy  trees,  the  moon,  and  shining  stars, 
the  softly  stirring  wind,  the  over-shadowed  lane, 
the  broad,  bright  country-side,  they  all  kept  watch. 
There  was  not  a  blade  of  growing  grass  or  corn, 
but  watched ;  and  the  quieter  it  was,  the  more 
intent  and  fixed  its  watch  upon  him  seemed  to  be. 

And  yet  he  slept.  Riding  on  among  these  sen- 
tinels  of  God,  he  slept,  and  did  not  change  the 
purpose  of  his  journey.  If  he  forgot  it  in  his 
troubled  dreams,  it  came  up  steadily,  and  woke 
him.  But  it  never  woke  him  to  remorse,  or  tc 
abandonment  of  his  design. 

He  dreamed  at  one  time  that  he  was  lying 
calmly  in  his  bed,  thinking  of  a  moonlight  nigiil 
and  the  noise  of  wheels,  when  the  old  clerk  put 
his  head  in  at  the  door,  and  beckoned  him.  At 
this  signal  he  rose  immediately  :  being  already 
dressed,  in  the  clothes  he  actually  wore  at  that 
time:  and  accompanied  him  into  a  strange  c.itj, 
where  the  names  of  the  streets  were  written  on 
the  walls  in  characters  quite  new  to  him  ;  which 
gave  him  no  surprise  or  uneasiness,  for  he  remem- 
bered in  his  dream  to  have  been  there  before. 
Although  these  streets  were  very  precipitous,  in- 
somuch that  to  get  from  one  to  anoiner,  it  was 
necessary  to  descend  great  heights  by  ladders  thai 
were  too  short,  and  ropes  that  moved  deep  bells, 
and  swung  and  swayed  as  they  were  clung  to.  the 
danger  gave  him  little  emotion  beyond  the  tirst 
thrill  of  terror ;  his  anxieties  being  concentrated 
on  his  dress,  which  was  quite  unlitted  for  sou»« 


278 


LIFE  A^D  ADVENTURES  OF 


festival  that  was  about  to  be  holden  there,  and  in 
wliicli  he  had  come  to  take  a  part.  Already, 
great  crowds  beg-an  to  fill  the  streets,  and  in  one 
direction  myriads  of  people  came  rushing  down 
an  interminable  perspective  strewing  flowers  and 
making  way  for  others  on  white  horses,  when  a 
terrible  figure  stnrted  from  the  llirong,  and  cried 
out  that  it  was  the  Last  Day  for  all  the  world. 
The  cry  being  spread,  there  was  a  wild  hurrying 
on  to  Judgment;  and  the  press  became  so  great 
that  he  and  his  companion  (who  was  constantly 
changing,  and  was  never  the  same  man  two  min- 
utes togetiier,  though  he  never  saw  one  man  come 
or  another  go),  stood  aside  in  a  porch,  fearfully 
surveying  the  multitude ;  in  which  there  were 
niany  faces  that  he  knew,  and  many  that  he  did 
not  know,  but  dreamed  he  did  ;  when  all  at  once 
a  struggling  liead  rose  up  among  the  rest — livid 
and  deadly,  but  the  same  as  he  had  known  it — 
and  denounced  him  as  having  appointed  that  dire- 
ful day  to  happen.  They  closed  together.  As  he 
Btrove  to  free  the  hand  in  which  he  held  a  club, 
and  strike  the  blow  he  had  so  often  thought  of, 
he  started  to  the  knowledge  of  his  waking  pur- 
pose and  the  rising  of  the  sun. 

The  sun  was  welcome  to  him.  There  were  life 
and  motion,  and  a  world  astir,  to  divide  the  atten- 
tion of  Day.  It  was  the  eye  of  Night:  of  wake- 
ful, watchful,  silent,  and  attentive  Night,  with  so 
much  leisure  for  the  observation  of  his  wicked 
Mio'jghts:  that  he  dreaded  most.  There  is  no 
glare  in  the  night.  Even  Glory  shows  to  small 
advantage  in  the  night,  upon  a  crowded  battle- 
field. How  then  shows  Glory's  blood-relation, 
bastard  Murder ! 

Ay  !  He  made  no  compromise,  and  held  no 
iecret  with  himself  now.  Murder!  He  had  come 
to  do  it. 

"  Let  me  get  down  here,"  he  said. 

"  Short  of  the  town,  eh  ?"  observed  the  coach- 
man. 

"  I  may  get  down  where  I  please,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  You  got  up  to  please  yourself,  and  may  get 
down  to  please  yoH.self.  It  won't  break  our 
ne:irts  to  lose  you,  and  it  wouldn't  have  broken 
'ern  if  we'd  never  found  you.  Be  a  little  quicker. 
That's  all." 

Tlie  guard  had  alighted,  and  was  waiting  in  the 
road  to  take  his  money.  In  the  jealousy  and  dis- 
trust of  what  he  contemplated,  he  thought  this  man 
looked  at  him  with  more  than  common  curiosity. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at  ?"  said  Jonas. 

"Not  at  a  handsome  man,"  returned  the  guard. 
"  If  you  want  your  fortune  told,  I'll  tell  you  a  bit 
of  it.  You  won't  be  drowned.  That's  a  consola- 
tion for  you." 

Before  he  could  retort,  or  turn  away,  the  coach- 
man put  an  end  to  the  dialogue  by  giving  him  a 
cut  with  his  whip,  and  bidding  him  get  out  for  a 
Burly  dog.  The  guard  jumped  up  to  his  seat  at 
t.ic  same  moment,  and  they  drove  off,  laughing; 
lyuving  him  to  stand  in  the  road,  and  shake  his 
fist  at  them.  He  was  not  displeased  though,  on 
second  thoughts,  to  have  been  taken  for  an  ill-con- 
ditioned common  country  fellow;  but  rather  con- 
gratulated hiinseF  unon  it  as  a  proof  that  he  was 
well  disguised. 

Wandering  into  a  copse  by  the  road-side — but 
not  in  that  place:  two  or  three  miles  off — he  tore 
on*  from  a  fence  a  thick,  hard,  knotted  stake;  and, 
•ittmg  down  beneath  a  hay-rick,  spent  some  time 


in  shaping  it,  in  peeling  off  the  bark,  and  faBhion 
ing  its  jagged  head  with  his  knife. 

The  day  passed  on.  Noon,  afternoon,  evening. 
Sunset. 

At  that  serene  and  peaceful  time  two  men, 
riding  in  a  gig,  came  out  of  the  city  by  a  road 
not  timch  trequented.  It  was  the  day  on  which 
Mr.  Pecksniff  had  agreed  to  dine  with  Montague. 
He  had  kept  his  appointment,  and  was  n  w  going 
home.  His  host  was  riding  with  him  for  a  short 
distance ;  meaning  to  return  by  a  pleasant  track, 
which  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  engaged  to  show  him, 
through  some  fields.  Jonas  knew  their  plans.  He 
had  hung  about  the  inn-yard  while  they  were  at 
dinner,  and  had  heard  their  orders  given. 

They  were  loud  and  merry  in  their  conversa- 
tion, and  might  have  been  heard  at  some  distance: 
far  above  the  sound  of  their  carriage-wheels  or 
horse's  hoofs.  They  came  on  noisily,  to  where  a 
stile  and  footpath  indicated  their  point  of  separa- 
tion.    Here  they  slopped. 

"  It's  too  soo.  Much  too  soon,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff. "  But  this  is  the  place,  my  dear  sir.  Keep 
the  path,  and  go  straight  through  the  little  wood 
you  '11  come  to.  The  path  is  narrower  there,  but 
you  can't  miss  it.  Wiien  shall  I  see  you  again? 
Soon,  I  hope  ?" 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  Montague. 

"  Good  night !" 

"Good  night.     And  a  pleasant  ride!" 

So  long  as  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  in  sight,  and 
turned  his  head,  at  intervals,  to  salute  him,  Mon- 
tague stood  in  the  road  smiling,  and  waving  his 
hand.  But  when  his  new  partner  had  disappeared, 
and  this  show  was  no  longer  necessary,  he  sat 
down  on  the  stile  with  looks  so  altered,  that  he 
might  have  grown  ten  years  older  in  the  mean- 
time. 

He  was  flushed  with  wine,  but  not  gay.  His 
scheme  had  succeeded,  but  he  showed  no  triumph. 
The  effort  of  sustaining  his  dilFicult  part  before 
his  late  companion,  had  fatigued  him,  perhaps,  or 
it  may  be,  that  the  evening  whispered  to  his  con- 
science,  or  it  may  be  (as  it  has  been)  that  a  sha- 
dowy  veil  was  dropping  round  him,  closing  out 
all  thoughts  but  the  presentiment  and  vague  fore- 
knowledge of  impending  doom. 

If  there  be  fluids,  as  we  know  there  are,  which, 
conscious  of  a  corning  wind,  or  rain,  or  frost,  will 
shrink  and  strive  to  hide  themselves  in  their  glass 
arteries;  may  not  that  subtle  liquor  of  the  blood 
perceive  by  properties  within  itself',  that  hands  are 
raised  to  waste  and  spill  it;  and  in  the  veins  of 
men  run  cold  and  dull  as  his  did,  in  that  hour! 

So  cold,  although  the  air  was  warm  :  so  dull, 
although  the  sky  was  bright:  that  he  rose  up 
shivering,  liom  his  seat,  and  hastily  resumed  his 
walk.  He  checked  himself  as  hastily  :  undecided 
whether  to  pursue  the  footpath  which  was  lonely 
and  retired,  or  to  go  back  by  the  road. 

He  took  the  footpath. 

Tlie  glory  of  the  departing  sun  was  on  Ins  face^ 
The  music  of  the  birds  was  in  his  cars.  Sweet 
wild  flowers  bloomed  about  him.  Thatched  roofi 
of  poor  men's  homes  were  in  the  distance;  and 
an  old  grey  spire  surmounted  by  a  cross,  rose  up 
between  him  and  the  coming  night. 

He  had  never  read  the  lesson  which  these 
tilings  conveyed  ;  he  had  ever  mocked  and  turned 
away  from  it ;  hut  b(^l<)re  g'>ing  down  into  a  hollow 
place,  ho   looked  round   once  upon   the  evening 


MARTIN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


279 


prospect  sorrowfuHy.    Then  he  went  down,  down, 
down,  into  the  dtll. 

It  brouglit  him  to  the  wood;  a  close,  thick, 
sliadowy  wood,  through  which  the  path  went 
winding  on,  dwindling  away  into  a  slender  sheep- 
track-  He  pi  used  betore  entering;  for  the  still- 
ness of  this  spot  almost  daunted  him. 

The  last  rays  of  the  sun  were  shining  in,  aslant, 
making  a  path  of  golden  ligiit  along  the  stems  and 
branches  in  its  range,  which  even  as  he  looked 
began  to  die  away  :  yielding  gently  to  the  twilight 
that  c.;me  creeping  on.  It  was  so  very  quiet  that 
the  soft  and  stealthy  mos^  about  the  trunks  of 
some  old  trees,  seetned  to  have  grown  out  of  the 
silence,  and  to  be  its  proper  offspring.  Those 
other  trees  which  were  subJutd  by  blasts  of  wind 
in  winter  time,  had  not  quite  tumbled  down,  but 
being  caught  by  others,  lay  all  bare  and  scathed 
across  their  lea'y  arms,  as  if  unwilling  to  disturb 
the  general  rep  /se  by  tlie  crash  of  their  fail.  Vis- 
tas of  silence  opened  everywhere,  into  the  heart 
and  innermost  recesses  of  the  wood  :  beginning 
with  the  likeness  of  an  aisle,  a  cloister,  or  a  ruin 
open  to  tlie  sky;  then  tangling  off"  into  a  deep 
green  rustling  mystery,  through  which  gnarled 
trunks,  and  twisted  boughs,  and  ivy-covered  stems, 
and  trembling  leaves,  and  bark-stripped  bodies  of 
old  trees  stretched  out  at  length,  were  faintly  seen 
in  beautiful  confusion. 

As  the  sunlight  died  away,  and  evening  fell 
upon  the  wood,  he  entered  it.  Moving  hero  and 
there  a  bramble  or  a  drooping  bough  which 
stretched  across  his  path,  he  slowly  disappeared. 
At  intervals  a  narrow  opening  showed  him  pass- 
ing on,  or  the  sharp  cracking  of  some  tender 
branch  denoted  where  he  went:  then  he  was  seen 
or  heard  no  more. 

Never  more  beheld  by  mortal  eye  or  heard  by 
morttil  ear  :  one  man  excepted.  That  man,  part- 
ing the  leaves  and  branches  on  the  other  side,  near 
where  the  path  emerged  again,  came  leaping  out 
soon  alterw^irds. 

What  had  he  left  within  the  wood,  that  he 
sprang  out  of  it,  as  if  it  were  a  hell ! 

The  body  of  a  murdered  man.  In  one  thick 
solitary  spot,  it  lay  among  the  last  year's  leaves 
of  oak  and  beech,  just  as  it  had  fallen  headlong 
down.  Sopping  and  soaking  m  among  the  leaves 
that  formtd  its  pillow ;  c^^z'ag  down  into  the 
boggy  ground,  as  if  to  cover  itself  frdm  human 
sight;  forcing  Ils  way  He>wH.en  and  through  the 
curling  leaves,  as  if  those  senseless  things  rejected 
and  forswore  it,  and  were  coiled  up  in  abhorrence; 
went  a  dark,  dark  si.ain  that  dyed  and  scented  the 
whole  summer  night  from  earth  to  heaven. 

The  doer  of  this  deed  came  leaping  from  the 
wood  so  fiercely,  that  he  cast  into  the  air  a  shower 
of  fragments  of  young  boughs,  torn  away  in  his 
passage,  and  fell  with  violence  upon  the  grass. 
But  he  quickly  gained  his  feet  again,  and  keeping 
underneath  a  hedge  with  his  body  bent,  went  run- 
ning on  towards  tlie  road.  The  road  once  reached, 
he  fell  into  a  rapid  walk,  and  set  on  towards 
London. 

And  he  was  not  sorry  for  what  he  had  done. 
He  was  frightened  when  he  thought  of  it — when 
did  he  not  think  of  it!  —  but  he  was  not  sorry. 
He  had  had  a  terror  and  dread  of  the  wood  when 
he  was  in  it;  but  being  out  of  it,  and  having  com- 
mitted the  crime  his  fears  were  now  diverted, 
strangely,  to  the    ark  room  he  had  left  shut  up  at 


home.  He  had  a  greater  horror,  infinitely  gre;itor. 
of  that  room  than  of  the  wood.  Now  that  he  was 
on  his  return  to  it,  it  seemed  beyond  conipiri.-on 
more  dismal  and  more  dreadful  than  the  wood. 
His  hideous  secret  was  shut  up  in  the  room,  am' 
all  its  terrors  were  there;  to  his  thinking  it  was 
not  in  the  wood  at  all. 

He  walked  on  for  ten  miles;  and  then  stopped 
at  an  alehouse  for  a  coach,  which  he  knew  woul<i 
pass  through,  on  its  way  to  London,  before  long  ; 
and  which  he  also  knew  was  not  the  coach  he  had 
travelled  down  by,  for  it  came  from  another  place. 
He  sat  down  outside  the  door  here,  on  a  bench, 
beside  a  man  who  was  smoking  his  pipe.  Having 
called  for  some  beer,  and  drunk,  himself',  he  offered 
it  to  this  companion,  who  thanked  him  and  took 
a  draught.  He  could  not  help  thinking  that,  if 
the  man  had  known  all,  he  might  scarcely  have 
relished  drinking  out  of  the  same  cup  with  him. 

"  A  fine  night,  master  !"  said  this  person.  "And 
a  rare  sunset." 

"  I  didn't  see  it,"  was  his  hasty  ansvi'cr. 

"  Didn't  see  it  ?"  returned  the  man. 

"  How  the  devil  could  I  see  it,  if  I  was  asleep  ?" 

"Asleep'  .'Vy,  ay."  The  man  appeared  sur- 
prised by  ;iis  unexpected  irritability,  and  saying 
no  more,  smoked  his  pipe  in  silence.  The^  had  niA 
sat  very  long,  when  there  was  a  knocking  v/ithin. 

"  Wlvat  's  th:it  ?"  cried  Jonas. 

"Can't  say,  I  'm  sure,"  replied  the  man. 

He  made  no  further  inquiry,  for  the  last  ques> 
tion  had  escaped  him,  in  spite  of  himself  Bat  he 
was  thinking,  at  the  moment,  of  the  v:losed-up 
room;  of  the  possibility  of  their  knocking  at  the 
door  on  some  special  occasion;  of  their  being 
alarmed  at  receiving  no  answer  ;  of  their  bursting 
it  open  ;  of  their  finding  the  room  empty  ;  of  their 
fastening  the  door  into  the  court,  and  reiidering  it 
impossible  for  him  to  get  into  the  liou>e  witliout 
showing  himself  in  the  garb  he  wore;  which  would 
lead  to  rumour,  rumour  to  detection,  detection  tc 
death.  At  that  instant,  as  if  by  some  design  and 
order  of  circumstances,  the  knocking  had  come. 

Ft  still  continued ;  like  a  warning  echo  of  the 
dread  reality  he  had  conjured  up.  As  he  could 
not  sit  and  hear  it,  he  paid  for  his  beer  and  walked 
on  again.  And  having  slunk  about,  in  places  un- 
known to  him,  all  day  ;  and  being  out  at  night,  in 
a  lonely  road,  in  an  unusual  dress,  and  in  that 
wandering  aid  unsettled  frame  of  mind;  he  stop- 
ped more  than  once  to  look  about  him,  hoping  he 
might  be  in  a  dream. 

Still  he  was  not  sorry.  No.  He  had  hated  ..he 
man  too  much,  and  had  been  bent,  too  desperately 
and  too  long,  on  setting  himself  free.  If  the  thing 
could  have  come  over  again,  he  would  have  done 
it  again.  His  malignant  and  revengeful  pissions 
were  not  so  easily  laid.  There  was  no  more  peni- 
tence or  remorse  within  him  now,  than  >here  iiad 
been  while  the  deed  was  brewing. 

Dread  and  fear  were  upon  him.  To  an  crtent 
he  had  never  counted  on,  and  could  not  manage 
in  the  least  degree.  He  was  so  horribly  afraid  of 
that  infernal  room  at  home.  This  made  him,  in 
a  gloomy,  murderous,  mad  way,  not  only  tearful 
for  himself  but  of  himself;  for  being,  us  It  were, 
a  part  of  the  room  :  a  something  supposed  to  be 
there,  yet  missing  from  it :  he  invested  himself 
with  its  mysterious  terrors;  and  when  he  picturea 
in  his  mind  the  ugly  chamber,  false  and  qjiet 
false   and   quiet,  through  the  dark   hour*  0*"  twf 


280 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


nig'hts ;  and  the  tumbled  bed,  and  he  not  in  it, 
though  beheved  to  be  ;  he  became  in  a  manner  liis 
own  ghost  and  phantom,  and  was  at  once  the 
haunting  spirit  and  the  haunted  man. 

When  the  coach  came  up,  which  it  soon  did, 
he  got  a  place  outside,  and  was  carried  briskly 
onward  towards  home.  Now,  in  taking  his  seat 
among  tlie  people  behind,  who  were  chiefly  coun- 
try people,  he  conceived  a  fear  that  they  knew  of 
the  murder,  and  would  tell  him  that  the  body  had 
beon  found ;  which,  considering  the  time  and 
place  of  the  commission  of  the  crime,  were  events 
almost  impossible  to  have  happened  yet,  as  he 
very  well  knew.  But,  although  he  did  know  it, 
and  had  therefore  no  reason  to  regard  their  igno- 
rance as  any  thing  but  the  natural  sequence  to  the 
facts,  still  this  very  ignorance  of  theirs  encouraged 
him.  So  far  enrouraged  him,  that  he  began  to 
believe  the  body  never  would  be  found,  and  began 
to  speculate  on  that  probability.  Setting  ofT  from 
this  point ;  and  measuring  time  by  the  rapid  hurry 
of  his  guilty  thoughts,  and  what  had  gone  before 
the  bloodshed,  and  the  troops  of  incoherent  and 
disordered  images,  of  which  he  was  the  constant 
prey  ;  he  came  by  daylight  to  regard  the  murder 
as  an  old  murder,  and  to  think  himself  compara- 
tively safe,  because  it  had  not  been  discovered  yet. 
Yet!  When  the  sun  which  looked  into  the  wood, 
and  gilded  with  its  rising  light  a  dead  man's  face, 
had  seen  that  m;in  alive,  and  sought  to  win  him 
to  one  thought  of  Heaven,  on  its  going  down  last 
night! 

But  here  were  London  streets  again.     Hush  ! 

It  was  but  five  o'clock.  He  had  time  enough 
to  reach  his  own  house  unobserved,  and  before 
there  were  many  people  in  the  streets;  if  nothing 
had  happened  so  fiir,  tending  to  his  discovery. 
He  slipped  down  I'lom  the  coach  without  trou- 
bling the  driver  to  stop  his  horses  :  and  hurrying 
across  the  road,  and  in  and  out  of  ever}'  by-way 
that  lay  near  his  course,  at  length  approached  his 
own  dvi/elling.  He  used  iidditional  caution  in  his 
immediate  neighbourhood,  halting  first  to  look 
dll  down  the  street  before  him  ;  then  gliding  swiftly 
through  that  one,  and  stopping  to  survey  the  next; 
and  so  on. 

The  dassage-way  was  empty  when  his  murder- 
er's face  looked  into  it.  He  stole  on  to  the  door 
jii  tiptoe,  as  if  he  dre;;dcd  to  disturb  his  own 
.maginary  rfst. 

He  listened.  Not  a  sound.  As  he  turned  the 
key  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  pushed  the  door 
softly  open  with  his  knee,  a  monstrous  fear  beset 
his  mind. 

What  if  the  murdered  man  were  there  before 
him  ! 

He  cast  a  fearful  glance  all  rovmd.  But  there 
was  nothing  theie. 

He  went  in,  locked  the  door,  drew  the  key 
through  and  th.ough  Ihi;  dust  and  damp  in  the 
fire-place  to  si'lly  it  again,  and  Imng  it  up  as  of 
clri.  He  took  off  his  di^iruisc,  lis  d  it  up  in  a  bun- 
dle ready  for  carrying  iiway  and  sinking  in  the 
river  before  night,  and  h.cked  it  up  in  a  cufiboard. 
These  precautions  taken,  he  undressed  and  went 
to  bid 

The  ra(,'in)T  thirst,  the  fire  that  burnt  within 
Ilim,  as  he  lay  Inneatli  the  clothes  ;  the  augmented 
.ixrror  of  the  room,  when  tiiey  shut  it  out  from 
MIS  view;  the  agony  of  listening,  in  which  he  paid 
diiforeed  regard  to  every  sound,  aiid   thought  the 


most  unlikely  one  the  prelude  to  that  knocking 
which  should  bring  the  news;  the  starts  witli 
which  he  lett  his  couch,  and  looking  in  the  glass, 
imagined  that  his  deed  was  broadly  written  in  his 
face;  and  lying  down  and  burying  himself  once 
more  beneath  the  blankets,  heard  his  own  hcuft 
beating  Murder,  Murder,  Murder  in  the  bed- 
Whatwords  can  painttremendous  truths  like  these. 
The  morning  advanced.  There  were  footstepj 
in  the  house.  He  heard  the  blinds  drawn  up,  and 
shutters  opened ;  and  now  and  then  a  stealthy 
tread  outside  his  own  door.  He  tried  to  call  out 
more  than  onee,  but  his  mouth  was  dry  as  if  it  had 
been  filled  with  burning  sand.  At  lust  he  sat  up 
in  his  bed,  and  cried, 
"  Who  's  there  ?" 
It  was  his  wife. 

He  asked  her  what  it  was  o'clock.     Nine. 
"  Did — did    tio  one  knock  at  my  door,  yester- 
day ?"  he  faltered.     "Something  disturbed   me; 
but  unless  you  had  knocked  the  door  down,  you 
would  have  got  no  notice  from  me." 

"No  one,"  she  replied.  That  was  well.  He  had 
waited,  almost  breatliless,  for  her  answer.  It  was 
a  relief  to  him,  if  any  thing  could  be. 

"  Mr.  Nadgelt  wanted  to  see  you,"  she  said, 
"  but  I  told  him  you  were  tired,  and  had  requested 
not  to  be  disturbed.  He  said  it  was  of  little  con- 
sequence, and  went  away.  As  I  was  opening  my 
window,  to  let  in  the  cool  air,  I  saw  him  passing 
through  the  street  this  morning,  very  early ;  but 
he  has  n't  been  again." 

Passing  through  the  street  that  morning.  Very 
early  !  Jonas  trembled  at  the  thought  of  having 
had  a  narrow  chance  of  seeing  liim  .himself:  evtn 
him,  who  had  no  obj(  ct  but  to  avoid  people,  and 
sneak  on  unobserved,  and  keep  his  own  secrets  : 
and  who  saw  nothing. 

fie  called  to  her  to  get  his  breakfast  ready,  and 
prepared  to  go  up  stairs:  attiring  himself  in  the 
clothes  he  had  taken  off  when  he  came  into  that 
room,  which  had  been  ever  since  outside  the  door. 
In  his  secret  dread  of  meeting  the  household  for 
the  first  time,  after  what  he  had  done,  he  lingered 
at  the  door  on  slight  pretexts  that  they  might  see 
him  without  looking  in  his  face;  and  letl  it  ajar 
while  he  dressed  ;  and  called  out  to  have  the  win- 
dows opened,  and  the  pavement  watered,  that  they 
might  become  accustomed  to  his  voice.  Even 
when  he  had  put  otf  the  time,  by  one  means  or 
other,  so  that  he  had  seen  or  spoken  to  them  all, 
he  could  not  muster  courage  for  a  long  while  to 
go  in  among  them,  but  stood  at  his  own  door  list- 
ening to  the  murmur  of  tlieir  distant  conversation. 
He  could  not  stop  there  for  ever,  and  so  joined 
them.  His  last  glance  at  the  glass  had  seen  a 
tell-tale  face,  but  that  might  have  been  because 
of  his  anxious  looking  in  it.  He  dared  not  look 
:it  them  to  see  if  they  observed  him,  but  he  thought 
them  very  silent. 

And  whatsoever  guard  he  kept  upon  himself, 
he  could  not  help  listening,  and  show  ing  (Imt  he 
listened.  Whether  he  attended  to  their  talk,  or 
tried  to  think  of  other  things,  or  talked  hinis<  It", 
or  held  his  peace,  or  resolutely  counted  the  dull 
tickings  of  a  hoarse  clock  at  his  ba('k,  he  always 
lapsed,  as  if  n  spell  were  on  him,  into  eager  listen- 
ing: for  he  knew  it  must  come,  and  his  present 
|iiinis)irnent,  and  torture,  and  distraction,  was,  to 
li>.len  for  its  coining. 
Hush! 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


281 


CHAPTE 

BEARS  TIDINGS  OF  MARTIN.  AND  OF 

SON  NOT   QUITE   UNKNOWN   TO   T 

IN  AN  UGLY   ASPECT;    AND   CASTS 

A  VERY  DARK  PLACE. 

Tom  Pinch  and  Ruth  were  sitting'  at  their  early 
Breakfast  with  the  window  open,  and  a  row  of  the 
freshest  little  plants  arranged  before  it  on  the  in- 
side, by  Ruth's  own  hands;  and  Ruth  had  fastened 
a  sprig  of  geranium  in  Tom's  button-iiole,  to  make 
him  very  smart  and  summer-like  for  the  day  (it 
was  obliged  to  be  fastened  in,  or  that  dear  old  Tom 
was  certain  to  lose  it) ;  and  people  were  crying 
flowers  up  and  down  the  street;  and  a  blunder- 
ing bee,  wtio  had  got  himself  in  between  the  two 
Bashes  of  the  window,  was  bruising  his  head 
against  the  glass,  endeavouring  to  force  himself 
out  into  the  fine  morning,  and  considering  him- 
self enchanted  because  he  couldn't  do  it ;  and  the 
morning  was  as  fine  a  morning  as  ever  was  seen; 
and  the  fragrant  air  was  kissing  Ruth  and  rus- 
tling about  Tom,  as  if  it  said,  "  How  are  you, 
my  dears  ?  I  came  all  this  way  on  purpose  to 
salute  you  ;"  and  it  was  one  of  those  glad  times 
when  we  form,  or  ouglit  to  form,  the  wish  that 
every  one  on  earth  were  able  to  be  happy,  and 
catching  glimpses  of  the  summer  of  the  heart,  to 
feel  the  beauty  of  the  summer  of  the  year. 

It  was  even  a  pleasanter  breakfast  than  usual; 
and  it  was  always  a  pleasant  one.  For  little  Ruth 
had  now  two  pupils  to  attend,  each  three  times  a 
week,  and  each  two  hours  at  a  time ;  and  besides 
this,  she  had  painted  some  s  irecns  and  card-racks, 
and  unknown  to  Tom  (was  there  ever  anything 
flo  delight  fill  ?)  had  walked  into  a  certain  shop 
which  dealt  in  such  articles,  afler  often  peeping 
through  the  window  ;  and  had  taken  courage  to 
ask  the  mistress  of  that  shop  whether  she  would 
buy  them.  And  the  mistress  h.id  not  only  bought 
them,  but  had  ordered  more;  and  that  very  morn- 
ing Ruth  had  mnde  confession  of  these  facts  to 
Tom,  and  had  handed  him  the  money  in  a  little 
purse  she  hid  worked  expressly  for  the  purpose. 
They  had  been  in  a  flutter  about  this,  and  perhaps 
had  shed  a  happy  tear  or  two,  for  anything  the 
history  knows  to  the  contrary  ;  but  it  was  all  over 
now;  and  a  brighter  face  than  Tom's,  or  a 
brighter  fuce  than  Ruth's,  the  bright  sun  had  not 
looked  on  since  he  went  to  bed  last  night. 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Tom,  coming  so  abruptly 
m  the  subject,  that  he  interrupted  himself  in  the 
HCt  of  cutting  a  slice  of  bread,  and  left  the  knife 
nicking  in  the  loaf,  "  what  a  queer  fellow  our 
landlord  is !  I  don't  believe  he  has  been  home 
iuce  since  he  got  me  into  that  unsatisfactory 
icrape.  I  begin  to  think  he  will  never  come 
lome  again.  What  a  mysterious  life  that  man 
does  lead,  to  be  sure !" 

"  Very  strange.     Is  it  not,  Tom  ?" 

••Really,"  said  Tom,  "I  liope  it  is  only  strange. 
I  hope  there  may  be  nothing  wrong  in  it.  Some- 
times I  bet'in  to  be  doubtful  of  that.  I  must  have 
an  explanation  with  him,"  said  Tom,  shaking  his 
head  as  if  tliis  were  a  most  tremendous  tiireat, 
"  when  I  catch  him  I" 

A  short  double   knock  at  the  door   put  Tom's 
menacing  looks   to  flight,  and  awakened   an  ex- 
pression of  surprise  instead. 
36 


11  XLVIII. 

MARK,  AS  WELL  AS  OF  A  THIRD  PER- 

HE    READER.    EXHIBITS   FILIAL   PIETY 

A   DOUBTFUL   RAY    OF   LIGHT    UPON 

"  Heyday  I"  siiid  Tom.  "An  early  hour  foi 
visitors  I      It  must  l)e  John,  I  suppose." 

"  I — I — don't  think  it  was  his  knock,  Tom," 
observed  his  little  sister. 

"No?"  said  Tom.  "It  surely  can't  be  my 
employer,  suddenly  arrived  in  town ;  directed 
here  by  Mr.  Fips;  and  come  for  the  key  of  the 
office.  It's  somebody  inquiring  for  me,  1  declare  I 
Come  in,  if  you  please  !" 

But  when  the  person  came  in,  Tom  Pinch,  in- 
stead  of  saying,  "  Did  you  want  to  speak  with  me, 
sir?"  or  "My  nime  is  Pinch,  sir;  what  is  your 
business,  may  I  ask  ?"  or  addressing  him  in  any 
such  distant  terms;  cried  out  "Good  gracious 
heaven  !"  and  seized  him  by  both  hands,  with  the 
liveliest  manifestations  of  astonishment  and  plea- 
sure. 

The  visitor  was  not  less  moved  than  Tom  him- 
self, and  they  shook  hands  a  great  many  times, 
without  another  word  being  spoken  on  either  side. 
Tom  was  the  first  to  find  his  voice. 

"  Mark  Tapley  too !"  said  Tom,  running  to- 
wards, the  door,  and  shaking  hands  with  some- 
body else.  "  My  dear  Mark,  come  in.  How  are 
you,  Mark?  He  don't  look  a  day  older  than  he 
used  to  at  the  Dragon.     How  are  you,  Mark !" 

"  Uncommon  jolly,  sir,  thank'ee,"  returned  Mr. 
Tapley,  all  smiles  and  bows.  "  I  hope  I  see  you 
well,  sir." 

"Good  gracious  me!"  cried  Tom, 'patting  him 
tenderly  on  the  back.  "How  delighttul  it  is  to 
hear  his  old  voice  again  !  My  dear  Martin,  sit 
down.  My  sister,  Martin.  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  my 
love.  Mark  Tapley  from  the  Dragon,  my  dear. 
Good  gracious  me,  what  a  surprise  this  is  !  Sit 
down.     Lord  bless  me  I" 

Tom  was  in  such  a  state  of  excitement  that  ht. 
couldn't  keep  himself  still  for  a  moment,  but  was 
constantly  running  between  Mark  and  Martin, 
shaking  hands  with  them  alternately,  and  pre- 
senting them  over  and  over  again  to  his  sister. 

"  I  remember  the  day  we  parted,  Martin,  as 
well  as  if  it  were  yesterday,"  said  Tom.  "  What 
a  day  it  was !  and  what  a  passion  you  were  in  I 
And  don't  you  remember  my  overtaking  you  in 
the  road  that  morning,  Mark,  when  I  was  going 
to  Salisbury  in  the  gig  to  fetch  him,  and  you 
were  looking  out  fir  a  situation  ?  And  don't  you 
recollect  the  dinner  we  had  at  Salisbury,  Martin, 
with  John  Westlock,  eh  ?  Good  grucioas  me  I 
Ruth,  my  dear,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  Mark  Tapley 
my  love,  from  the  Dragtm.  More  cups  and  sau- 
cers, if  you  please.  Bless  my  soul,  how  glad  I 
am  to  see  you  both  !" 

And  then  Tom  (as  John  Westlock  had  done  on 
his  arrival)  ran  off"  to  the  loaf  to  cut  some  bread 
and  butter  for  them  ;  and  before  he  had  spread  a 
single  slice,  remembered  something  else,  and 
came  running  back  again  to  tell  it ;  and  then  he 
shook  hands  with  them  again  ;  and  tiien  he 
introduced  his  sister  again  ;  and  then  he  did  every 
thing  he  had  done  already  all  over  again  ;  and  then 
he  introduced  his  sister  again  ;  and  nothing  Tcuii 


282 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


could  do,  and  nothings  Tom  could  say,  was  half 
sufficient  to  express  his  joy  at  their  sate  return. 

Mr.  Tapley  was  the  first  to  resume  his  compo- 
sure. In  a  very  short  space  of  time,  he  was  dis- 
covered to  have  somehow  installed  himself  in 
office  as  waiter,  or  attendant  upon  the  party  ;  a 
fact  which  was  first  suggested  to  them  by  his 
temporary  absence  in  the  kitchen,  and  speedy 
return  with  a  kettle  of  boiling;  water,  from  which 
he  replenished  the  tea-pot  with  a  self-possession 
that  was  (]uite  his  own. 

"Sit  down,  and  take  your  breakfast,  Mark," 
said  Tom.  "  Make  him  sit  down  and  take  his 
breakfast,  Martin." 

"  Oh  !  I  gave  him  up,  long  ago,  as  incorrigible," 
Martin  replied.  "He  takes  his  own  way,  Tom. 
You  would  e.KCUse  him,  Miss  Pinch,  if  you  knew 
his  value." 

"  She  knows  it,  bless  you !"  said  Tom.  "  I 
have  told  her  all  about  Mark  Tapley.  Have  I  not, 
Ruth  ?" 

"  Yes,  Tom," 

"  Not  all,"  returned  Martin,  in  a  low  voice. — 
"  The  best  of  Mark  Tapley  is  only  known  to  one 
man,  Tom ;  and  but  for  Mark  he  would  hardly  be 
alive  to  tell  it." 

"  Mark  !"  said  Tom  Pinch,  energetically  :  "  If 
you  don't  sit  down  this  minute,  I'll  swear  at  you  I" 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Tapley,  "  sooner  than 
you  should  do  that,  I'll  com-ply.  It's  a  considera- 
ble invasion  of  a  man's  jollity  to  be  made  so  par- 
tickler  welcome,  but  a  Werb  is  a  word  as  signi- 
fies to  be,  to  do,  or  to  suffer  (which  is  all  the 
grammar,  and  e!iough  too,  as  ever  I  wos  taught); 
and  if  there's  a  Werb  alive,  I'm  it.  For  I'm 
always  a  bciti',  sometimes  a  doin',  and  continu- 
ally a  suffprfh'. " 

"  Not  jolly  yet  ?"  asked  Tom,  with  a  smile, 

"  Why,  I  was  rather  so,  over  the  water  sir," 
returned  Mr.  Tapley;  "and  not  entirely  without 
credit.  But  Human  Natur'  is  in  a  conspiracy 
again'  me;  I  can't  get  on.  I  shall  have  to  leave  it 
in  my  will,  sir,  to  be  wrote  upon  my  tomb :  '  He 
was  a  man  as  might  have  come  out  strong  if  he 
could  have  got  a  chance,  Bui  it  was  denied  him.'  " 

Mr.  T.pley  took  this  occasion  of  looking  about 
him  will  a  grin,  and  subsequently  attacking  the 
breakfast,  with  an  appetite  not  at  all  expressive  of 
blighted  hopes,  or  insurmountable  despondency. 

In  the  meanwhile,  Martin  drew  his  chair  a  little 
nearer  to  Tom  and  his  sister,  and  related  to  them 
what  had  passed  at  Mr.  PecksnilPs  house  ;  adding 
in  few  word-s  a  general  summary  of  the  distress 
and  disappointments  he  had  undergone  since  he 
left  England. 

'  For  your  faithful  stewardship  in  the  trust  I 
left  with  yon,  Tom,"  he  said, "and  for  all  your  good- 
ness and  disinterestedness,  I  can  never  thank  you 
enough.   When  I  add  Mary's  thanks  to  mine " 

Ah,  Tom !  The  blood  retreated  from  his 
pheeks,  and  came  rushing  back  so  violently,  that 
it  was  pain  to  feel  it;  ease  though,  case  to  the 
aching  of  his  wounded  heart. 

"  When  I  add  Mary's  thanks  to  mine,"  said 
Martin,  "  I  have  made  the  only  poor  acknowledg- 
>nent  it  is  in  our  power  to  ofler  ;  but  if  you  knew 
iiow  much  we  feel,  Tom,  you  would  set  some 
viorc  by  it,  I  am  sure." 

And  if  they  had  known  how  much  Tom  felt — 
hut   that   no  liuman   creature   ever    knew — they 


would  have  set  some  store  by  him.     Indeed  they 
would. 

Tom  changed  the  topic  of  discourse.  He  wae 
sorry  he  could  not  pursue  it,  as  it  gave  Martin 
pleasure;  but  he  was  unable,  at  tliat  moment. — 
No  drop  of  envy  or  bitterness  was  in  his  soul ;  but 
he  could  not  master  the  firm  utterance  of  her 
nanie. 

He  inquired  what  Martin's  projects  were. 

"No  longer  to  make  your  fortune,  Tom,"  said 
Martin,  "  but  to  try  to  live.  I  tried  that  once  in 
London,  Tom;  and  failed.  If  you  will  give  nie 
the  benefit  of  your  advice  and  fiiendly  counsel,  J 
may  succeed  better  under  your  guidance  ;  I  will 
do  anything,  Tom  ;  anything  ;  to  gain  a  liveli- 
hood by  my  own  exertions.  My  iiopes  do  not 
soar  above  that,  now." 

High-hearted,  noble  Tom  !  Sorry  to  find  the 
pride  of  his  old  companion  humbled,  and  to  hear 
him  speaking  in  this  altered  strain;  at  once,  at 
once,  he  drove  from  his  breast  the  inability  to  con- 
tend with  its  deep  emotions,  and  spoke  out 
bravely. 

"  Your  hopes  do  not  soar  above  that !"  cried 
Tom.  "Yes  they  do.  How  can  you  talk  so? 
They  soar  up  to  the  time  when  you  will  be  happy 
with  her,  Martin.  They  soar  up  to  the  time 
when  you  will  be  able  to  claim  her,  Martin, 
They  soar  up  to  the  time  when  you  will  not  be  able 
t'^  believe  that  you  were  ever  cast  down  in  spirit, 
or  poor  in  pocket,  Martin.  Advice  and  friendly 
counsel!  Why,  of  course.  But  you  shall  have 
better  advice  and  counsel  (though  you  cannot  have 
more  friendly)  than  mine.  You  slinll  consult 
John  Westlock.  We'll  go  there  immediately.  It 
is  yet  so  early,  that  I  shall  have  time  to  take  you 
to  his  chambers  before  I  go  to  business  ;  they  are 
in  my  way;  and  I  can  leave  you  there,  to  talk 
over  your  affairs  with  him.  So  come  along. — 
Come  along.  I  am  a  man  of  occupation  now, 
you  know,"  said  Tom  with  a  pleasant  smile; 
"and  have  no  time  to  lose.  Your  hopes  don't 
soar  higher  than  that?  I  dare  say  they  don't 
/  know  you,  pretty  well.  They'll  be  soaring  onl 
of  sight  soon,  Martin,  and  leaving  all  the  rest  of 
us  leagues  hehind." 

"  Ay  I  But  I  may  be  a  little  changed,"  said 
Martin,  "since  you  knew  me  pretty  well,  Tom," 

"  What  non.sensc  !"  exclaimed  Tom.  "  Why 
should  you  be  changed  ?  You  talk  as  if  you 
were  an  old  man.  I  never  heard  such  a  fellow  ! 
C'onie  to  John  Wesllock's,  come.  Come  along, 
Mark  Tafiley.  It's  Mark's  doing,  I  have  no 
doubt ;  and  it  serves  you  right  for  having  such  a 
grumbler  for  your  companion." 

"  There's  no  credit  to  be  got  through  being 
jolly  with  you,  .Mr.  Pinch,  anyways,"  said  Mark, 
with  his  fiicc  all  wrinkled  up  with  grins.  "  A 
parish  doctor  might  he  jolly  with  you.  There's 
nothing  short  of  goin'  to  the  U-nitcd  States  for  a 
second  trip,  as  would  make  it  at  all  creditable  to 
be  jolly,  artrr  seein'  you  again  1" 

'i'om  laiigiied,  and  taking  leave  of  his  sister, 
hurried  Mark  and  Martin  out  into  the  street,  and 
away  to  John  Wisflock's  by  the  nearest  road ;  for 
his  hour  of  business  was  very  near  at  hand,  and 
he  prided  himself  on  always  being  exact  to  hia 
time. 

John  Westlock  was  at  home,  but  strange  to  say 
i  was  rather  embarrassed   to  see  them ;  and  wber 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


2S3 


Tom  was  about  to  g^o  into  the  room  wliere  he  was  I 
breakfasting-,  said  lie  had  a  stranjjer  tiiere.    It  ap- 
peared to  be  a  mysterious  stranger,  tor  Joim  shut  that 
door  as  he  said  it,  and  led  them  into  the  next  room. 

He  was  very  nmch  deHghted,  tliougii,  to  see 
Mirk  T.ipley  ;  and  received  Martin  with  his  own 
frank  courtesy.  But  M.irlin  felt  tiiat  he  did  not 
inspire  John  Westlock  with  any  unusual  interest; 
and  twice  or  thrice  obs,  ived  that  he  looked  at 
Tom  Pinch  doubttuily  ;  not  to  say  compassionately. 
He  thought,  and  blushed  to  think,  that  he  knew 
the  cause  of  this, 

"  I  apprehend  you  are  engaged,"  said  Martin, 
when  Tom  hud  announced  the  purport  of  their 
visit.  "  If  you  will  allow  me  to  come  again  at 
your  own  time,  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  so." 

"  I  am  engaged,"  replied  John,  with  some  re- 
luctance ;  "  but  the  matter  on  which  I  am  en- 
gaged is  one,  to  say  the  truth,  more  immediately 
demanding  your  knowledge  than  mine." 

"  Indeed  1"  cried  Martin. 

"  It  relates  to  a  member  of  your  family,  and  is 
of  a  serious  nature.  If  you  will  have  the  kind- 
ness to  remain  here,  it  will  be  a  satisfaction  to  me 
to  have  it  privately  communicated  to  you,  in  order 
that  you  may  judge  of  its  importance  for  your- 
self." 

"  And  in  the  meantime,"  said  Tom,  "  I  must 
really  take  myself  off,  without  any  further  cere- 
mony." 

"Is  your  business  so  very  particular,"  asked 
Martin,  "  that  you  cannot  remain  with  us  for  half 
an  hour  ?  I  wish  you  could.  What  is  your  bu- 
siness, Tom  ?" 

It  was  Tom's  turn  to  be  embarrassed  now : 
but  he  plainly  said,  after  a  little  hesitation  : 

"Why,  I  am  not  at  liberty  to  say  what  it  is, 
Martin:  though  I  hope  soon  to  be  in  a  condition 
to  do  so,  and  am  aware  of  no  other  reason  to  pre- 
vent my  doing  so  now,  than  the  request  of  my 
employer.  It's  an  awkward  position  to  be  placed 
in,"  said  Tom  with  an  uneasy  sense  of  seeming 
to  doubt  his  friend,  "as  I  feel  every  day  ;  but  I 
really  cannot  help  it,  can  I,  John?" 

John  Westlock  replied  in  the  negative;  and 
Martin,  expressing  himself  perfectly  satisfied, 
begged  them  not  to  say  another  word  :  though  he 
could  not  lielp  wondering  very  much  what  curious 
office  Tom  held,  and  why  he  was  so  secret,  and 
embarrassed,  and  unlike  himself,  in  reference  to 
it.  Nor  could  he  help  reverting  to  it  in  his  own 
mind  several  times  after  Tom  went  away,  which 
he  did  as  soon  as  this  conversation  was  ended  ; 
taking  Mr  Tapley  with  him,  who,  as  he  laughing- 
ly said,  might  accompany  him  as  far  as  Fleet- 
street,  without  injury. 
f.  "  And  what  do  you  mean  to  do,  Mark  ?"  asked 

I        Tom,  as  they  walked  on  together. 

"  Mean  to  do  sir  ?"  returned  Mr.  Tapley. 

"  Ay.  What  course  of  life  do  you  mean  to 
pursue  ?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley.  "The  fact  is, 
that  I  have  been  a-thinking,  rather,  of  the  matri 
nioni.'tl  line,  sir." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  Mark  !"  cried  Tom. 

**  Yes,  sir,  I've  been  a-turnin'  of  it  over." 

"And  wiio  is  the  lady,  Mark?" 

"The  which,  sir?"  said  Mr.  Tapley. 

"The  lady,  t^oine  !  you  know  what  I  said,"  , 
replieJ  Tom,  laughing,  "as  well  as  I  do  I"  i 


Mr.  Tapley  supprissed  his  own  inclination  to 
laugh;  and  with  one  of  his  ii.jsl  whimsically 
twisted  looks,  replied, 

"  You  Couldn't  guess,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Pinch  ?" 

"  How  is  it  possible  ?"  said  Tom,"  I  don't  know 
any  of  your  flames,  Mark.  Except  Mrs.  Lupin, 
indeed." 

"  Well,  sir  I"  retorted  Mr.  Tapley.  "  And  sup. 
posin'  it  was  her  ?" 

Tom  stopping  in  the  street  to  look  at  him,  Mr 
Tapley  for  a  moment  presented  to  his  view  an 
utterly  stolid  and  expressionless  fdce  ;  a  perfect 
dead  wall  of  countenanci,.  But  opening  window 
after  window  in  it  with  astonishing  rapidity,  and 
lighting  them  al'  up  as  lor  a  general  illumination, 
he  repeated  ; 

"  Supposin',  for  the  sake  of  argument,  as  it 
was  her,  sir  !" 

"Why  I  thouglit  such  a  connection  wouldn't 
suit  you,  Mark,  on  any  terms  1"  cried  Tom. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  u.'^cd  to  think  so  myself,  once," 
said  Mark.  "  But  I  an't  so  clear  about  it  now.  A 
dear,  sweet  creetur,  sir  !" 

"  A  dear  sweet  creature,  was  she  not  ?" 

"  Was  she  not  I"  assented  Mr,  Tapley. 

"Then  why  on  earth  didn't  you  marry  her  at 
first,  Mark,  instead  of  wandering  abroad  :  and 
losing  all  this  time,  and  leaving  her  alone  by  her- 
self:  liable  to  be  courted  by  other  people  ?" 

"  Why,  sir,"  retorted  Mr,  Tapley,  in  a  spirit  of 
unbounded  confidence,  "  I'll  tell  you  how  it  come 
about.  You  know  me,  Mr.  Pinch,  sir ;  there  an't 
a  gentleman  alive  as  knows  me  better.  You're 
acquainted  with  my  constitution,  and  you're  ac- 
quainted with  my  weakness.  My  constitution  is, 
to  be  jolly  ;  and  my  weakness  is,  to  wish  to  find  a 
credit  in  it.  Wery  good,  sir.  In  this  state  of 
mind  I  gets  a  notion  in  my  head  that  she  looks  on 
me  with  a  eye  of — with  what  you  may  call  a 
favourable  sort  of  eye  in  fact,"  said  Mr.  Tapley, 
with  modest  hesitation. 

"  No  doubt,"  replied  Tom.  "  We  knew  that 
perfectly  well  when  we  spoke  on  this  subject  long 
ago  ;  before  you  left  the  Dragon." 

Mr,  Tapley  nodded  assent,  "  Well  sir !  But 
bein'  at  that  lime  full  of  hopeful  wisions  I  arrives 
at  the  con-elusion  that  no  credit  is  to  be  got  out 
of  such  a  way  of  life  as  that,  where  everything 
agreeable  would  be  ready  to  one's  hand.  Lookin' 
on  the  bright  side  of  human  life  in  short,  one  of 
my  hopeful  wisions  is,  that  there's  a  deal  of  misery 
a-waitin'  for  me  :  in  the  midst  of  which  I  may 
come  out  tolerable  strong,  and  be  jolly  under  cir- 
cumstances as  reliccts  some  credit,  I  goes  into 
tlve  world,  sir,  wory  boyant,  and  I  tries  this,  I 
goes  aboard  ship  first,  and  wery  soon  discovers  (by 
the  ease  with  which  I'm  jolly,  mind  you)  as  there's 
no  credit  to  be  got  there.  I  might  have  took 
warning  by  this,  and  gave  it  up;  but  I  didn't.  I 
gets  tathe  U-nited  States;  and  then  1  do  begin,  I 
won't  deny  it,  to  feel  some  little  credit  in  sustain- 
ing my  spirits.  What  follows?  Jest  as  I'm  be- 
ginning to  come  out  and  am  treadin'  on  the  werge. 
my  master  deceives  me." 

"  Deceives  you  1"  cried  Tom. 

"Swindles   me,"   retorted   Mr,  Tapley,  with  4# 
beaming  face.     "Turns  his  back  on  ev'ry  thing 
as  made  his  service  a  ereditable   one,  and  leave* 
me,  high  and  dry,  without  a  leg  to  stand  uj.>on. — 
In  which    state,    I  returns    home.     Wery    tqckJ 


284 


LIFE    AxM)   ADVENTURES   OF 


Then  all  my  hopeful  wisions  hein'  crushed  ;  and 
findin'  that  there  an't  no  credit  for  me  nowhere  ; 
[  abandons  myself  to  desp  lir,  and  snys,  '  Let  me 
do  that  as  has  the  least  credit  in  it,  of  all ;  marry 
a  dear,  sweet  crcetur,  as  is  wery  tbnd  of  me:  me 
bein',  at  the  same  time,  wery  fond  of  her  :  lead  a 
happy  life;  and  struggle  no  more  again'  the 
blight  which  settles  on  my  prospects." 

"If  your  philosophy,  Mark,"  said  Tom,  who 
laughed  heartily  at  this  sp<;ecli,  "  be  the  oddest  I 
ever  heard  of,  it  is  not  the  least  wise.  Mrs.  Lupin 
has  said  'yes,'  of  course?" 

"Why,  no,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Tapley ;  "she 
hasn't  gone  so  far  as  that  yet.  Which  I  attribute 
principally  to  my  not  havin'  asked  her.  But  we 
was  wery  agreeable  together — comfortable,  I  may 
say — the  night  I  come  home.     It's  all  right,  sir," 

"Well!"  said  Tom,  stopping  at  the  Temple 
Gate.  "  I  wish  you  joy,  Mark,  with  all  my  heait. 
I  shall  see  you  again  to-day,  I  dare  say.  Good- 
bye for  the  present." 

"Good-bye,  sir  I  Good-bye,  Mr.  Pinch,"  he 
added,  by  way  of  soliloquy,  as  he  stood  looking 
after  him.  "Although  you  are  a  damper  to  a 
honourable  ambition.  You  little  think  it,  but  you 
was  the  first  to  dash  my  hopes.  Pecksniff  would 
have  built  me  up  for  life,  but  your  sweet  temper 
pulled  me  down.     Good-bye,  Mr.  Pinch  !" 

While  these  confidences  were  interchanged 
between  Tom  Pinch  and  Mark,  Martin  and  John 
Westlock  were  very  differently  engaged.  They 
were  no  sooner  left  alone  togethfr  than  Martin 
said,  with  an  effort  he  could  not  disguise  : 

"?tlr.  Westlock,  we  have  met  only  once  before, 
but  you  have  known  Tom  a  long  while,  and  that 
seems  to  render  you  familiar  to  me.  I  cannot 
talk  freely  with  you  on  any  subject  unless  I  re- 
lieve my  mind  of  what  opprer^es  it  just  now.  I 
see  with  pain  that  you  so  far  mistrust  me  that  you 
think  me  likely  to  impose  on  Tom's  regardless, 
ness  of  liimself,  or  on  his  kind  nature,  or  some  of 
his  good  qualities." 

"I  had  no  intention,"  replied  John,  "of  convey- 
ing any  such  impression  to  you,  and  am  exceed- 
ingly sorry  to  have  done  so." 

"But  you  entertain  it?"  Siid  Martin. 

'You  ask  me  so  pointedly  and  directly,"  re- 
lumed the  other,  "that  I  cannot  deny  the  having 
accustomed  myself  to  regard  yon  as  one  who,  not 
in  wantonness  but  in  mere  thoughtlessness  of 
character,  did  not  sufficiently  consider  his  nature 
and  did  not  quite  treat  it  as  it  deserves  to  be 
treated.  It  is  much  easier  to  slight  than  to  ap- 
preciate Tom  Pinch." 

This  was  not  said  warmly,  but  was  energetical- 
ly spoken  too;  for  there  was  no  subject  in  the 
world  (but  one)  on  which  the  speaker  felt  so 
Btrongly. 

"  I  grew  into  the  knowledge  of  Tom,"  he  pur- 
sued, "as  I  grew  towards  manhood  ;  and  i  have 
learned  to  love  l;irn  a'!  something  infinitely  better 
than  myself.  I  did  not  think  that  you  understood 
him  when  we  met  before.  1  did  rmt  think  that 
you  greatly  cared  to  understand  him.  The  in- 
stances of  this  which  I  ohserved  in  you,  were, 
like  my  opportunities  for  observation,. very  trivial; 
and  were  very  harmless  1  daro  say.  But  they 
were  not  agreeable  to  me,  and  ihev  f)rccd  them- 
Be.ves  upon  me;  for  I  was  not  upon  the  watcli  for 
Apuo    believe  uje.     You  will  say,"  added  John, 


with  a  smile,  as  he  subsided  into  more  of  his  ac- 
customed manner,  "  that  I  am  not  by  any  meana 
agreeable  to  you.  I  can  only  assure  you,  in 
reply,  that  1  would  not  have  originated  this  topii 
on  any  account." 

"  I  originated  it,"  said  Martin ;  "  and  so  far 
from  having  any  complaint  to  make  against  you, 
highly  esteem  the  friendship  you  entertain  for 
Tom,  and  the  very  many  proofs  you  have  given 
him  of  it.  Why  should  I  endeavour  to  conceal 
from  you  :"  he  coloured  deeply  though  :  "  that  I 
neither  understood  him  nor  cared  to  understand 
him  when  I  was  his  companion;  and  that  I  am 
very  truly  sorry  for  it  now !" 

It  was  so  sincerely  said,  at  once  so  modestly 
and  manfully,  that  John  offered  him  his  hand  as 
if  he  had  not  done  so  before ;  and  IMartin  giving 
his  in  the  same  open  spirit,  all  constraint  between 
the  young  men  vanished. 

"  Now  pray,"  said  John,  "when  I  tire  your 
patience  very  much  in  what  I  am  going  to  say, 
recollect  that  it  has  an  end  to  it,  and  that  the  end 
is  the  point  of  the  story." 

With  this  preface,  lie  related  all  the  circum- 
stances connected  with  his  having  presided 
over  the  illness  and  slow  recovery  of  the  patient 
at  the  Bull ;  and  tacked  on  to  the  skirts  of  that 
narrative  Tom's  own  account  of  the  business  on 
the  wharfl  Martin  was  not  a  little  puzzled  when 
he  came  to  an  end,  for  the  two  stories  seemed  to 
have  no  connexion  with  each  other,  and  to  leave 
him,  as  the  phrase  is,  all  abroad. 

"  If  you  will  excuse  me  for  one  moment," 
said  John,  rising,  "I  will  beg  you  almost  immedi. 
ately  to  come  into  the  next  room." 

Upon  that,  he  left  Martin  to  himself,  in  a  state 
of  considerable  astonishment ;  and  soon  came  back 
again  to  fulfil  his  promise.  Accompanying  him 
in  the  next  room,  Martin  found  there  a  third 
person;  no  doubt  the  stranger  of  whom  his  host 
had  spoken  when  Tom  Pinch  introduced  him. 

He  was  a  young  man;  with  deep  black  hair 
and  eyes.  He  was  gaunt  and  pale;  and  evident- 
ly had  not  long  recovered  from  a  severe  illness. 
He  stood  as  Martin  entered,  but  sat  again  at  John's 
desire.  His  eyes  were  cast  downward  ;  and  but 
for  one  glance  at  them  both,  half  in  humiliation 
and  half  in  entreaty,  he  kept  them  so,  and  sat 
quite  still  and  silent. 

"This  person's  name  is  Lewsome,"  said  John 
Westlock,  "  whom  I  have  mentioned  to  you  as 
having  been  seized  with  illness  at  the  Inn  near 
here,  and  undergone  so  much.  He  iias  had  a 
very  hard  time  of  it,  ever  since  he  began  to  re- 
cover;  but  as  you  see,  he  is  now  doing  well." 

As  he  did  not  move  or  speak,  and  John  West 
lock  made  a  pause,  Martin,  not  knowing  what  to 
say,  said  that  he  "was  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  The  short  statement  that  I  wish  you  to  hear 
from  his  own  lips,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  John  pursued  • 
looking  attentively  at  him,  and  not  at  .Martin  • 
"he  made  to  nic  for  the  first  time  yesterday,  and 
repeated  to  me  this  morning,  without  the  lea.'-t 
variation  of  any  essenti.il  particular.  I  have  al 
ready  told  you  that  he  informed  me  before  he  was 
removed  from  the  Inn,  that  he  had  a  secret  to  dis- 
close to  me  which  lay  heavy  on  liis  mind.  Bui 
liilctuating  between  sickness  and  health  ;  and 
between  bis  desire  to  relieve  himself  it,  and  his 
dread  of  involving  himself  by  revealing  it ;  lie  bus. 


MARl.N    CHUZZLEVVIT. 


28/1 


until  yesterday,  avoided  the  disclosure.  I  never 
pressed  him  tor  it  (having'  no  idea  of  its  weight  or 
import,  or  of  my  riglit  to  do  so),  until  witliin  a 
few  days  past;  when  understariHinaf  from  him,  on 
his  own  voluntary  avowal,  in  a  letter  from  the 
country,  that  it  related  to  a  person  whose  name 
was  Jonas  Chuzzlewit;  and  thinking-  that  it  might 
throw  some  light  on  that  little  mystery  which 
made  Tom  anxious  now  and  then  ;  I  urged  the 
point  upon  him,  and  heard  Ijis  statement  as  you 
will  now,  from  his  own  lips.  It  is  due  to  him  to 
Bay,  that  in  the  apprehension  ofdealh,  he  committed 
it  to  writing  sometime  since,  and  folded  it  in  a 
sealed  paper,  addressed  to  me  ;  which  he  could 
not  resolve,  however,  to  place  of  his  own  act  in 
my  hands.  He  has  the  paper  in  his  breast,  I  be- 
lieve, at  this  moment." 

The  young  man  touched  it  hastily;  in  corrobo- 
ration of  the  fact. 

"It  will  be  well  to  leave  that  in  our  charge, 
perhaps,"  said  John.     "  But  do  not  mind  it  now." 

As  he  said  this,  he  held  up  liis  hand  to  bespeak 
Martin's  attention.  It  was  already  fixed  upon  the 
man  before  him,  who,  after  a  short  silence,  said,  in 
a  low,  weak,  hollow  voice  : 

"  What  relation  was  Mr,  Anthony  Chuzzlewit, 
who—" 

" — Who  died — to  me  ?"  said  Martin.  "  He 
was  my  grandfather's  brother." 

"  I  fear  he  was  made  away  with.    Murdered  ?" 

•♦  My  God  !"  said  Martin.     "  By  whom  ?" 

The  young  man,  Lewsome,  looked  up  in  his 
face,  and  casting  down  his  eyes  again,  replied  : 

"  I  fear,  by  me." 

"  By  you  ?"  cried  Martin. 

"Not  by  my  act,  but  I  fear  by  my  means." 

"Speak  out!"  said  Martin,  "and  speak  the 
truth." 

"  I  fear  this  is  the  truth." 

Martin  was  about  to  interrupt  him  again,  but 
John  Westlock  saying  softly,  "  Let  him  tell  his 
story  in  his  own  way,"  Lewsome  went  on  thus : 

"  I  have  been  bred  a  surgeon,  and  for  the  last 
few  years  have  served  a  general  practitioner  in 
tiie  city,  as  his  assistant.  While  I  was  in  his 
employment  I  became  acquainted  with  Jonas 
Chuzzlewit.     He  is  the  principal  in  this  deed." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Martin, 
sternly.  "  Do  you  know  he  is  the  son  of  the  old 
man  of  whom  you  have  sjjoken  ?" 

"  I  do,"  he  answered. 

He  remained  silent  for  some  moments  ;  when 
he  resumed  at  the  point  where  he  had  left  off. 

"  I  have  reason  to  know  it;  for  I  have  often  heard 
him  wish  his  old  father  dead,  and  complain  of  his 
being  wearisome  to  him,  and  a  drag  upon  him.  He 
was  in  the  habit  of  doing  so,  at  a  place  of  meet- 
ing we  had  :  three  or  four  of  us  :  at  night.  There 
was  no  good  in  the  place,  you  may  suppose,  when 
you  hear  that  he  was  the  chief  of  the  party.  I 
wish  I  had  died  myself,  and  never  seen  it !" 

He  stopped  again  ;  and  again  resumed  as  before. 

"  We  met  to  drink  and  game  ;  not  for  large 
sums,  but  for  sums  that  were  large  to  us.  He 
generally  won.  Whether  oi  no,  lie  lent  money 
at  interest  to  those  who  lost ;  and  in  this  way, 
though  I  think  we  all  secretly  haled  him,  he  came 
to  be  the  master  of  us.  To  propitiate  him,  we 
made  a  jest  of  his  father:  it  began  with  hisdiblors; 
I  wii8  one  :  and  we  used  to  toast  a  quicker  journey 


to  the  old   man,   and  a  swift  inheritance  to  the 
young  one." 

He  paused  again. 

"One  night  he  came  there  in  a  very  bad  humour 
He  had  been  greatly  tried,  he  said,  by  the  old  maii 
that  day.  He  and  }  were  alone  together;  and  he 
angrily  told  me,  that  the  old  man  was  in  his 
second  childhood  ;  that  he  was  weak,  imbecile,  and 
drivelling;  as  unbearable  to  himself  as  lie  was  to 
other  people;  and  that  it  would  be  a  charity  to  put 
him  out  of  the  way.  Ho  swore  that  he  had  ofton 
thought  of  mixing  sonu  thing  with  the  stuff  he 
took  for  his  cough,  which  should  help  him  to  die 
easily.  People  were  sometimes  smothered  who 
were  bitten  by  mad  dogs,  he  said  ;  and  why  not 
help  these  lingering  old  men  out  of  their  troubles 
too?  He  looked  full  at  me  as  he  said  so,  and  I 
looked  full  at  him;  but  it  went  no  farther  that 
night." 

He  stopped  once  more,  and  was  silent  for  so 
long  an  interval,  th»  John  Westlock  said  "Go 
on."  Martin  had  ne.er  removed  his  eyes  from 
his  face,  but  was  so  absorbed  in  horror  and 
astonishment,  that  he  could  not  speak. 

"  It  may  have  been  a  week  after  that,  or  it  may 
have  been  less,  or  more :  the  matter  was  in  ray 
mind  all  the  time,  but  I  cannot  recollect  the  time, 
as  I  should  any  other  period  :  when  he  spoke  to 
me  again.  We  were  alone  then,  too ;  being  there 
before  the  usual  hour  of  assembling.  There  was 
no  appointment  between  us ;  but  I  think  I  went 
there  to  meet  him,  and  I  know  he  came  there  to 
meet  me.  He  was  there  first.  He  was  reading 
a  newspaper  when  I  went  in,  and  nodded  to  me 
without  looking  up,  or  leaving  off  reading.  I  sat 
down  opposite  and  close  to  him.  He  said,  im- 
mediately, that  he  wanted  me  to  get  him  some  of 
two  sorts  of  drugs.  One  that  was  instantaneous 
in  its  effect ;  of  which  he  wanted  very  little.  One 
that  was  slow,  and  not  suspicious  to  appearance ; 
of  which  he  wanted  more.  While  he  was  speak- 
ing to  me,  he  still  read  the  newspaper.  He  said 
'  Drugs,'  and  never  used  any  other  word.  Neither 
did  I." 

"This  all  agrees  with  what  I  have  heard  before," 
observed  John  Westlock. 

"  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  them  for  ?  He 
said  for  no  harm  ;  to  physic  cats ;  what  did  it 
matter  to  me  ?  I  was  going  out  to  a  distant 
colony  (I  had  recently  got  the  appointment,  which 
as  Mr.  Westlock  knows,  I  have  since  lost  by  my 
sickness,  and  which  was  my  only  hope  of  salva- 
tion from  ruin),  and  what  did  it  matter  to  me? — 
He  could  get  them  without  my  aid  at  half  a  hun 
dred  places,  but  not  so  easily  as  he  could  get  them 
of  me.  This  was  true.  He  might  not  want  them 
at  all,  he  said,  and  he  had  no  present  idea  of  using 
them  ;  but  he  wished  to  have  them  by  him.  All 
this  time  he  still  read  the  newspaper.  We  talked 
about  the  price.  He  was  to  forgive  me  a  small 
debt — I  was  quite  in  his  power — and  to  pay  me 
five  pounds  ;  and  there  the  matter  dropped,  through 
others  coming  in.  But  next  night,  under  exactly 
similar  circumstances,  I  gave  him  the  drugs,  on 
his  saying  I  was  a  fool  to  think  that  he  should 
ever  use  them  for  any  harm  ;  and  he  gave  me  the 
money.  We  have  never  met  since.  I  only  know 
that  the  poor  old  father  died  soon  afterwards:  just 
as  he  would  have  died  from  this  ea-ise  .  and  that 
I    have  undergone,    and    suffer   now,    intolerable 


286 


LIFE  AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


miseiy  Nothing,"  he  added,  stretching  out  his 
handa,  "can  paint  my  misery  !  It  is  well  deserv- 
ed, but  nothing  can  paint  it." 

With  that  he  hung  his  head,  and  said  no  more. 
Wasted  and  wretched,  lie  was  not  the  creature  upon 
whom  to  heap  reproaches  that  were  tmavailing. 

"Let  iiini  remain  at  hand,"  said  Martin,  turn- 
ing from  him ;  "  but  out  of  sight,  in  Heaven's 
name !" 

"  Hfc  will  remain  here,"  John  whispered.  "Come 
with  me !"  Sollly  turning  tiic  key  upon  him  as 
they  went  out,  he  conducted  Martin  into  the  ad- 
joining room,  in  which  they  had  been  before, 

Martin  was  so  amazed,  so  shocked,  and  con- 
founded by  what  he  had  heard,  that  it  was  some 
time  before  he  could  reduce  it  to  any  order  in  his 
mind,  or  could  sufficiently  coniprchend  the  bear- 
ing of  one  part  upon  other,  to  take  in  all  the 
details  at  one  view.  When  he  at  length  had  the 
whole  narrative  clearly  before  him,  John  West- 
lock  went  on  to  point  out  tlie  great  probability  of 
the  guilt  of  Jonas  being  known  to  other  people, 
who  traded  in  it  for  their  own  benefit,  and  who 
were  by  such  means  able  to  exert  that  control 
over  him  wliich  Tom  Pinch  had  accidentally  wit- 
nessed, and  unconsciously  assisted.  This  ap- 
peared so  plain,  that  they  agreed  upon  it  without 
difficulty ;  but  instead  of  deriving  the  least  assis- 
tance from  this  source,  they  found  that  it  embar- 
rassed them  the  more. 

They  knew  nothing  of  the  real  parties,  who 
possessed  this  power.  Tlie  only  person  before 
them  was  Tom's  landlord.  They  had  no  right  to 
question  Tom's  landlord,  even  if  they  could  find 
him,  which,  according  to  Tom's  account,  it  would 
not  be  easy  to  do.  And  granting  that  they  did 
question  him,  and  he  answered  (which  was  taking 
a  good  deal  for  granted),  he  Imd  only  to  say,  with 
reference  to  the  adventure  on  the  wharf,  that  he 
had  been  sent  from  such  and  such  a  place  to  sum- 
mon Jonas  back  on  urgent  business,  and  there 
was  an  end  of  it. 

Besides,  there  was  the  great  difficulty  and  re- 
Bponsibility  of  moving  at  all  in  the  matter.  Lew- 
some's  story  might  be  filse  ;  in  his  wretched  state 
it  might  be  greatly  heightened  by  a  diseased 
brain  ;  or  admitting  it  to  be  entirely  true,  the  old 
man  might  have  died  a  natural  death.  Mr. 
Pecksniff  had  been  there  at  the  time ;  as  Tom  im- 
mediately remembered,  when  he  came  back  in 
the  afternoon,  and  shared  their  counsels ;  and 
there  had  been  no  socrecy  about  it.  Martin's 
grandfather  was  of  right  the  person  to  decide 
upon  the  cojrse  thst  should  he  taken  ;  but  to  get 
at  his  views  would  bo  ifnj)ossible,  for  Mr.  Peck- 
sniiTs  views  were  certain  to  be  his.  And  the 
nature  of  Mr.  PecksnifTs  vitiws  in  reference  to  his 
jwn  son-in-law,  .Tiight  be  easily  reckoned  upon. 

Apart  from  these  '•onuiderntions,  Martin  could 
not  endure  the  thouglu  of  seeming  to  grasp  at 
this  uimatural  charge  against  his  relative,  and 
using  it  as  a  st<  pping-stoiit!  t(,  his  grandfather's 
favour.  But  that  he  would  seem  'o  do  so,  if  he 
presented  himself  before  his  grandfather  in  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  iiouse  again,  for  the  purjjose  of  de- 
claring it  ;  and  th;it  Mr.  Pecksniff,  of  all  men, 
would  represent  his  conchict  in  that  despicable 
light;  he  perfectly  well  knew.  On  the;  other 
band,  to  be  in  possession  of  such  a  sfalcnient, 
<Dd  to  lake  no  measures  of  furtlicr    inquiry    in 


reference  to  it,  was  tantamount  to  being  a  partner 
in  the  guilt  it  professed  to  oisclose. 

In  a  word,  they  were  wliolly  unable  to  discover 
any  outlet  trom  tliis  maze  of  difficulty,  which  did 
not  lie  through  some  perplexed  and  entangled 
thicket.  And  although  Mr.  Tapley  was  promptly 
taken  into  their  confidence ;  and  the  fertile  imagi- 
nation  of  that  gentleman  suggested  many  bold 
expedients,  which,  to  do  him  justice,  he  was  quite 
ready  to  carry  into  instant  operation  on  his  own 
personal  responsibility  ;  still,  'bating  the  general 
zeal  of  Mr.  Tapley's  nature,  nothing  was  n^ade 
particularly  clearer  by  these  offers  of  service. 

It  was  in  this  position  of  affairs  that  Tom's  ac- 
count of  the  strange  behaviour  of  the  decayed 
clerk,  upon  the  night  of  the  tea-party,  became  of 
great  moment,  and  finally  convinced  them  that  to 
arrive  at  a  more  accurate  knowledge  of  the  work- 
ings of  that  old  man's  mind  and  memory,  would 
be  to  take  a  most  important  stride  in  their  pui  suit 
of  the  truth.  So,  having  first  satisfied  themselves 
that  no  communication  had  ever  taken  place  be- 
tween Lewsome  and  Mr.  Chuffey  (which  would 
have  accounted  at  once  for  any  suspicions  the 
latter  miglit  entertain),  they  unanimously  resol\ed 
that  the  old  clerk  was  the  man  they  wanted. 

But  like  tiie  unanimous  resolution  of  a  public 
meeting;  which  will  oftentimes  declare  that  this 
or  that  grievance  is  not  to  be  borne  a  moment 
'jnger,  which  is  nevertheless  borne  for  a  centurj 
or  two  afterwards,  without  an)'  modification  ;  they 
only  reached  in  this  the  conclusion  that  they 
were  all  of  one  mind.  For  it  was  one  thing  to 
want  Mr.  Chuffey,  and  another  thing  to  get  at 
him;  and  to  do  that  without  alarming  him,  or 
without  alarming  Jonas,  or  without  being  discomfi- 
ted by  the  difficulty  of  striking,  in  an  instrument  so 
out  of  tune  and  so  unused,  the  note  tliey  sought, 
was  an  end  as  far  from  their  reach  as  ever. 

The  question  then  became,  who  of  those  about 
the  old  clerk  had  had  most  influence  with  him, 
that  night  ?    Tom  said  his  young  mistress  clearly. 

But  'I'om  and  all  of  them  shrunk  from  li  e 
thought  of  entrapping  her,  and  making  her  the 
innocent  means  of  bringing  retribution  on  her  cru<l 
husband.  Was  there  nobody  else  ?  Why  yes. — 
In  a  very  different  way,  Tom  said,  he  was  influ- 
enced by  Mrs.  Gamp,  the  nurse;  who  had  once 
had  the  control  of  him,  as  he  understood,  for  some 
time. 

They  caught  at  this  immediately.  Here  was  a 
new  way  out,  developed  in  a  quarter  until  then 
overlooked.  John  Westlock  knew  Mrs.  Gamp; 
he  had  given  her  employment ;  he  was  acquainted 
with  her  place  of  residence  :  for  that  good  lady  had 
obligingly  furnished  him,  at  parting,  with  a  pack 
of  her  professional  cards  for  general  distribution. 
It  was  decided  that  Mrs.  Gamp  should  be  ap- 
proached with  caution,  but  approached  without 
delay  ;  and  that  the  depths  of  that  discreet  matron's 
knowledgeof  Mr.  Chuffe;,  and  m<(c.  .f  bringing 
them,  or  one  of  them,  into  communication  with 
him,  should  be  carefully  sounded. 

On  this  service  Martin  and  John  Westlock  de- 
termined to  proceed  that  night;  waiting  on  Mrs, 
(Jamp  first,  at  her  lodgings;  and  taking  thciT 
chance,  of  finding  her  in  the  repose  of  private  lif<?, 
or  of  liuving  to  seek  her,  out,  clscwiiere,  in  the  ex 
ercise  of  her  professional  duties.  Tom  returned 
liurno,  tiiat  he  might  lose  no  opportunity  of  having 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


2S7 


tn  interview  with  Nadgett,  by  being  absent  in 
Jie  event  of  his  re-appearance.  And  Mr.  Tapley 
remained  (by  his  own  particular  desire)  for  the 
time  being  in  Furnivai's  Inn,  to  look  after  Lew- 
some  ;  wlio  might  sately  have  been  left  to  him- 
self, however,  for  any  thought  he  seemed  to  enter- 
tain of  giving  tliem  the  slip. 

But  before  they  parted  on  their  several  errands, 
they  caused  him  to  read  aloud,  in  the  presence  of 
them  all,  the  paper  which  he  liad  about  him,  and 
the  declaration  he  had  attached  to  it,  which  was 
to  the  effect,  that  he  had  written  it  voluntarily,  in 
fear  of  death  and  in  the  torture  of  his  mind.  And 
when  he  had  done  so,  they  all  signed  it,  and  tak- 
ing it  from  him,  of  his  free  will,  locked  it  in  a  place 
of  safety. 

Martin  also  wrote,  by  John's  advice,  a  letter  to 
the  trustees  of  the  famous  Grammar  School,  boldly 
claiming  the  successful  design  as  his,  and  charg- 
ing Mr.  Pecksniff  with  the  fraud  he  had  com- 
mitted.    In  this  proceeding  also  John  was  iiotly 


interested  ;  observing,  witli  his  u'su-il  irreverence 
that  Mr.  Pecl;pnift'  had  been  a  suecesstul  raseal 
all  his  life  through,  and  that  it  would  bo  a  lasting 
source  of  happiness  to  him  (John)  if  he  could  help 
to  do  him  justice  in  the  smallest  particular. 

A  busy  day  !  but  Martin  had  no  lodgings  yet; 
so,  when  these  matters  were  disposed  of,  he  e.xcused 
himself  from  dining  with  John  Westlock,  and  wa« 
fain  to  wander  out  alone,  and  look  for  some.  He 
succeeded,  after  great  trouble,  in  engaging  two 
garrets  for  himself  and  Mark,  situated  in  a  courl 
in  the  Strand  not  far  from  Temple  Bar.  Theit 
luggage,  which  was  waiting  for  them  at  a  coach- 
office,  he  conveyed  to  this  new  place  of  refuge ; 
and  it  was  with  a  glow  of  satisfaction  which,  as  a 
selfish  man,  he  never  could  have  known  and  never 
had,  that,  thinking  how  much  pains  and  trouble 
he  had  saved  Mark,  and  how  pleased  and  aston- 
ished Mark  would  be,  he  afterwards  walked  up 
and  down  in  the  Temple,  eating  a  meat-pie  for 
his  dinner. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 


IN  WHICH  MRS.  HARRIS,  ASSISTED  BY  A  TEA-POT,  IS  THE  CAUSE  OF  A 
DIVISION  BETWEEN  FRIENDS. 


Mrs.  Gamp's  apartment  in  Kingsgate-street, 
High  Holborn,  wore,  metaphorically  speaking,  a 
robe  of  state.  It  was  swept  and  garnished  for  the 
reception  of  a  visitor.  That  visitor  was  Betsey 
Prig:  Mrs.  Prig  of  Bartlemy's ;  or,  as  some  said, 
Barklemy's ;  or,  as  some  said,  Bardlemy's ;  for 
by  all  these  endearing  and  familiar  appellations 
had  the  hospital  of  Saint  Bartholomew  become  a 
household  word  among  the  sisterhood  which  Bet- 
sey Prig  adorned. 

Mrs.  Gamp's  apartment  was  not  a  spacious  one, 
but,  to  a  contented  mind,  a  closet  is  a  palace ;  and 
the  first-floor  front  at  Mr.  Sweedlepipe's  may 
have  been,  in  the  imagination  of  Mrs.  Gamp,  a 
stately  pile.  If  it  were  not  exactly  that,  to  restless 
intellects,  it  at  least  comprised  as  much  accommo- 
dation as  any  person,  not  sanguine  to  insanity, 
could  have  looked  for  in  a  room  of  its  dimensions. 
For  only  keep  the  bedstead  always  in  your  mind, 
and  you  were  safe.  That  was  the  grand  secret. 
Remembering  the  bedstead,  you  might  even  stoop 
:o  look  under  the  little  round  table  for  anything 
you  had  dropped,  without  hurting  yourself  much 
against  the  chest  of  drawers,  or  qualifying  as  a 
patient  of  St.  Bartholomew,  by  falling  into  the  fire. 

Visitors  were  much  assisted  in  their  cautious 
jff*orts  to  pre?  rve  an  unflagging  recollection  of 
this  piece  of  furniture,  by  its  size :  which  was 
great.  It  was  not  a  turn-up  bedstead,  nor  yet  a 
French  bedstead,  nor  yet  a  four-post  bedstead ;  but 
what  is  poetically  called  a  tent:  the  sacking 
whereof  v/as  low  and  bulgy,  insomuch  that  Mrs. 
Gamp's  box  would  not  go  under  it,  but  stopped 
half-way,  in  a  manner  which  while  it  did  violence 
to  the  reason,  likewise  endangered  the  legs,  of  a 


stranger.  The  framt,  too,  which  would  have 
supported  the  canopy  ana  hangings,  if  there  had 
been  any,  was  ornamented  with  divers  pippins 
carved  in  timber,  which,  on  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion, and  frequently  on  none  at  all,  came  tumbling 
down;  harassing  the  peaceful  guest  wiii:  inexpli- 
cable terrors. 

The  bed  itself  was  decorated  with  a  patchwo.  k 
quilt  of  great  antiquity ;  and  at  the  upper  end, 
upon  the  side  nearest  to  the  door,  hung  a  scanty 
curtain  of  blue  check,  which  prevented  the  zephyrs 
that  were  abroad  in  Kingsgate-street  from  visiting 
Mrs.  Gamp's  head  too  roughly.  Some  rusty 
gowns  and  other  articles  of  that  lady's  wardrobe 
depended  from  the  posts  ;  and  these  had  so  adapte/ 
themselves  by  long  usage  to  her  figure,  that  more 
than  one  impatient  husband  coming  in  precipi- 
tately,  at  about  the  time  of  twilight,  had  been 
for  an  instant  stricken  dumb  by  the  supposed 
discovery  that  Mrs.  Gamp  had  hanged  herself. 
One  gentleman,  coining  on  the  usual  hasty  errand, 
had  said,  indeed,  that  they  looked  like  guardian 
angels  "  watching  of  her  in  her  sleep."  But  tnat, 
as  Mrs.  Gamp  said,  "was  his  first;"  and  he  never 
repeated  the  senti:nent,  though  he  often  repeated 
his  visit. 

The  chairs  in  Mrs.  Gamp's  apartment  were  ex- 
tremely large  and  broad-backed,  wliich  was  more 
than  a  sufficient  reason  for  their  being  but  two  in 
number.  They  were  both  elbow  chairs,  of  an- 
cient mahogany,  r.nd  were  chiefly  valuable  :ir 
the  slippery  nature  of  tlieir  seats  ;  whicii  had  hef 
originally  horr;e-h:\ir,  but  were  now  covered  with 
a  shiny  substance  •>!'  a  blueisli  tint,  from  whicli 
the  visitor  began  to  slide  away  with  a  dismaywi 


LIFE  AND  adv::ntures  of 


countenance,  immediately  after  sittings  down. 
What  iVlrs.  Gamp  wanted  in  cliairs  she  made  up 
in  bandboxes  ;  of  which  she  had  a  great  collection, 
devoted  to  the  reception  of  various  miscellaneous 
valuables,  which  were  not,  however,  as  well  pro- 
tected as  the  good  woman,  by  a  pleasant  fiction, 
6«  tnied  to  think  ;  for  though  every  bandbox  had  a 
carefully  closed  lid,  not  one  among  them  had  a 
bottom  ;  owing  to.which  cause  the  property  within 
was  merely,  as  it  were,  extinguished.  The  chest 
of  drawers  having  been  originally  made  to  stand 
upon  the  top  of  another  chest,  had  a  dwarfish,  elfin 
look,  alone ;  but  in  regard  of  its  security  it  had  a 
great  advantage  over  the  bandlx.xts,  for  as  all  the 
handles  had  been  long  ago  piilltd  r.tT,  it  was  very 
diificult  to  get  at  its  contents.  This  indeed  was 
only  to  be  done  by  one  of  two  devices ;  either  by 
liltmg  the  whole  structure  forward  until  the  draw- 
ers  fell  out  together,  or  by  opening  them  singly 
with  knives,  like  oysters. 

Mrs.  Gamp  stored  all  her  houselu.ld  matters  in 
a  little  cupboard  by  the  fire-place ;  beginning  be- 
low the  surface  (as  in  nature)  with  the  coals,  and 
mounting  gradually  upwards  to  the  spirits,  which, 
from  motives  of  delicacy,  she  kept  in  a  tea-pot. 
The  chimney-piece  was  ornaintiitiii  with  a  small 
almanac,  marked  here  and  there,  ni  Mrs.  Gamp's 
own  hand,  with  a  memoranduin  of  the  date  at 
which  some  lady  was  expected  to  fall  due.  It 
was  also  embellished  with  three  profiles;  one  in 
colours,  of  Mrs.  Gamp  herself  in  larly  life;  one 
in  bronze,  of  a  lady  in  feathers,  supposed  to  be 
Mrs.  Harris,  as  she  appeared  when  dressed  for  a 
ball;  and  one  in  black,  of  Mr.  (iunp,  deceased. 
The  last  was  a  full  length,  in  ordi  r  that  the  like- 
ness  might  be  rendered  more  obvimis  and  forcible 
by  the  intrctduetion  of  the  wooden  leg. 

A  pair  of  bellows,  a  pair  of  p  .tti  us,  a  toasting- 
fork,  a  kettle,  a  pap-boat,  a  spoon  tor  the  admin- 
istration of  medicine  to  the  rr'r.'tlnry,  and,  lastly, 
Mrs.  Gamp's  umbrella, — which,  as  something  of 
great  price  and  rarity,  was  displ  lyed  with  par- 
ticular ostentation, — completed  the  decorations  of 
the  chimney-piece  and  adjacent  w^ll.  Towards 
these  objects  Mrs.  Gamp  raised  her  eyes  in  satis, 
faction  when  she  had  arranged  the  tea-board,  and 
had  concluded  her  arrangf  ments  for  the  reception 
of  Betsey  Piig,  even  unto  the  setting  forth  of  two 
pounds  of  Newcastle  salmon,  mtensely  pickled. 

"There!  Now,  drat  you  Brlsey,  don't  be 
long!"  said'Mrs.  Gamp  apostrophising  her  absent 
friend.  "For  I  can't  abear  to  wait,  I  do  assure 
you.  To  wotever  place  I  goes,  I  sticks  to  this 
one  mortar, '  I'm  easy  pleased  ;  it  is  but  little  as  I 
wants;  but  I  must  have  that  little  of  the  best,  and 
to  the  minit  when  the  clock  strikes,  else  we  do 
not  part  as  I  could  wish,  but  bearin'  malice  in 
our  'arts.'  " 

Her  own  preparations  were  of  the  best;  for 
they  comprehended  a  delicate  new  loaf,  a  plate 
of  tresh  butter,  a  basin  of  fine  white  sugar,  and 
ulher  arrangements  on  the  same  scale.  Even  the 
%iiuff  with  which  she  now  refreshed  herself  was 
80  ciioice  in  quality,  that  she  took  a  second  pinch. 

"  'I'here's  the  little  bell  a-ringin'  now,"  said 
Mrs.  Gamp,  hurrying  to  the  stair-head  and  look- 
ing over.  "  Betsey  Prig,  my — why,  it's  that  there 
Jisapintin'  Sweedlepipes,  I  do  believe." 

"  Yts,  it's  me,"  said  the  barber,  in  a  faint  voice, 
'  I've  just  come  in.' 


"  You're  always  acomin'  in,  T  think,"  muttered 
Mrs.  Gamp,  "  except  wen  you're  a-going  out.  I 
ha'n't  no  patience  with  that  man  !" 

"  Mrs.  Gamp  I"  said  the  barber.  "  I  say  I  Mri. 
Gamp  !" 

"  Well,"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp,  impatiently,  as  she 
descended  the  stairs.  "\Vliat  is  it?  Is  the 
Thames  a-fire,  and  cooking  its  own  fish,  Mr. 
Sweedlepipes  ?  Wliy,  wot's  the  man  gone  and  been 
a-doin'  of  to  himselt?     He's  us  wiiite  as  chalk!" 

She  added  the  latter  clause  of  iiKjuiry,  when 
she  got  down  stairs,  and  found  him  seated  in  the 
shaving  chair,  pale  and  disconsolate. 

"You  recollect,"  said  Poll  —  "you  recollect 
young " 

"Not  young  Wilkins!"  cried  Mrs.  Gampi. 
"  Don't  say  young  Wilkins,  wotever  you  do.  If 
young  Wilkins's  wife  is  took " 

"It  isn't  any  body's  wife,"  exclaimed  the  little 
barber.     "  Bailey,  Young  Bailey  !" 

"  Why,  wot  do  you  mean  to  sa}'  that  chit's  beeP 
a-doin  of?"  retorted  Mrs.  Gamp,  sharply.  "Stuff 
and  nonsense,  Mr.  Sweedlepipes  !" 

"He  hasn't  been  a-doing  anything  !"  exclaimed 
Poor  Poll,  quite  desperate.  "  What  do  you  catch 
me  up  so  short  for,  when  you  see  me  put  out  to 
that  extent  that  I  can  hardly  spe.k  ?  He'll  never 
do  anything  again.  He's  done  for.  He's  killed, 
The  first  time  I  ever  see  that  boy,"  said  Poll,  "  I 
charged  him  too  much  for  a  redpoll.  I  asked 
aim  three  half-pence  for  a  penny  one,  because  I 
was  afraid  he'd  beat  me  down.  But  he  didn't 
And  now  he's  dead  ;  and  if  you  was  to  crowd  aij 
the  steam  engines  and  electric  fluids  that  ever 
was,  into  this  shop,  and  set  'em  every  one  to  work 
their  hardest,  they  couldn't  square  the  account^ 
though  it's  only  a  ha'peimy  I" 

Mr.  Sweedlepipes  turned  aside  to  the  towel,  and 
wiped  his  eyes  with  it. 

"  And  what  a  clever  boy  he  was !"  he  said, 
"What  a  surprising  young  chap  he  was!  How 
he  talked  !  and  what  a  deal  he  know'd  !  Shaved 
in  this  very  chair,  he  was  ;  only  for  fun  ;  it  was 
all  his  fun  ;  he  was  full  of  it.  Ah  !  to  think  that 
he'll  never  be  shaved  in  earnest!  The  birds  might 
every  one  have  died,  and  welcome,"  cried  the 
little  barber,  looking  round  him  at  the  cages,  and 
again  applying  to  the  towel,  "sooner  than  I'o 
have  heard  this  news  I" 

"  How  did  you  hear  this  news !"  said  Mrs. 
Gamp.     "  Who  told  you  !" 

"  I  went  out,"  returned  the  little  barber,  "  into 
the  city,  to  meet  a  sporting  gent  upon  the  Stock 
Exchange,  that  wanted  a  few  slow  pigeons  to 
practise  at;  and  when  I'd  done  with  him  I  went 
to  get  a  little  drop  of  beer,  and  there  I  heard 
everybody  a  talking  about  it.     It's  in  the  papers." 

"  You  are  in  a  nice  state  of  confugion,  Mr. 
Sweedlepipes  you  are  !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  shaking 
her  head  ;  "  and  my  opinion  is,  as  half-a-dudgeon 
fresh  young  lively  leeches  on  your  temples,  wouldn't 
be  too  much  to  clear  j'our  mind,  which  so  I  tell 
you.  Wot  were  they  a-talkin  on,  and  wot  was  in 
the  papers  ?" 

"  All  about  it!"  cried  the  barber.  "What  else 
do  you  suppose  ?  Him  and  his  master  were  upset 
on  a  journey,  and  he  was  carried  to  Salisbury, 
and  was  breathing  his  last  when  the  account  came 
away.  He  never  spoke  attcrwards.  Not  a  single 
word.     That's  the  worst  of  it  to  me ;  but  tbat  an't 


r^ 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


2Sd 


•I4  His  master  can't  be  found.  The  oilier 
manag-er  of  tlieir  office  in  the  city :  Crimple, 
David  Crimple  :  has  gone  off  with  the  money,  and 
IS  advertised  for,  with  a  reward,  upon  the  walls. 
Mr.  Montague,  poor  Young  Bailey's  master  (what 
a  boy  he  was  I)  is  advertised  for,  too.  Some  say 
tie's  slipped  off,  to  join  his  friend  abroad;  some 
say  lie  mayn't  have  got  away  yet;  and  tlicy're 
looking  for  him  high  and  low.  Their  office  is  a 
sniasli ;  a  swindle  altogether.  But  what's  a  Life 
Insurance  office  to  a  Life  !  And  what  a  Lile 
Young  Bailey's  was  !" 

"  He  was  born  into  a  wale,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp, 
with  philosophical  coolness;  "and  he  lived  in  a 
wule  ;  and  he  must  take  the  consequences  of  sech 
a  sitiwation.  But  don't  you  hear  nothink  of  Mr. 
Chuzzlewit  in  all  this?" 

"No,"  said  Poll,  "nothing  to  speak  of.  His 
name  wasn't  printed  as  one  of  the  board,  though 
some  people  say  it  was  just  going  to  be.  Some 
believe  he  was  took  in,  and  some  believe  he  was 
one  of  the  takers-in ;  but  however  that  may  be, 
they  can't  prove  nothing  against  him.  This 
morning  he  went  up  of  his  own  accord  afore  the 
Lord  Mayor  or  some  of  them  city  big-wigs,  and 
complained  that  he'd  been  swindled,  and  that 
these  two  persons  had  gone  off  and  cheated  him, 
and  that  he  had  just  found  out  that  Montay-ue's 
name  wasn't  even  Montague,  but  something 
else.  And  they  do  say  that  be  looked  like  Death, 
owing  to  his  losses.  But,  Lord  forgive  me," 
cried  ttie  barber  coming  back  again  to  the  subject 
of  his  individual  grief,  "  what's  his  looks  to  me  ! 
He  might  have  died  and  welcome,  fifty  times, 
arid  not  been  such  a  loss  as  Bailey  !" 

At  this  juncture  the  little  bell  rang,  and  the 
deep  voice  of  Mrs.  Prig  struck  into  the  conversa- 
tion. 

"  Oh  !  You're  3  talkin  about  it,  are  you !" 
observed  that  lady.  "  Well,  I  hope  you've  got  it 
over,  for  I  an't  interested  in  it  myself." 

"  My  precious  Betsey,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  how 
late  you  are  !" 

The  worthy  Mrs.  Prig  replied,  with  some 
asperity,  "  that  if  perwerse  people  went  off  dead, 
when  they  was  least  expected,  it  warn't  no  fault  of 
her'n."  And  further,  "  that  it  was  quite  aggra- 
wation  enough  to  be  made  late  when  one  was 
dropping  for  one's  tea,  without  hearing  on  it 
again." 

Mrs.  Gamp,  deriving  from  this  exhibition  of 
repartee  some  clue  to  the  state  of  Mrs.  Prig's 
feelings,  inst:intly  conducted  her  up  stairs:  deem- 
ing that  the  sight  of  pickled  salmon  might  work 
a  softening  change. 

But  Betsey  Prig  expected  pickled  salmon.  It 
was  obvious  that  she  did  ;  for  her  first  words, 
after  glancing  at  the  table,  were  : 

"  I  know'd  she  wouldn't  have  a  coucumber !" 

Mrs.  Gamp  changed  colour,  and  sat  down  upon 
the  bedstead. 

"  Lord  bless  you,  Betsey  Prig,  your  words  is 
true.     I  quite  forgot  it !" 

Mrs.  Prig,  looking  steadfastly  at  her  friend,  put 
her  hand  in  her  pocket,  and,  with  an  air  of  surly 
triumph,  drew  forth  either  the  oldest  of  letttices 
»r  youngest  of  cabbages,  but  at  any  rate,  a  green 
vegetable  ;  of  an  expansive  nature,  and  of  sueh 
magnificent  proportions  that  she  was  obliged  to 
shut  it  up  like  an  umbrella  before  she  could  puH 
37 


it  out.  She  also  prt/duoed  a  handful  of  mustard 
and  crtss,  a  triilo  of  the  herb  called  diindullon, 
three  bunches  of  radishes,  an  onion  ratliur  larger 
than  an  average  turnip,  three  substimlial  slices  of 
beet  root  and  a  short  prong  or  antler  of  celery  ; 
the  whole  of  this  garden-stuff  having  been  publio- 
ly  exhibited  but  a  short  time  before  as  a  twopenny 
sal.id,  and  purchased  by  Mrs.  Prig,  on  condition 
that  the  vendor  could  get  it  all  into  her  pocket. 
Which  had  been  happily  accomplished,  in  High 
Holborn  :  to  the  breatl)less  interest  of  a  hackney, 
coach  stand.  And  she  laid  so  little  stress  on  this 
surprising  forethought,  that  she  did  not  even 
smile,  but  returning  her  pocket  into  its  accustom- 
ed sphere,  merely  recommended  tiiat  these  pro. 
ductions  of  nature  should  be  sliced  up,  for  im- 
mediate  consumption,  in  plenty  of  vinegar. 

"  And  don't  go  a  dropping  none  of  your  snuS 
in  it,"  said  Mrs.  Prig.  "  In  gruel,  barley-water, 
apple-tea,  mutton-broth,  and  that,  it  dont't  signify. 
It  stimilates  a  patient.  But  I  don't  relish  it 
myself." 

"  Why,  Betsey  Prig  !"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  how 
can  you  talk  so  I" 

"  What,  an't  your  patients,  wotever  their  dis- 
eases is,  always  a  sneezin  their  wery  heads  off, 
along  of  your  snuff!"  said  Mrs.  Prig. 

"  And  wot  if  they  are  !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"Nothing  if  they  are,"  said  Mrs,  Prig.  **  But 
don't  deny  it,  Sairah." 

"  Who  deniges  of  it  ?"    Mrs.  Gamp  inquired. 

Mrs.  Prig  returned  no  answer. 

"  Who  deniges  of  it,  Betsey  ?"  Mrs.  Gamp  in- 
quired again.  Then  Mrs.  Gamp,  by  reversin|; 
the  question,  imparted  a  deeper  and  more  awfvui 
character  of  solemnity  to  the  same.  "  Betsey, 
who  deniges  of  it  ?" 

It  was  the  nearest  possible  approach  to  a  very 
decided  difference  of  opinion  between  these  ladies; 
but  Mrs.  Prig's  impatience  for  the  meal  being 
greater  at  the  moment  than  her  impatience  of 
contradiction,  she  replied  for  the  present, 
"Nobody,  if  you  don't,  Sairah,"  and  prepared 
herself  for  tea.  For  a  quarrel  can  be  taken  up  at 
any  time,  but  a  limited  quantity  of  salmon  can  not, 

Her  toilet  was  simple.  She  had  merely  to 
"  chuck"  her  bonnet  and  shawl  upon  the  bed  ; 
give  her  hair  two  pulls,  one  upon  the  right  side 
and  one  upon  the  left,  as  if  she  were  ringing  a 
couple  of  bells  ;  and  all  was  done.  The  tea  was 
already  made,  Mrs.  Gamp  was  not  long  over  the 
salad,  and  they  were  soon  at  the  height  of  their 
repast. 

llie  temper  of  both  parties  was  improved,  for 
the  time  being,  by  the  enjoyments  of  the  table. — 
When  the  meal  came  to  a  termination  (which  it 
was  pretty  long  in  doing),  and  Mrs.  Gamp  having 
cleared  away,  produced  the  tea-pot  from  the  top 
shelf,  simultaneously  with  a  couple  of  wine-glass- 
es, they  were  quite  amiable. 

"Betsey,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  filling  her  owu 
glass,  and  passing  the  tea-pot,  "  1  will  now  pro- 
poge  a  toast.    My  frequent  pardner,  Betsey  Prig  !" 

'•Which,  altering  the  name  to  Sairah  Gamp,  I 
drink,"  said  Mrs.  Prig,  "  with  love  and  tender 
ness." 

From  this  moment  symptoms  of  inflammation 
began  to  lurk  in  the  nose  of  each  lady ;  and  pe.r 
haps,  notwithstanding  all  appearances  to  the  Mmi- 
trary,  in  the  temper,  alea 


?90 


LIFE    AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


"Now,  Sairah,"  said  Mrs.  Trig,  "joining  busi- 
anss  with  pleasure,  wot  is  this  case  in  wliich  you 
wants  me  ?" 

Mrs.  Gamp  betraying  in  her  face  some  intention 
of  returning  an  evasive  answer,  Betsey  added  : 

"/s  it  Mrs.  Harris?" 

"  No,  Betsey  Prig,  it  an't,"  was  Mrs.  Gamp's 
reply. 

"  Well,"  said  Mrs.  Prig,  with  a  short  laugh, 
"I'm  glad  of  that,  at  any  rate." 

"  Why  should  you  be  gl.id  of  that,  Betsey  ?" 
Mrs.  Gamp  retorted,  warmly.  "  She  is  unbe- 
known to  you,  except  by  hears:iy  ;  why  should 
you  be  glad  ?  If  you  have  anythink  to  say  con- 
trairy  to  the  character  of  Mrs.  Harris,  wliich, 
well  I  knows,  behind  her  back,  afore  her  face,  or 
anywheres  is  not  to  be  impeaged,  out  with  it, 
Betsey.  I  have  knovv'd  that  sweetest  and  best  of 
women,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  shaking  her  head  and 
shedding  tears,  "  ever  since  afore  her  first,  which 
Mr.  Harris,  who  was  dreadful  timid,  went  and 
stopped  his  ears  in  an  empty  dog-kennel,  and 
never  took  his  hands  away  or  come  out  once  till 
he  was  showed  the  baby;  wen,  bein'  took  with 
fits,  the  doctor  collared  him  and  laid  him  on  his 
back  upon  the  airy  stones  ;  and  she  was  told,  to 
ease  her  mind,  his  'owls  was  organs.  And  I 
have  know'd  her,  Betsey  Prig,  wen  he  has  hurt 
her  feelin'  'art  by  sayin'  of  her  ninth  that  it  was 
one  too  many,  if  not  two,  while  that  dear  inno- 
cent was  cooin'  in  his  face,  which  thrive  it  did, 
though  bandy :  but  I  have  never  know'd  as  you 
had  occagion  to  be  glad,  Betsey,  on  accounts  of 
Mrs.  Harris  not  requiring  you.  Require  she  never 
will,  depend  upton  it,  for  her  constant  words  in 
sickness  is,  and  will  be, '  Send  for  Siiirey  !'  " 

During  this  touching  address,  Mrs.  Prig, 
adroitly  feigning  to  be  the  victim  of  that  absence 
of  mind  which  has  its  origin  in  excessive  atten- 
tion to  one  topic,  helped  herself  from  the  tea-pot 
without  appearing  to  observe  it.  Mrs.  Gamp 
observed  it,  however,  and  came  to  a  premature 
close  in  consequence. 

"  Well,  it  an't  her  it  seems,"  said  Mrs.  Prig, 
coldly  :  "  who  is  it,  then  ?" 

"  You  have  heerd  me  mention,  Betsey,"  Mrs. 
Gamp  replied,  after  glancing  in  an  expressive  and 
marked  manner  at  the  tea-pot,  "  a  person  as  I  took 
care  on  at  the  time  as  you  and  me  was  pardnera 
olF  and  on,  in  that  there  fever  at  the  Bull  ?" 

"Old  SnuflFey,"  Mrs.  Prig  observed. 

Sarah  Gamp  looked  at  her  with  an  eye  of 
fire,  for  she  saw  in  this  mistake  of  Mrs.  Prig, 
another  wilful  and  malignant  stab  at  that  same 
weakness  or  custom  of  hers,  an  ungenerous  allu- 
sion  to  which,  on  the  part  of  Betsey,  had  first 
disturbed  their  harmony  that  evening.  And  she 
saw  it  still  more  clearly,  when,  politely  but  firmly 
correcting  thai  lady  by  the  distinct  enunciation 
of  the  word  "  Chnffey,"  Mrs.  Prig  received  the 
correction  with  a  diabolical  laugh. 

The  best  among  us  have  their  failings  ;  and  it 
must  be  conceded  of  Mrs.  Prig,  that  if  there  were 
a  bleminh  in  the  goodness  of  her  disposition,  it 
was  a  habit  she  had  of  not  bestowing  all  its  sharp 
and  acid  properties  u[)nn  her  patients,  (:is  a  tho- 
roughly amiable  woman  would  have  done),  but 
of  keeping  a  considerable  remainder  for  the  ser- 
'i.->e  of  her  friends.  Highly  pickled  salmon,  and 
Wiuces  chopped  up  in   vinegar,  may,  as  viands 


possessing  some  acidity  of  their  own,  have  en- 
couraged and  increased  this  tailing  in  Mrs.  Prig, 
and  every  application  to  the  tea-pot  certamly  did .; 
for  it  was  often  remarked  of  her  by  her  friends, 
that  she  was  most  contradictory  when  she  was 
most  elevated.  It  is  certain  that  her  countenance 
became  about  this  time  derisive  and  defiant,  and 
that  she  sat  with  her  arms  folded  and  one  eye 
shut  up,  in  a  somewhat  offensive,  because  obtru- 
sively intelligent,  manner. 

Mrs.  Gamp,  observing  this,  felt  it  the  more  ne- 
cessary that  Mrs.  Prig  should  know  her  place, 
and  be  made  sensible  of  her  exact  station  in 
society,  as  well  as  of  her  obligations  to  herself. 
She  therefore  assumed  an  air  of  greater  patronage 
and  importance,  as  she  went  on  to  answer  Mrs 
Prig  a  little  more  in  detail. 

"Mr.  Chuffey,  Betsey,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "is 
weak  in  his  mind.  Excuge  me  if  I  makes  re- 
mark, that  he  may  neither  be  so  weak  as  people 
thinks,  nor  people  may  not  think  he  is  so  weak 
as  they  pretends;  and  what  I  knows,  I  knows; 
and  what  you  don't,  you  don't ;  so  do  not  ask  me, 
Betsey.  But  Mr.  Chuffey's  friends  has  made 
propojals  for  his  bein'  took  care  on,  and  has  said 
to  me,  'Mrs.  Gamp,  will  you  undertake  it?  We 
couldn't  think,'  they  says,  *of  trustin'  him  to  no- 
body but  you,  for,  Sairey,  you  are  gold  as  has 
passed  through  the  furnage.  Will  you  undertake 
it,  at  your  own  price,  day  and  night,  and  by  your 
own  self?'  '  No,'  I  says,  '  I  will  not.  Do  not 
reckon  on  it.  There  is,'  I  says,  '  but  one  creetur' 
in  the  world  as  I  would  undertake  on  sech  terms, 
and  her  name  is  Harris.  But,'  I  says,  '  I  am  ac- 
quainted with  a  friend,  whose  name  is  Betsey 
Prig,  that  I  can  recommend,  and  will  assist  me. 
Betsey,'  I  says, '  is  always  to  be  trusted,  under  me, 
and  will  be  guided  as  I  could  desire.'  " 

Here  Mrs.  Prig,  without  any  abatement  of  her 
offensive  manner,  again  counterfeited  abstraction 
of  mind,  and  stretched  out  her  haiui  to  the  tea-pot. 
It  was  more  than  Mrs.  Gamp  could  bear.  She 
stopped  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Prig  with  her  own,  and 
said,  with  great  feeling  : 

"  No,  Betsey  I  drink  fair,  wotever  you  do  !" 

Mrs.  Prig,  thus  baffled,  threw  herself  back  in 
her  chair,  and  closing  the  same  eye  more  em- 
phatically, and  folding  her  arms  tighter,  suffered 
her  head  to  roll  slowly  from  side  to  side,  while  she 
surveyed  her  friend  with  a  contemptuous  smile 

Mrs.  Gamp  resumed  : 

"  Mrs.  Harris,  Betsey " 

"  Bother  Mrs.  Harris  !"  said  Betsey  Prig. 

Mrs.  Gamp  looked  at  her  with  amazement,  in- 
credulity, and  indignation ;  when  Mrs.  Prig, 
shutting  her  eye  still  closer,  and  folding  her  arms 
still  tighter,  uttered  these  memorable  and  tremen- 
dous words  : 

"  I  don't  believe  there's  nosich  a  person." 

After  the  utterance  of  which  expressions,  she 
leaned  forward,  and  snapped  her  fingers  once, 
twice,  thrice ;  each  time  nearer  to  the  face  of 
Mrs.  Gamp  ;  and  then  rose  to  put  on  her  bonnet, 
as  one  who  felt  that  there  was  now  a  gulf  between 
them,  which  nothing  could  ever  bridge  across. 

The  shock  of  this  blow  was  so  violent  and  sud- 
den, that  Mrs.  Gamp  sat  staring  at  nothing  with 
uplifted  eyes,  and  her  mouth  open  as  if  siie  were 
gasping  for  breath,  until  Betsey  Prig  had  got  on 
her  bonnet  and  her  shawl,  and  was  gatliering  th« 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT, 


291 


jtttter  about  her  throat.  Then  Mrs.  Gamp  rose — 
morally  and  physically  rose — and  denounced  her. 

"  What !"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  you  bage  crcetur, 
have  I  know'd  Mrs.  Harris  five  and  thirty  year, 
to  be  told  at  last  that  there  an't  no  sech  a  person 
livin  !  Have  I  stood  her  friend  in  all  her  troubles, 
great  and  small,  for  it  to  come  at  last  to  sech  a 
end  as  this,  which  her  own  sweet  j)icter  hanging 
up  afore  you  all  the  time,  to  shame  your  Bragian 
words!  But  well  you  mayn't  believe  there's  no 
sech  a  creetur,  for  she  wouldn't  demean  herself 
to  look  at  you,  and  often  has  she  said,  when  I 
have  made  mention  of  your  name,  which,  to  my 
sinful  sorrow,  I  have  done,  '  What,  Sairy  Gamp  ! 
debage  yourself  to  her  P     Go  along  with  you  !" 

"  I'm  a  goin,  ma'am,  ain't  I  ?"  said  Mrs.  Prig, 
stopping  as  she  said  it. 

"  You  had  better,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  Do  you  know  who  you're  talking  to,  ma'atn  ?" 
inquired  her  visitor. 

"  Apcriently,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  surveying  her 
witti  scorn  from  head  to  foot,  "  to  Betsey  Prig. 
Aperiently  so.  I  know  her.  No  one  better.  Go 
along  with  you,  do  !" 

"  And  you  was  a  goin'  to  take  me  under  you  !" 
cried  Mrs.  Prig,  surveying  Mrs.  Gamp  from  head 
to  foot  in  her  turn.  "  You  was,  was  you  !  Oh, 
how  kind  !  Why,  deuce  take  your  imperence," 
said  Mrs.  Prig,  with  a  rapid  change  from  banter 
to  ferocity,  "  what  do  you  mean  I" 

"Go  along  with  you  I"  said  Mrs.  Gamp.  "I 
blush  for  you." 

"  You  had  better  blush  a  little  for  yourself, 
while  you  are  about  it  I"  said  Mrs.  Prig.  "  You 
and  your  Chuffeys !  What,  the  poor  old  creetur 
isn't  mad  enough,  isn't  he  ?     Aha  !" 

"  He'd  very  soon  be  mad  enough,  if  you  had 
anythink  to  do  with  him,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  And  that's  what  I  was  wanted  for,  is  it  ?" 
cried  Mrs.  Prig,  triumphantly.  "  Yes.  But 
you'll  find  yourself  deceived,  I  won't  go  near 
him.  We  shall  see  how  you  get  on  without  me. 
I  won't  have  nothink  to  do  with  him." 

"  You  never  spoke  a  truer  word  than  that  I" 
Bald  Mrs.  Gamp.     "  Go  along  with  you  !" 

She  was  prevented  from  witnessing  the  actual 
retirement  of  Mrs.  Prig  from  the  room,  notwith- 
standing the  great  desire  she  had  expressed  to 
behold  it,  by  that  lady,  in  her  angry  withdrawal, 
coming  into  contact  with  the  bedstead,  and  bring- 
ing down  the  previously-mentioned  pippins ; 
three  or  four  of  which  came  rattling  on  the  head 
of  Mrs.  Gamp  so  smartly,  that  when  she  recovered 
from  this  wooden  shower-bath,  Mrs.  Prig  was 
gone. 

She  had  the  satisfaction,  however,  of  hearing 
the  deep  voice  of  Betsey,  proclaiming  her  injuries 
and  her  determination  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Mr.  Chuffey,  down  the  stairs,  and  along  the  pas- 
sage, and  even  out  in  Kingsgate-strcet.  /  Like- 
wise, of  seeing  in  her  own  apartment,  in  the  place 
of  Mrs.  Prig,  Mr.  Sweedlepipe  and  two  gentlemen. 

"Why  bless  my  life!"  exclaimed  the  little 
barber,  "What's  amiss?  The  noise  you  ladies 
have  been  making,  Mrs,  Gamp!  Why,  these 
two  gentlemen  have  been  standing  on  the  stairs, 
outside  the  door,  nearly  all  the  time,  trying  to 
make  you  hear,  while  you  were  pelting  away, 
hammer  and  tongs  !  It'll  be  the  death  of  the 
little  bulfinch  in  the   shop,  that  draws  his  own 


water.  In  his  fright,  he's  been  a  straightenin(j 
himself  all  to  bits,  drawing  more  water  than  he 
could  drink  in  a  twelvemonth.  He  must  have 
thought  it  was  Fire  !" 

Mrs.  Gamp  had  in  the  meanwhile  sunk  into  her 
chair,  from  whence,  turning  up  her  overflowing 
eyes,  and  clasping  her  hands,  she  delivered  tiie 
following  lamentation  : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Sweedlepipes,  which  Mr,  Westlock 
also,  if  my  eyes  do  not  deceive  me,  and  a  friend 
not  havin  the  pleasure  of  bein  beknnwn,  wot  I 
have  took  from  Betsey  Prig  this  blessed  night,  no 
mortial  creetur  knows!  If  she  had  abuged  me, 
bein  in  liquor,  which  I  thought  I  smelt  her  wen 
she  come,  but  could  not  so  believe,  not  bein  used 
myself" — Mrs,  Gamp,  by  the  way,  was  pretty  far 
gone,  and  the  fragrance  of  the  tea-pot  was  strong 
in  the  room — "  I  could  have  bore  it  with  a  tliank- 
ful  'art.  But  the  words  she  spoke  of  Mrs,  Harris, 
lambs  could  not  forgive.  No,  Betsey  !"  said  Mrs, 
Gamp,  in  a  violent  burst  of  feeling,  "nor  worms 
forget !" 

The  little  barber  scratched  his  head,  and  shook 
it,  and  looked  at  the  te8pot,  and  gradually  got  out 
of  the  room,  John  Westlock,  taking  a  chair,  sat 
down  on  one  side  of  Mrs.  Gamp.  Martin,  taking 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  supported  her  on  the  other, 

"  You  wonder  what  we  want,  I  dare  say," 
observed  John.  "I'll  tell  you  presently,  when 
you  have  recovered.  It's  not  pressing,  for  a  few 
minutes  or  so.  How  do  you  find  yourself? 
Better  ?" 

Mrs,  Gamp  shed  more  tears,  shook  her  head, 
and  feebly  pronounced  Mrs.  Harris's  name. 

"  Have  a:  little — "  John  was  at  a  loss  what  to 
call  it. 

"  Tea,"  suggested  Martin, 

"  It  ain't  tea,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"  Physic  of  some  sort,  I  suppose,"  cried  John. 
"  Have  a  little," 

Mrs,  Gamp  was  prevailed  upon  to  take  a  glass- 
ful. "On  condition,"  she  passionately  observed, 
"  as  Betsey  never  has  another  stroke  of  work 
from  me," 

"Certainly  not,"  said  John.  "She  shall  nevei 
help  to  nurse  me," 

"  To  think,"  said  Mrs,  Gamp,  "  as  she  should 
ever  have  helped  to  nuss  that  friend  of  yourn,  and 
been  so  near  of  hearing  things  that — ,4h  I" 

John  looked  at  Martin. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  That  was  a  narrow  escape, 
Mrs.  Gamp." 

"  Narrer,  in-deed  ?"  she  returned.  "  It  was 
only  my  having  the  night,  and  hearin  of  him  in 
his  wanderins ;  and  her  the  day,  that  saved  it. — 
Wot  would  she  have  said  and  done,  if  she  had 
know'd  what  /  know ;  that  perfeejus  wretch  ! 
Yet,  oh  good  gracious  me !"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp, 
trampling  on  the  floor,  in  the  absence  of  Mrs. 
Prig,  "  that  I  should  hear  from  that  same 
woman's  lips  what  I  have  heerd  her  sneak  ot 
Mrs.  Harris  !" 

Never  mind,"  said  John.     "  You  know  it  is 
not  true," 

"  Isn't  true  !"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp,  "True!  Don't 
I  know  as  that  dear  woman  is  expectin'  of  me  at 
this  minnit,  Mr,  Westlock,  and  is  a  lookin'oul  of 
winder  down  the  street,  with  little  Tommy  Harris 
in  her  arms,  as  calls  me  his  own  Gammy,  and 
truKv  calls,  (for  blesi  (he  mottled  little  legs  of  tliat 


292 


LIFE  AND   ADVEiNTU^ES   OF 


there  precious  child,  like  Canterbury  Brawn,  his 
own  dear  father  says,  which  so  they  are)  his  own. 
I  have  been,  ever  since  I  found  him,  Mr.  West- 
ock,  with  his  small  red  worsted  shoe  a  gurgjin'  in 
his  throat,  where  he  had  put  it  in  his  play,  a 
chick,  wile  they  was  leavin'  of  him  on  the  floor  a 
lookin'  for  it  through  the  'ouse,  and  him  a  choak- 
in'  sweetly  in  the  parlour !  Oh,  Betsey  Prig,  wot 
wickedness  you've  showed  this  night!  but  never 
shall  you  darken  Sairey's  doors  agen,  you  twining 
serpiant !" 

"  You  were  always  so  kind  to  her  too !"  said 
John,  consolingly. 

"  That's  the  cuttin'  part.  That's  where  it  hurts 
me,  Mr.  Westlock,"  Mrs.  Gamp  replied ;  holding 
cut  her  glass  unconsciously,  while  Martin  filled  it. 

"  Chosen  to  help  you  with  Mr.  Lewsome  I"  said 
John.     "  Chosen  to  help  you  with  Mr.  Chuffey  !" 

"Chose  once,  but  chose  no  more,"  cried  Mrs. 
Gamp.  "  No  pardnership  with  Betsey  Prig  agen, 
air !" 

"  No,  no,"  said  John.    "  That  would  never  do." 

"  I  don't  know  as  it  ever  would  have  done,  sir," 
Mrs.  Gamp  replied,  with  the  solemnity  peculiar 
to  a  certain  stage  of  intoxication.  "  Now  that 
the  marks,"  by  which  Mrs.  Gamp  is  supposed  to 
have  meant  mask,  "  is  off  that  creetur's  face,  I  do 
not  think  it  ever  would  have  done.  There  are 
reagions  in  families  for  keepin'  things  a  secret, 
Mr.  Westlock,  and  havin'  only  them  about  you 
as  you  knows  you  can  repoge  in.  Who  could 
repoge  in  Betsey  Prig,  arter  her  words  of  Mrs. 
Harris,  settin'  in  that  chair,  afore  my  eyes  !" 

"Quite  true,"  said  John:  "quite.  I  hope  you 
have  time  to  find  another  assistant,  Mrs.  Gamp  ?" 

Between  her  indignation  and  the  teapot,  her 
powers  of  comprehending  what  was  said  to  her 
began  to  fail.  She  looked  at  John  with  tearful 
eyes,  and  murmuring  the  well  remembered  name 
which  Mrs.  Prig  had  challenged — as  if  it  were  a 
talisman  against  all  earthly  sorrows — seemed  to 
wander  in  her  mind. 

"  I  hope,"  repeated  Johii,  "  that  you  have  time 
to  find  another  assistant?" 

"  Which  short  it  is,  indeed,"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp, 
turning  up  her  languid  eyns,  and  clasping  Mr. 
Westlock's  wrist  with  matronly  affection.  "  To- 
morrow evenin',  sir,  I  waits  upon  his  friends. 
Mr,  Chuzzlewit  apinted  it  from  nine  to  ten." 

"  From  nine  to  ten,"  said  John,  with  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  Martin ;  "  and  then  Mr.  Chuffey 
retires  into  safe  keeping,  does  he  ?" 

"  He  needs  to  be  kep'  safe,  I  do  assure  you," 
Mrs.  Gamp  replied,  with  a  mysterious  air.  "  Other 
people  besides  me  has  had  a  happy  deliverance 
from  Betsey  Prig.  I  little  know'd  that  woman. 
She'd  have  let  it  out !" 


"  Let  him  out  you  mean,"  said  John. 

"  Do  I  !"  retorted  Mrs.  Gamp.     "Oh  !" 

The  severely  ironical  character  of  this  reply 
was  strengthened  by  a  very  slow  nod,  and  a  stil! 
slower  drawing  down  of  the  corners  of  Mrs 
Gamp's  mouth.  She  added,  with  extreme  state- 
liness  of  manner,  after  indulging  in  a  short  doze  . 

"  But  I  am  a  keepin'  of  you  gentlemen,  and 
time  is  precious." 

Mingling  with  that  delusion  of  the  tea-pot 
which  inspired  her  with  the  belief  that  they 
wanted  her  to  go  somewhere  immediately,  a 
shrewd  avoidance  of  any  further  reference  to  the 
topics  into  which  she  had  lately  strayed,  Mrs. 
Gamp  rose;  and  putting  away  the  tea-pot  in  its 
accustomed  place,  and  locking  the  cupboard  with 
much  gravity,  proceeded  to  attire  herself  for  a 
professional  visit. 

This  preparation  was  easily  made,  as  it  re- 
quired nothing  more  than  the  snuffy  black  bon- 
net, the  snuffy  black  shawl,  the  pattens,  and  the 
indispensable  umbrella,  without  which  neither 
a  lying-in  nor  a  laying-out  could  by  any  possi- 
bility be  attempted.  When  Mrs.  Gamp  had  in- 
vested herself  with  these  appendages,  she  returned 
to  her  chair,  and  sitting  down  again,  declared 
herself  quite  ready. 

"  It's  a  'appiness  to  know  as  one  can  benefit 
the  poor  sweet  creetur,"  she  observed,  "  Pm  sure. 
L  isn't  all  as  can.  The  torters  Betsey  Prig  in- 
flicts, is  frightful." 

Closing  her  eyes  as  she  made  this  remark,  in 
the  acuteness  of  her  commiseration  for  Betsey's 
patients,  she  forgot  to  open  them  again  until  she 
dropped  a  patten.  Her  nap  was  also  broken  at 
intervals,  like  the  fabled  slumbers  of  Friar  Bacon, 
by  the  dropping  of  the  other  patten,  and  the  um- 
brella ;  but  when  she  had  got  rid  of  these  encum- 
brances, her  sleep  was  peaceful. 

The  two  young  men  looked  at  each  other,  lu- 
dicrously  enough  ;  and  Martin,  stifling  his  dispo- 
sition to  laugh,  whispered  in  John  Westlock's 
ear: 

"  What  shall  we  do  now  ?" 

"  Stay  here,"  he  replied. 

Mrs.  Gamp  was  heard  to  murmur  "  Mrs.  Har 
ris  !"  in  her  sleep. 

"  Rely  upon  it,"  whispered  John,  looking  cau- 
tiously towards  her,  that  you  shall  question  this 
old  clerk,  though  you  go  as  Mrs.  Harris  herself 
We  know  quite  enough  to  carry  her  our  owe 
way  now,  at  all  events ;  thanks  to  this  quarrel, 
which  confirms  the  old  saying  that,  when  rogues 
fall  out  honest  people  get  what  they  want  Let 
Jonas  Chuzzlewit  look  to  himself;  and  let  her 
sleep  as  long  as  she  likes.  We  shall  gain  oui 
end  in  good  time." 


CHAPTER  L. 

HURPRISES  TOM  PINCH  VERY  MUCH,   AND   SHOWS  HOW   CERTAIN   CONFI- 
DENCES  PASSED  BETWEEN  HIM  AND  HIS  SISTER. 


It  was  the  next  evening;  and  Tom  and  his 
■ister  were  sitting  together  before  tea,  talking,  in 
tbflir  usual  quiet  way,  about  a  great  many  thinsrs, 
(tot  not  at  all  about  Lewsome's  story  or  anything 


connected  with  it;  for  John  Westlock — really 
John,  for  so  young  a  man,  was  one  of  the  most 
considerate  fellows  in  the  world — had  particularly 
advised  Tom  not  to  mention  it  to  liis  sister   just 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


293 


yet,  in  case  it  sliould  disquiet  her.  "  And  I 
wouldn't,  Tom,"  he  said,  witli  a  little  hesitation, 
"  I  wouldn't  have  a  shade  on  her  happy  face,  or 
an  uneasy  thought  in  her  gentle  heart,  for  all  tiie 
wealth  and  honours  of  the  universe !"  Really 
John  was  uncommonly  kind ;  extraordinarily 
kind.  If  he  had  been  her  father,  I'om  said,  he 
could  not  have  taken  a  greater  interest  in  her. 
But  although  Tom  and  his  sister  were  extreme- 
ly conversational,  they  were  less  lively,  and  less 
cheerful,  than  usual.  Tom  had  no  idea  that  this 
originated  with  Ruth,  but  took  it  for  granted  that 
he  was  rather  dull  himself.  In  truth  he  was; 
for  the  lightest  cloud  upon  the  Heaven  of  her 
quiet  mind,  cast  its  shadow  upon  Tom. 

And  there  was  a  cloud  on  little  Ruth  that  eve- 
ning. Yes,  indeed.  When  Tom  was  looking  in 
another  direction,  her  bright  eyes,  stealing  on 
towards  his  face,  would  sparkle  still  more  bright- 
ly than  their  custom  was,  and  then  grow  dim. — 
When  Tom  was  silent,  looking  out  upon  the 
summer  weather,  she  would  sometimes  make  a 
hasty  movement,  as  if  to  throw  herself  upon  his 
neck  ;  then  check  the  impulse,  and  when  he 
looked  round,  show  a  laughing  face,  and  speak  to 
him  very  merrily.  When  she  had  anything  to 
give  Tom,  or  had  any  excuse  for  coming  near 
him,  she  would  flutter  about  him,  and  lay  her 
little  bashful  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  not  be 
willing  to  withdraw  it ;  and  would  show  by  all 
such  means  that  there  was  something  on  her 
heart  which  in  her  great  love  she  longed  to  say 
to  him,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  utter. 

So  they  were  sitting,  she  with  her  work  before 
her,  but  not  working,  and  Tom  with  his  book 
beside  him,  but  not  reading,  when  Martin  knock- 
ed at  the  door.  Anticipating  who  it  was,  Tom 
went  to  open  it;  and  he  and  Martin  came  back 
into  the  room  together.  Tom  looked  surprised, 
for  in  answer  to  his  cordial  greeting  Martin  had 
hardly  spoken  a  word. 

Ruth  also  saw  that  there  was  something 
strange  in  the  manner  of  their  visitor,  and  raised 
her  eyes  inquiringly  to  Tom's  face,  as  if  she 
were  seeking  an  explanation  there,  Tom  shook 
his  head  and  made  the  same  mute  appeal  to 
Martin. 

Martin  did  not  sit  down,  but  walked  up  to  the 
window,  and  stood  there,  looking  out.  He  turned 
round  after  a  few  moments  to  speak,  but  hastily 
averted  his  head  again,  without  doing  so. 

"  What  has  happened,  Martin?"  Tom  anxious- 
ly inquired  "  My  dear  fellow,  what  bad  news  do 
you  bring  ?" 

"  Oh,  Tom !"  replied  Martin,  in  a  tone  of  deep 
reproach.  "  To  hear  you  feign  that  deep  interest 
in  anything  that  happens  to  me,  hurts  me  even 
more  than  your  ungenerous  dealing." 

"  My  ungenerous  dealing  !  Martin  !  My — " 
Tom  could  get  no  further. 

"  How  could  you,  Tom,  how  could  you  suffer 
me  to  thank  you  so  fervently  and  sincerely  for 
voce  friendship;  and  not  tell  me,  like  a  man,  that 
you  had  deserted  me  !  Was  it  true,  Tom  !  Was 
it  honest!  Was  it  worthy  of  what  you  used  to  be; 
of  what  I  am  sure  you  used  to  be  :  to  tempt  me, 
when  you  had  turned  against  me,  into  pouring 
oHt  my  heart!     Oh  Tom!"  I 

His  tone  was  one  of  such  strong  injury  and  yet 
of  BO  much  grief  for  the  loss  of  a  friend  he  had  j 


trusted  in  ;  it  expressed  such  high  past  love  for 
Tom,  and  so  much  sorrow  and  compassion  for  his 
supposed  unworthiness;  that  Tom,  for  a  moment, 
put  his  hand  before  his  face,  and  had  no  mora 
power  of  justifying  himself,  than  if  he  had  been  a 
monster  of  deceit  and  falseliood. 

"  I  protest,  as  I  must  die,"  said  Martin  ."that  I 
grieve  over  the  loss  of  what  I  thought  yci ;  aiid 
have  no  anger  in  the  recollection  of  my  own  in- 
juries. It  is  only  at  such  a  time,  and  alter  sucii 
a  discovery,  that  we  know  the  full  measure  i>i 
our  old  regard  for  the  subject  of  it.  And  I 
swear,  little  as  I  showed  it ;  little  as  I  know  1 
showed  it ;  that  when  I  had  the  least  considera- 
tion for  you,  Tom,  I  loved  you  like  a  brother." 

Tom  was  composed  by  this  time,  and  might 
have  been  the  Spirit  of  Truth,  in  a  homely  dress 
— it  very  often  wears  a  homely  dress,  thank  God  ! 
— when  he  replied  to  him  : 

"Martin,"  he  said,  "I  don't  know  what  is  in 
your  mind,  or  who  has  abused  it,  or  by  wli;jt 
extraordinary  means.  But  the  means  are  false. 
There  is  no  truth  whatever  in  the  impression 
under  which  you  labour.  It  is  a  delusion  from 
first  to  last ;  and  I  warn  you  that  you  will  deeply 
regret  the  wrong  you  do  me.  I  can  honestly  say 
that  I  have  been  true  to  you,  and  to  myself.  Yoa 
will  be  very  sorry  for  this.  Indeed,  you  will  be 
very  sorry  for  it,  Ma.'tin." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  returned  Martin,  shaking  his 
head.  "  I  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  sorry  m 
my  heart,  until  now." 

"  At  least,"  said  Tom,  "  if  I  had  always  been 
what  you  charge  n)e  with  being  now,  and  had 
never  had  a  place  in  your  regard,  but  had  always 
been  despised  by  you,  and  had  always  deserved  it, 
you  would  tell  me  in  what  you  have  found  me  to 
be  treacherous  ;  and  on  what  grounds  you  proceed. 
I  do  not  intreat  you,  therefore,  to  give  me  that 
satisfaction  as  a  favour,  Martin ;  but  I  ask  it  of 
you  as  a  right." 

"  My  own  eyes  are  my  witnesses,"  returned 
Martin     "Am  I  to  believe  them  ?" 

"No,"  said  Tom,  calmly.  "Not  if  they  accuse 
me." 

"  Your  own  words.  Your  own  manner,"  pur- 
sued Martin.     "  Am  I  to  believe  them  ?" 

"  No,"  replied  Tom,  i;almly.  "  Not  if  they 
accuse  me.  But  they  never  have  accused  me. 
Whoever  has  perverted  them  to  such  a  purpose, 
has  wronged  me,  almost  as  cruelly ;"  his  calm- 
ness rather  failed  him  here  ;  "  as  you  have  done." 

"  I  came  here,"  said  Martin  ;  "  and  I  appeal  to 
your  good  sister  to  hear  me " 

"Not  to  her,"  interrupted  Tom.  "Pray,  do 
not  appeal  to  her.     She  will  never  believe  you." 

He  drew  her  arm  through  his  own,  as  ho 
said  it. 

"  J  believe  it,  Tom  I" 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Tom,  "  of  coarse  not.  I  sard  mx 
Why,  tut,  tut,  tut.  What  a  silly  little  thingyou  arc  '." 

"I  never  meant,"  said  Martin,  hastily,  "to  ap. 
peal  to  you  against  your  brother.  Do  not  think 
me  so  unmanly  and  unkind.  I  merely  appealed 
to  you  to  hear  my  declaration,  that  I  came  hero 
for  no  purpose  of  reproach  :  I  have  not  one  to  venl 
but  in  deep  regret.  You  could  not  know  in  wiml 
bitterness  of  regret,  unless  you  knew  how  often  I 
have  thought  of  Tom ;  how  long  m  almost  hope- 
less circumstances,  I  have  looked  forward  'ja  Um 


294 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


better  estimation  of  his  friendship;  and  how 
fiteadfastly  I  hai  e  believed  and  trusted  in  him." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  said  Tom,  stopping-  iier  as  she  was 
about  to  speak,  "  He  is  mistaken — he  is  deceived. 
Wby  should  you  mind  ?  He  is  sure  to  be  set 
right  at  last." 

"  Heaven  bless  the  day  that  sets  me  right !" 
cried  Martin,  "if  it  could  ever  come!" 

"  Amen  !"  said  Tom.     "  And  it  will !" 

Martin  paused  and  then  said  in  a  still  milder 
voice : 

"  You  have  chosen  for  yourself,  Tom,  and  will 
be  relieved  by  our  parting.  It  is  not  an  angry 
one.     There  is  no  anger  on  my  side — " 

"  There  is  none  on  mine,"  said  Tom. 

" — It  is  merely  what  you  have  brought  about, 
and  worked  to  bring  about.  I  say  again,  you 
have  chosen  for  yourself.  You  have  made  the 
choice  that  might  have  been  expected  in  most 
people  situated  as  you  are,  but  which  I  did  not 
expect  in  you.  For  that,  perhaps,  I  should  blame 
my  own  judgment  more  than  you.  There  is 
wealth  and  favour  worth  having,  on  one  side; 
and  there  is  the  worthless  friendship  of  an  aban- 
doned, struggling  fellow,  on  the  other.  Ynu 
were  free  to  make  your  election,  and  you  made  it; 
and  the  choice  was  not  difficult.  But  those  who 
have  not  the  courage  to  resist  such  temptations, 
should  have  the  courage  to  avow  that  they 
have  yielded  lo  them  ;  and  I  do  blame  you  for 
this,  Tom  :  that  you  received  me  with  a  show  of 
warmth,  encouraged  me  to  be  frank  and  plain- 
spoken,  tempted  me  to  confide  in  you,  and  pro- 
fessed that  you  were  able  to  be  mine ;  when  you 
had  sold  yourself  to  others.  I  do  not  believe," 
said  Martin,  with  great  emotion  :  "  hear  me  say  it 
from  my  heart ;  I  cannot  believe,  Tom,  now  that  I 
am  standing  face  to  face  with  you,  that  it  would 
have  been  in  your  nature  to  do  me  any  serious 
harm,  even  though  1  had  not  discovered,  by 
chance,  in  whose  employment  you  were.  But  I 
should  have  incumbered  you  ;  I  should  have  led 
you  into  more  double-dealing;  I  should  have 
hazarded  your  retaining  the  favour  for  which  you 
have  paid  so  high  a  price,  bartering  away  your 
former  self;  and  it  is  best  for  both  of  ns  that  I 
have  found  out  what  you  so  much  desired  to  keep 
Becret." 

"  Be  just,"  said  Tom ;  who  had  not  removed 
his  mild  gaze  from  Martin's  face  since  the  com- 
mencement of  this  last  address;  "  be  just  even  in 
your  injustice,  Martin.  You  forget.  You  have 
not  yet  told  me  what  your  accusation  is  !" 

"  Why  should  I  ?"  returned  Martin,  waving  his 
iiand,  and  moving  towards  the  door.  "  You 
could  not  know  it  the  better  for  my  dwelling  on 
it,  and  though  it  would  be  really  none  the  worse, 
it  might  seem  to  me  to  be.  No,  Tom.  Bygones 
shall  be  bygones  between  us.  I  can  take  leave 
of  you  at  this  moment,  and  m  tliis  place  :  in 
which  you  are  so  amiable  and  so  good;  as  hearti- 
ly, if  not  as  cheerfully,  as  ever  I  have  done  since 
we  first  met.     All  good   go   with  you,  Tom ! — 

•'  ifou  leave  me  so?  You  can  leave  me  so, 
cnn  you  ?'   said  Tom. 

"  I — you — you  have  chosen  for  yourself,  Tom  ! 
1 — I  hope  it  was  a  rash  choice."  Martin  falter- 
ed.    "  I  think  it  was.     I  am  sure  it  was !    Good 


And  he  was  gone. 

Tom  led  his  little  sister  to  her  chair,  ard  sat 
down  in  his  own.  He  took  his  book,  and  read, 
or  seemed  to  read.  Presently  he  said  aloud : 
turning  a  leaf  as  he  spoke  :  "  He  will  be  very 
sorry  for  this."  And  a  tear  stole  down  his  face, 
and  dropped  upon  the  page. 

Ruth  nestled  down  beside  him  on  her  knees, 
and  clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

"  No  Tom  1  No  no  I  Be  comforted  !  Dear 
Tom  1" 

"  I  am  quite — comforted,"  said  Tom.  "  It  will 
be  set  right." 

"  Sue!)  a  cruel,  bad  return  !"  cried  Ruth. 

"  No  no,"  said  Tom.  "  He  believes  it.  I  can- 
not imagine  why.     But  it  will  be  set  ri^ht." 

More  closely  yet,  she  nestled  down  about  him 
and  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"  Don't.  Don't,"  said  Tom.  "  Why  do  yoo 
hide  your  face,  my  dear  I" 

Then  in  a  burst  of  tears,  it  all  broke  out  at 
last, 

"  Oh  Tom,  dear  Tom,  I  know  your  secret  heart, 
I  have  found  it  out;  you  couldn't  hide  the  truth 
from  me.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me?  I  am  sure 
I  could  have  made  you  happpier,  if  you  had ! 
You  love  her  Tom,  so  dearly  !" 

Tom  made  a  motion  with  his  hand  as  if  he 
would  have  put  his  sister  hurriedly  away  ;  but  it 
olasped  upon  hers,  and  all  his  little  history  was 
written  in  ti;e  action.  All  its  pathetic  eloquence 
was  in  the  silent  toucli, 

"  In  spite  of  that,"  said  Ruth,  "you  h>^ve  been 
so  faithful  and  so  good,  dear ;  in  spite  of  that,  you 
have  been  so  t-ue  and  self-denying,  akid  have 
struggled  with  yourself;  in  spite  of  that,  you  have 
been  so  gentle,  and  so  kind,  and  even-tempered, 
that  I  have  never  seen  you  give  a  hasty  look,  or 
heard  you  say  one  irritable  word.  In  spite  of  all, 
you  have  been  so  cruelly  mistaken.  Oh  Tom, 
dear  Tom,  loved  as  no  other  brother  can  be,  will 
this  be  set  right  too  !  Will  it  Tom  !  Will  you 
always  have  this  sorrow  in  your  breast :  you  who 
deserve  to  be  so  happy  :  or  is  there  any  hope  !" 

And  still  she  hid  her  face  from  Tom,  am* 
clasped  him  round  the  neck,  and  wept  for  htm 
and  poured  out  all  her  woman's  heart  and  soul  in 
the  relief  and  pain  of  this  disclosure. 

It  was  not  very  long  before  she  and  Tom  wer« 
sitting  side  by  side,  and  she  was  looking  with  an 
earnest  quietness  in  Tom's  face.  Then  Tom 
spoke  to  her  thus  :  cheerily,  though  gravely. 

"  I  am  very  tr'ad,  my  dear,  that  this  has  passe** 
between  us.  Not  because  it  assures  me  of  youi 
tender  affection  (for  I  was  well  assured  of  that 
before),  but  because  it  relieves  my  mind  of  » 
great  weight." 

Tom's  eyes  glistened  when  he  spoke  of  her  aP 
fection  ;  and  he  kissed  her  on  the  cheek. 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Tom:  "  witli  whatevei 
feeling  I  regard  her  ;"  they  seemed  to  avoid  the 
name  by  mutual  consent;  "I  have  long  ago — I 
am  sure  I  may  say  from  the  very  first — looked 
upon  it  as  a  dream.  As  something  tiiat  might 
possibly  have  lia|)pcned  under  very  dillerent  cir- 
cumstances,  but  which  can  never  be.  Now,  tell 
me.     What  would  you  have  set  richt?" 

She  gave  Tom  such  a  significant  little  look 
that  he  was  oliligcd  to  take  it  for  an  answe 
whether  he  would  or  no;  and  to  go  on. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


295 


"  By  hef  own  choice  and  free  consent,  my  love, 
abe  IS  betrothed  to  M;irtin  ;  and  was,  long  before 
either  of  them  knew  of  my  existence.  You  would 
have  her  betrothed  to  ine  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  directly, 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Tom,  "  but  that  might  be 
oetting-  it  wrong,  instead  of  right.  Do  you  think," 
said  Tom,  witli  a  grave  smile,  "  that  even  if  she 
had  never  seen  him,  it  is  very  likely  she  would 
have  fallen  in  love  with  Me  ?" 

"  Why  not,  dear  Tom  ?" 

Tom  shook  his  head  and  smiled  again. 

"You  think  of  me,  Ruth,"  said  'I'om,  "and  it 
is  very  natural  that  you  should,  as  if  I  were  a 
character  in  a  book :  and  you  make  it  a  sort  of 
poetical  justice  that  I  should,  by  some  impossible 
means  or  other,  come,  at  last,  to  marry  the  person 
I  love.  But  there  is  a  much  higher  justice  than 
poetical  justice,  my  dear,  and  it  does  not  order 
events  upon  the  same  principle.  Accordingly 
people  who  read  about  heroes  in  books,  and  choose 
to  make  heroes  of  themselves  out  of  books,  con- 
sider it  a  very  fine  thing  to  be  discontented  and 
gloomy,  and  misanthropical,  and  perhaps  a  little 
blasphemous,  because  they  cannot  have  everything 
ordered  for  their  individual  acconmiodation. 
Would  you  like  me  to  become  one  of  that  sort 
of  people  ?" 

"  No,  Tom.  But  still  I  know,"  she  added 
timidly,  "  that  this  is  a  sorrow  to  you  in  your  own 
better  way." 

Tom  thought  of  disputing  the  position.  But  it 
would  have  been  mere  folly,  and  he  gave  it  up. 

"  My  dear,"  said  Tom,  "  I  will  repay  your  af- 
fection with  the  Truth,  and  all  the  Truth.  It  is 
a  sorrrow  to  me.  I  have  proved  it  to  be  so  some- 
limes,  though  I  have  always  striven  against  it. 
But  somebody  who  is  precious  to  j'ou  may  die, 
and  you  may  dream  that  you  are  in  heaven  witli 
the  departed  spirit,  and  you  m;<y  find  it  a  sorrow 
to  wake  to  the  life  on  earth,  which  is  no  harder 
to  be  home  than  when  you  fell  asleep.  It  is  sor- 
rowful to  me  to  contemplate  my  dream,  which  I 
always  knew  was  a  dream,  even  when  it  first 
presented  itself;  but  the  realities  about  me  are 
not  to  blame.  They  arc  the  same  as  they  were. 
My  sister,  my  sweet  companion,  who  makes  this 
place  so  dear,  is  she  less  devoted  to  me,  Ruth, 
than  she  would  have  been,  if  this  vi'sion  had 
never  troubled  me  ?  My  old  friend  John,  who 
might  so  easily  have  treated  me  with  coldness 
and  neglect,  is  he  less  cordial  to  me  ?  The  world 
about  me,  is  th3re  less  good  in  that  ?  Are  my 
words  to  be  harsh  and  my  looks  to  be  sour,  and  is 
my  heart  to  grow  cold,  because  there  has  fallen 
in  my  way  a  good  and  beautiful  creature,  who, 
but  for  the  selfish  regret  that  I  cannot  call  her  my 
own,  would,  like  all  other  good  and  beautiful  crea- 
tures, make  me  happier  and  better  !  No,  my 
dear  sister.  No,"  said  Tom,  stoutly.  "Remem- 
bering all  my  means  of  happiness,  I  hardly  dare 
to  call  this  lurking  something,  a  sorrow;  but 
whatever  name  it  may  justly  bear,  I  thank  Hea- 
ven that  it  renders  tne  more  sensible  of  affection 
and  attachment,  and  softens  me  in  fifty  ways. 
Not  less  happy.     Not  less  happy,  Ruth  !" 

She  could  not  speak  to  him,  but  she  loved  him, 
as  he  well  deserved.  Even  as  he  deserved,  slie 
'oved  him. 

"  She  will  open  Martin's  eyes,"  said  Tom,  with 


a  glow  of  pride,  "  and  that  (which  is  indeed  wrong) 
will  be  set  right.  Notliiiig  will  persuade  her,  1 
know,  that  I  have  betrayed  him.  It  will  be  got 
right  through  her  and  he  will  be  very  sorry  for  it 
Our  secret,  Ruth,  is  our  own,  and  lives  and  dies 
witli  us.  1  don't  believe  I  ever  could  have  told 
it  you,"  said  'J'om,  with  a  smile,  "  but  how  glad  I 
am  to  think  you  have  ftjund  it  out!" 

They  had  never  taken  such  a  pleasant  walk  aa 
they  took  that  night.  Tom  told  her  all  so  freely, 
and  so  simply,  and  was  so  desirous  to  return  her 
tenderness  with  his  fullest  confidence,  that  they 
prolonged  it  far  beyond  their  usual  hour,  and  sat 
up  late  when  they  came  home.  And  when  they 
parted  for  the  night  there  was  such  a  tranquil, 
beautiful  expression  in  Tom's  face,  that  she  could 
not  bear  to  shut  it  out,  but  going  back  on  lip-toe 
to  his  chamber  door,  looked  in,  and  stood  there 
till  he  saw  her,  and  then  cmbracmg  him  again, 
withdrew.  And  in  her  pra)'ers,  and  in  her  sleep — 
good  times  to  be  remembered  with  such  fervour, 
Tom  ! — his  name  was  uppermost. 

When  he  was  left  alone,  Tom  pondered  very 
much  on  this  discovery  of  hers,  and  greatly 
wondered  what  had  led  her  to  it.  "  Because," 
thought  Tom,  "  I  have  been  so  very  careful.  It 
was  tbolish  and  unnecessary  in  me,  as  I  clearly 
see  now,  when  I  am  so  relieved  by  her  knowing 
it;  but  I  have  been  so  very  careful  to  conceal  it 
from  her.  Of  course  I  knew  that  she  was  intel- 
ligent and  quick,  and  for  that  reason  was  more 
upon  my  guard  ;  but  I  was  not  in  the  least  pre- 
pared for  this.  I  am  sure  her  discovery  has  been 
sudden  too.  Dear  me  I"  said  Tom.  "  It's  a 
most  singular  instance  of  penetration  !" 

Tom  could  not  get  it  out  of  his  head.  There  it 
was  when  his  head  was  on  his  pillow. 

"  How  she  trembled  when  she  began  to  tell  me 
she  knew  it!"  thought  Tom,  recalling  all  the 
little  incidents  and  circumstances  ;  "  and  how  her 
face  flushed  !  But  that  was  natural.  Oh  I  quite 
natural  I     That  needs  no  accounting  for." 

Tom  little  thought  how  natural  it  was.  Tom 
little  knew  that  there  was  that  in  Ruth's  own 
heart,  but  newly  set  there,  which  had  helped  he' 
to  the  reading  of  his  mystery.  Ah  Tom  I  He 
didn't  understand  the  whimpers  of  the  Temple 
Fountain,  though  he  passed  it  every  day. 

Sl>e  was  ready  with  his  neat  breakfast  when  he 
went  down  stairs,  and  had  her  bonnet  ready  for 
the  early  walk,  and  was  so  full  of  news  that  Tom 
was  lost  in  wonder.  She  might  have  been  up  all 
night,  collecting  it  for  his  entertainment.  There 
was  Mr.  Nadgett  not  come  home  yet,  and  there 
was  bread  down  a  penny  a  loaf,  and  there  was 
twic^;  as  much  slrtngth  in  this  tea  as  in  the 
last,  and  the  milkwoman's  husband  had  :'ome  out 
of  the  hospital,  cured,  and  the  curly-headed  child 
over  the  way  had  been  (ost  all  yesterday,  and  sh« 
was  going  to  make  all  sorts  of  preserves  in  a  dei^ 
perate  hurry,  and  there  happened  to  be  a  sauce- 
pan in  the  house  which  was  the  very  saucef»aa 
for  the  purpose  ;  and  she  knew  all  about  the  last 
book  Tom  had  brought  nome,  all  through,  though 
itnvas  a  tenzer  to  read;  anfl  she  had  so  much  to 
tell  him  that  she  had  finished  breakfast  first 
Then  she  had  her  little  hoimeton,  and  the  tea  and 
sugar  locked  up,  and  the  keys  in  her  reticule,  and 
the  flower,  as  usual,  in  Tom's  coat,  and  was  in 
all  respects  quite  ready  to  arcompany  him,  before 


290 


LIFE   AND   ADVExNTURES   OF 


Tom  knew  she  had  begun  to  prepare.  And  in 
short,  as  Tom  said,  with  a  confidence  in  liis  own 
assertion  which  amounted  to  a  defiance  of  tlie 
public  in  general,  there  never  was  such  a  little 
woman. 

She  made  Tom  talkative.  It  was  impossible 
to  resist  her.  She  put  such  enticing  questions  to 
him  ;  about  books,  and  about  dates  of  churches, 
and  about  organs,  and  about  the  Temple,  and 
about  all  kinds  of  things.  Indeed  she  lightened 
the  way  (and  Tom's  heart  with  it)  to  that  degree, 
that  the  Temple  looked  quite  blank  and  solitary 
when  he  parted  from  her  at  tiie  gate. 

"No  Mr.  Fip's  friend  to-day,  I  suppose," 
thought  Tom,  as  he  ascended  the  stairs. 

Not  yet,  at  any  rate,  for  the  door  was  closed  as 
usual,  and  Tom  opened  it  with  his  key.  He  had 
got  the  books  into  perfect  order  now,  and  had 
mended  the  torn  leaves,  and  pasted  up  the  broken 
backs,  and  substituted  neat  labels  for  the  worn- 
out  letterings.  It  looked  a  different  place,  it  was 
80  orderly  and  neat :  Tom  felt  some  pride  in  con- 
templating the  change  he  had  wrought,  though 
there  was  no  one  to  approve  or  disapprove  of  it. 

He  was  at  present  occupied  in  making  a  fair 
copy  of  his  draught  of  the  catalogue;  on  whicii, 
as  there  was  no  hurry,  he  was  painfully  concen- 
trating all  the  ingenious  and  laborious  neatness 
he  had  ever  expended  on  map  or  plan  in  Mr. 
Pecksniff's  workroom.  It  was  a  very  marvel  of 
a  catalogue  ;  for  Tom  sometimes  thought  he  was 
really  getting  his  money  too  easily,  and  he  had 
determined  within  himself  that  this  document 
should  take  a  little  of  his  superfluous  leisure  out 
of  him. 

"  So,  with  pens  and  ruler,  and  compasses  and 
india-rubber, and  pencil,  and  black  ink,  and  red  ink, 
Tom  worked  away  all  the  morning.  He  thought 
a  good  deal  about  Martin  and  their  interview  of 
yesterday,  and  would  have  been  far  easier  in  his 
mind  if  he  could  have  resolved  to  confide  it  to  his 
friend  John,  and  to  have  taken  his  opinion  on  the 
subject.  But  besides  that  he  knew  what  John's 
boiling  indignation  would  be,  he  bethought  him- 
self that  he  was  helping  Martin  now  in  a  matter 
of  great  moment,  and  that  to  deprive  the  latter  of 
his  assistance  at  such  a  crisis  of  affairs,  would  be 
to  inflict  a  serious  injury  upon  him. 

"So  I'll  keep  it  to  myself,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
sigh,  "  I'll  k«ep  it  to  myself." 

And  to  work  he  went  again,  more  assiduously 
than  ever,  with  the  pens,  and  the  ruler,  and  the 
india-rubber,  and  the  pencil,  and  the  black  ink, 
and  the  red  ink,  that  he  might  Ibrget  it. 

He  had  laboured  away  rf)r  another  hour  or  more 
when  he  heard  a  footstep  in  the  entry,  down 
below. 

"Ah!"  said  Tom,  Itroking  towards  the  door, 
"  time  was,  not  long  ago  "ither,  when  that  would 
have  set  me  wondering  and  expecting.  But  I 
h»ve  left  off  new." 

The  footstep  name  on,  up  the  stairs. 


"Thirty-six,  thirty-seven,  thirty-eight,"  said 
Tom  counting.  "Now  you'll  stop.  Noboa> 
ever  comes  past  the  thirty-eighth  stair." 

The  person  did  stop,  certainly,  but  only  to  take 
breath  ;  for  up  the  footstep  came  again.  Forty, 
forty-one,  forty-two,  and  so  on. 

The  door  stood  open.  As  the  tread  advanced, 
Tom  looked  impatiently  and  eagerly  towards  if 
When  a  figure  came  upon  the  landing,  and  ar- 
riving in  the  doorway,  stopped  and  gazed  at  him, 
he  rose  up  from  his  chair,  and  half  believed  h« 
saw  a  spirit. 

Old  ftlartin  Chuzzlewit.  The  same  whom  he 
had  left  at  Mr.  Pecksniff's  weak  and  sinking. 

The  same !  No,  not  the  same,  for  this  old  man, 
though  old,  was  strong,  and  leaned  upon  his  stick 
with  a  vigorous  hand,  vviiile  with  the  other  he 
signed  to  Tom  to  make  no  noise.  One  glance  at 
the  resolute  face,  the  watchful  eye,  the  vigorous 
hand  upon  the  staff",  the  triumphed  purpose  in  t!ic 
figure,  and  such  a  light  broke  in  on  Tom  as 
blinded  him. 

"  You  have  expected  me,"  said  Martin,  "  a 
long  time." 

"  I  was  told  that  my  employer  would  arrive 
soon,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but — " 

"  I  know.  You  were  ignorant  who  he  was. — 
It  was  my  desire.  I  am  glad  it  has  been  so  well 
observed.  I  intended  to  have  been  with  you 
nuch  sooner.  I  thought  the  time  had  come.  I 
thought  I  could  know  no  more,  and  no  worse,  of 
him,  than  I  did  on  that  day  when  I  saw  you  last. 
But  I  was  wrong." 

He  had  by  this  time  come  up  to  Tom,  and  now 
he  seized  his  hand. 

"  I  have  lived  in  his  house,  Pinch,  and  had  him 
fawning  on  me  days  and  weeks,  and  months. — 
You  know  it.  I  have  suffered  him  to  treat  me 
like  his  tool  and  instrument.  You  know  it;  you 
have  seen  me  there,  I  have  undergone  ten  thou- 
sand times  as  much  as  1  could  have  endured  if  I 
had  been  the  miserable  weak  old  man  he  took  me 
for.  You  know  it.  I  have  seen  him  offer  love 
to  Mary.  You  know  it;  who  better — who  better, 
my  true  heart !  I  have  had  his  base  soul  bare 
before  me,  day  by  day,  and  have  not  betrayed 
myself  once.  I  never  could  have  undergone  such 
torture  but  for  looking  forward  to  this  time." 

He  stopped,  even  in  the  passion  of  his  speech  ; 
if  that  can  be  called  passion  which  was  so  resolute 
and  steady  ;  to  press  Tom's  hand  again.  Then 
he  said,  in  great  excitement : 

"Close  the  door,  close  tiie  door.  He  will  not 
be  long  after  me,  but  may  come  too  soon.  The 
time  now  drawing  on,"  said  the  old  man,  hur- 
riedly :  his  eyes  and  whole  face  brightening  as  he 
spoke:  "will  make  amends  for  all.  I  wouldn't 
have  him  die  or  hang  himself  for  millions  of 
golden  pieces  !     Close  the  door  !" 

Tom  did  so;  hardly  knowing  yet  whether  h 
was  awake  or  in  a  dream. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


297 


CHAPTER  LI. 

SHEDS  NEW  AND  BRIGHTER  LIGHT  UPON  THE  VERY  DARK  PLACE,  AND 
CONTAINS  THE  SEQUEL  OF  THE  ENTERPRISE  OF  MR.  JONAS  AND  HIS 
FRIEND. 


The  night  had  now  come,  when  the  old  clerk 
was  to  be  delivered  over  to  his  keepers.  In  the 
midst  of  his  guilty  distractions,  Jonas  had  not 
forgotten  it. 

It  was  a  part  of  his  guilty  state  of  mind  to  re. 
member  it;  for  on  his  persistance  in  the  scheme 
depended  one  of  his  precautions  for  his  own  safe- 
ty. A  hint,  a  word  from  the  old  man,  uttered  at 
Buch  a  moment  in  attentive  ears,  might  fire  the 
train  of  suspicion,  and  destroy  liim.  His  watch- 
fulness of  every  avenue  by  which  the  discovery 
of  his  guilt  might  be  approached,  sharpened  with 
his  sense  of  the  danger  by  which  he  was  encom- 
passed. Witli  murder  on  his  soul,  and  its  innu- 
merable alarms  and  terrors  dragging  at  him  night 
and  day,  he  would  have  repeated  the  crime,  if  he 
had  seen  a  path  of  safety  stretching  out  beyond. 
It  was  in  his  punishment ;  it  was  in  his  guilty 
condition.  The  very  deed  which  his  fears  ren- 
dered insupportable,  his  fears  would  have  impelled 
him  to  commit  again. 

But  keeping  tlie  old  man  close,  according  to  his 
design,  would  serve  his  turn.  His  purpose  was, 
to  escape  when  the  first  alarm  and  wonder  had 
subsided,  and  when  he  could  make  the  attempt 
without  awakening  instant  suspicion.  In  the 
meanwhile,  these  women  would  keep  him  quiet ; 
and  if  the  talking  humour  came  upon  him,  would 
not  be  easily  staitled.     He  knew  their  trade. 

Nor  had  he  spoken  idly  when  he  said  the  old 
man  should  be  gagged.  He  had  resolved  to  en- 
sure his  silence  ;  and  he  looked  to  the  end,  not 
the  means.  He  had  been  rough  and  rude  and 
cruel  to  the  old  man  all  his  life  ;  and  violence  was 
natural  to  his  mind  in  connection  with  him.  "  He 
shall  be  gagged  if  he  speaks,  and  pinioned  if  he 
writes,"  said  Jonas,  looking  at  him,  for  they  sat 
alone  together.  "  He  is  mad  enough  for  that ; 
I  '11  go  through  with  it !" 
Hush! 

Still  listening  !  To  every  sound.  He  had  lis- 
tened ever  since,  and  it  had  not  come  yet.  The 
exposure  of  the  Insurance  Office ;  the  flight  of 
Crimple  and  Bullamy  with  the  plunder,  and, 
among  the  rest,  as  he  feared,  with  his  own  bill, 
which  he  had  not  found  in  the  pocket-book  of  the 
murdered  man,  and  which,  with  Mr.  Pecksniff's 
money,  had  probably  been  remitted  to  one  or 
other  of  those  trusty  friends  for  safe  deposit  at  the 
banker's ;  his  immense  losses,  and  peril  of  being 
still  called  to  account  as  a  partner  in  the  broken 
firm  ;  all  these  things  rose  in  his  mind  at  one 
time  and  always,  but  he  could  not  contemplate 
them  He  was  aware  of  their  presence,  and  of 
the  rage,  discomfiture  and  despair  they  brought 
along  with  them  ;  but  he  thought  —  of  his  own 
tontrolling  power  and  direction  he  thought — of 
the  one  dread  question  only :  when  they  would 
find  the  body  in  the  wood. 

Retried — he   had  never  left  off  trying — not  to 

Forget  it  was  there,  for  that  was  impossible,  but  to 

forget  to  weary  himself  by  drawing  vivid  pictures 

i>f  it  in  his  fancy ;  by  going  softly  abou    't  and 

38 


about  it,  among  the  leaves,  approaching  it  nearer 
and  nearer  tlirough  a  gap  in  the  boughs,  and 
startling  the  very  flies  that  were  tliicklyspnnkleu 
all  over  it,  like  heaps  of  dried  currants.  His  mind 
was  fixed  and  fastened  on  the  discovery,  for  intel- 
ligence of  which  he  listened  intently  to  ev^iy  cry 
and  shout ;  listened  when  any  one  came  ir ,  or 
went  out;  watched  from  the  window  the  pe>ple 
who  passed  up  and  down  the  street,  and  n>.sti  ist- 
ed  his  own  looks  and  words.  And  the  m»jre  his 
thoughts  were  set  upon  the  discovery,  the  s.ronger 
was  the  fascination  which  attracted  him  to  t^e 
thing  itself;  lying  alone  in  the  wood.  He  was 
for  ever  showing  and  presenting  it,  as  it  were,  to 
every  creature  whom  he  saw.  "  Look  here  !  Do 
you  know  of  this  ?  Is  it  found  ?  Do  you  sus- 
pect me  ?"  If  he  had  been  condemned  to  bear 
the  body  in  his  arms,  and  lay  it  down  for  recog- 
nition at  the  feet  of  every  one  he  met,  it  could  not 
have  been  more  constantly  with  him,  or  a  cause 
of  more  monotonous  and  dismal  occupation  than 
it  was  in  this  state  of  his  mind. 

Still,  he  was  not  sorry.  It  was  no  contrition  or 
remorse  for  what  he  had  done  that  moved  him  ; 
it  was  nothing  but  alarm  for  his  own  security. 
The  vague  consciousness  he  possessed  of  having 
wrecked  his  fortune  in  the  murderous  venture, 
intensified  his  hatred  and  revenge,  and  made  him 
set  the  greater  store  by  what  he  had  gained.  The 
man  was  dead;  nothing  could  undo  that  He 
felt  a  triumph  yet,  in  the  reflection. 

He  had  kept  a  jealous  watch  on  Chuffey,  ever 
since  the  deed ;  seldom  leaving  him  but  on  com- 
pulsion, and  then  for  as  short  intervals  as  possi- 
ble. They  were  alone  together  now.  It  was 
twilight,  and  the  appointed  time  drew  near  at 
hand.  Jonas  walked  up  and  down  the  room 
The  old  man  sat  in  his  accustomed  corner. 

The  slightest  circumstance  was  matter  of  dis- 
quiet to  the  murderer,  and  he  was  made  uneasy 
at  this  time  by  the  absence  of  his  wife,  who  had 
left  liome  early  in  the  afternoon,  and  had  not  re- 
turned yet.  No  tenderness  for  her  was  at  the 
bottom  of  this ;  but  he  had  a  misgiving  that  she 
might  have  been  waylaid,  and  tempted  into  say- 
ing something  that  would  criminate  him  when 
the  news  came.  For  anything  he  knew,  she 
might  have  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  room, 
while  he  was  away,  and  discovered  his  plot. — 
Confound  her,  it  was  like  her  pale  face,  to  be 
wandering  up  and  down  the  house !  Where  was 
she  now  ? 

"  She  went  to  her  good  friend,  Mrs.  Todgers," 
said  the  old  man,  when  he  asked  the  question 
with  an  angry  oath. 

Aye  !  To  be  sure  !  always  stealing  away  into 
the  company  of  that  woman.  She  was  no  friend 
of  his.  Who  could  tell  what  devil's  mischief  they 
might  hatch  together  !  Let  her  be  fetched  home 
directly. 

The  old  man,  muttering  some  words  softly, 
rose  as  if  he  would  have  gone  himself;  but  Jona§ 
Ihrust  liin  back  into  his  chair  with  an  impatient 


298 


LIIE   AND  ADV^ENTURES   OF 


imprecation,  and  sent  a  servant-girl  to  fetch  her. 
When  he  had  charged  her  with  her  errand,  he 
walked  to  and  fro  again,  and  never  stopped  till 
she  came  back,  which  she  did  pretty  soon ;  the 
way  being  short,  and  the  woman  having  made 
gjod  haste. 

Well !    Where  was  she  ?    Had  she  come  ? 
No.     She  had  left  there,  full  three  hours. 
"  Left  there  !    Alone?" 

The  messenger  had  not  asked ;  taking  that  for 
granted. 

"  Curse  you  for  a  fool.     Bring  candles  !" 

She  had  scarcely  left  the  room,  when  the  old 
clerk,  who  had  been  unusually  observant  of  him 
ever  since  he  had  asked  about  his  wife,  came  sud- 
denly upon  him. 

"Give  her  up!"  cried  the  old  man.  "  Come  ! 
Give  her  up  to  me !  Tell  me  what  you  have  done 
with  her.  Quick!  I  have  made  no  promises  on 
that  score.    Tell  me  what  you  have  done  with  her." 

He  laid  his  hands  upon  his  collar  as  he  spoke, 
and  grasped  it :  tightly  too. 

"  You  shall  not  leave  me  !"  cried  the  old  man. 
'  I  am  strong  enough  to  cry  out  to  the  neigh- 
bours, and  I  will,  unless  you  give  her  up.  Give 
her  up  to  me  !" 

Jonas  was  so  dismayed  and  conscience-stricken, 
that  he  had  not  even  hardihood  enough  to  un- 
clench the  old  man's  hands  with  his  own  ;  but 
stood  looking  at  hini  as  well  as  he  could  in  the 
darkness,  without  moving  a  finger.  It  was  as 
much  as  he  could  do  to  ask  him  what  he  meant. 

"  I  will  know  whut  you  have  done  with  her  !" 
retorted  Chuffey.  "  If  you  hurt  a  hair  of  her  head, 
you  shall  answer  it.  Poor  thing !  Poor  thing ! 
Where  is  she  ?" 

"  Why,  you  old  madman  !"  said  Jonas,  in  a  low 
voice,  and  with  trembling  lips.  "What  Bedlam 
fit  has  come  upon  you  now  ?" 

"  It  is  enough  to  make  me  mad,  seeing  what  I 
liave  seen  in  this  house  !"  cried  Chufiey.  "Where 
is  my  dear  old  master  !  Where  is  his  only  son  that 
I  have  nursed  upon  my  knee,  a  child  !  Where  is 
she,  she  who  was  the  last ;  she  that  I  've  seen 
pining  day  by  day,  and  heard  weeping  in  the 
dead  of  night !  Slie  was  the  last,  the  last  of  all 
my  friends !  Heaven  help  me,  she  was  the  very 
last !" 

Seeing  that  the  tears  were  stealing  down  his 
face,  Jonas  .mustered  courage  to  unclench  his 
iiands,  and  pusli  him  off  before  he  answered  : 

"  Did  you  hear  me  ask  for  her  ?  Did  you  hear 
tne  send  for  her?  How  can  I  give  you  up  what  1 
hav'nt  got,  idiot !  Ecod,  I'd  give  her  up  to  you 
and  welcome,  if  I  could ;  and  a  precious  pair 
you  'd  be  !" 

"  If  she  has  come  to  any  harm,"  cried  Chuffey, 
"mind!  I'm  old  and  silly;  but  I  have  my  me- 
mory sometimes;  and  if  she  has  come  to  any 
harm — " 

"  Devil  take  you,"  interrupted  Jonas,  but  in  a 
suppressed  voice  still ;  "  what  harm  do  you  sup- 
pose she  has  come  to?  I  know  no  more  where 
she  is  than  you  do ;  I  wish  I  did.  Wait  till  she 
comes  home,  and  see;  she  can't  be  long.  Will 
that  content  you?" 

"Mind  !"  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "Not  a  hair 
of  her  head  !  not  a  hair  of  her  head  ill  used  I  I 
won't  bear  it.  I  —  I  —  have  borne  it  too  long, 
I'inas.    I  am  silent,  but  I — 1 — 1  can  speak.     I —  j 


I  —  I  can  speak  — "  he  stammered,  as  he  crept 
back  to  his  chair,  and  turned  a  threatening, 
tliough  a  feeble,  look  upon  him. 

"You  can  speak,  can  you!"  thought  Jonas 
"So,  so,  we'll  stop  your  speaking.  It's  well  I 
knew  of  this  in  good  time.  Prevention  is  bettt  r 
than  cure." 

He  hdd  made  a  poor  show  of  playing  the  Bally 
and  evincing  a  desire  to  conciliate  at  the  sams 
time,  but  was  so  afraid  of  the  old  man  that  great 
drops  had  started  out  upon  his  brow  ;  and  they 
stood  there  yet.  His  unusuul  tone  of  voice  and 
agitated  manner  had  sufficiently  expressed  his 
fear  ;  but  his  face  would  have  done  so  now,  with- 
out that  aid,  as  he  again  walked  to  and  fro,  glanc- 
ing at  him  by  the  candle-light. 

He  stopped  at  the  window  to  think.  An  op- 
posite shop  was  lighted  up;  and  the  tradesman 
and  a  customer  were  reading  some  printed  bill 
together  across  the  counter.  The  sight  brought 
him  back,  instantly,  to  the  occupation  he  had  for- 
gotten.  "Look  here!  Do  you  know  of  this?  Is 
it  found  ?    Do  you  suspect  me  ?" 

A  hand  upon  the  door.     "  What's  that?" 

"A  pleasant  evenin,"  said  the  voice  of  Mrs. 
Gainp,  "though  warm,  which,  bless  you  Mr. 
Cliuzzlewit,  we  must  expect  when  cowcumbers  is 
three  for  twopence.  How  does  Mr.  Chuffey  find 
his  self  to-night.  Sir  ?" 

Mrs.  Gamp  kept  particularly  close  to  the  door 
in  saying  this,  and  curtseyed  more  than  usual. 
She  did  not  appear  to  be  quite  so  much  at  her 
ease  as  she  generally  was. 

"Get  him  to  his  room,"  said  Jonas,  walking  up 
to  her,  and  speaking  in  her  ear.  "  He  has  been 
raving  to-night  —  stark  mad.  Don't  talk  while 
he's  here,  but  come  down  again." 

"  Poor  sweet  dear  I"  cried  Mrs.  Gamp,  with 
uncommon  tenderness.     "  He  's  all  of  a  tremble." 

"  Well  he  may  be,"  said  Jonas,  "  after  the  mad 
fit  he  has  had.     Get  him  up  stairs." 

She  was  by  this  time  assisting  him  to  rise. 

"There's  my  blessed  old  chick!"  cried  Mrs. 
Gamp,  in  a  tone  that  was  at  once  soothing  and 
encouraging.  "There's  my  darlin'  Mr.  Chuffey  I 
Now  come  up  to  your  own  room,  Sir,  and  lay 
down  on  your  bed  a  bit;  for  you're  a  shakin'  all 
over,  as  if  your  precious  jints  was  hung  upon 
wires.  That's  a  good  creetur !  come  with  Sairey  I" 

"  Is  she  come  home  ?"  inquired  the  old  man. 

"She  '11  be  here  directly  minnit,"  returned  Mrs 
Gamp.  "Come  with  Sairey,  Mr.  Chuffey.  Come 
with  your  own  Sairey  I" 

The  good  woman  had  no  reference  to  any  fe 
male  in  the  world  in  promising  tiiia  speed}'  advent 
of  the  person  for  whom  Mr.  Chuffey  inquired,  but 
merely  threw  it  out  as  a  means  of  pacifying  the 
old  man.  It  had  its  effect,  for  he  permitted  her 
to  lead  him  away  ;  and  they  quitted  the  room 
together. 

Jonas  looked  out  of  the  window  again.  They 
were  still  reading  the  printed  paper  in  the  shop 
opposite,  and  a  third  man  had  joined  in  the  pe- 
rusal.    What  could  it  be,  to  interest  them  so  ? 

A  dispute  or  discussion  seemed  to  arise  among 
them,  for  they  all  looked  up  from  their  reading 
together  ;  ami  one  of  the  three,  who  had  been 
glancing  over  the  shoulder  of  another,  stepped 
back  to  explain  or  illustrate  some  action  by  bia 
gestures 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


299 


Horror!  How  like  the  blow  he  had  struck  in 
Itie  wood  ! 

It  beat  him  from  the  window  as  if  it  had  lig-hted 
on  himselti  As  he  staggered  into  a  chair,  lie 
thought  of  the  change  in  Mrs.  Gamp,  exhibited 
in  her  new-born  tenderness  to  licr  charge.  Was 
that  because  it  was  found  ? — because  she  knew 
of  it? — because  she  suspected  liim  ? 

"  Mr.  ChutFey  is  a  lyin'  down,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp, 
returning,  "and  much  good  may  it  do  him,  Mr. 
Chuzzlewit,  which  harm  it  can't  and  good  it  may  : 
be  joyful !" 

"  Sit  down,"  said  Jonas,  hoarsely,  "  and  let  us 
get  this  business  done.  "  Wiiere  is  the  other  wo- 
man  ?" 

"  The  other  person  's  with  him  now,"  she  an- 
swered. 

"That's  right,"  said  Jonas.  "  He  is  not  fit  to 
be  left  to  himself.  Why,  he  fastened  on  me  to- 
night ;  here,  upon  my  coat ;  like  a  savage  dog. 
Old  as  he  is,  and  feeble  as  he  is  usually,  I  had 
some  trouble  to  shake  him  off.  You — Hush  ! — 
It 's  nothing.  You  told  me  the  other  woman's 
name.     I  forget  it." 

"I  mentioned  Betsey  Prig,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 

"She  is  to  be  trusted,  is  she?" 

"That  she  ain't!"  said  Mrs.  Gamp;  "nor  have 
I  brought  her,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  I  've  brought  an- 
other, which  engages  to  give  every  satigefaction," 

"  What  is  her  name?"  asked  Jonas. 

Mrs.  Gamp  looked  at  him  in  an  odd  way  with- 
out returning  any  answer,  but  appeared  to  under- 
stand the  question  too. 

"  What  is  her  name  ?"  repeated  Jonas. 

"  Her  name,"  said  Mrs.  Gamp,  "  is  Harris." 

It  was  extraordinary  how  much  effort  it  cost 
Mrs.  Gamp  to  pronounce  the  name  she  was  com- 
monly so  ready  with.  She  made  some  three  or 
four  gasps  before  she  could  get  it  out ;  and,  when 
she  had  uttered  it,  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  side, 
and  turned  up  her  eyes,  as  if  she  were  going  to  faint 
away.  But,  knowing  her  to  labour  under  a  com- 
plication of  internal  disorders,  which  rendered  a 
kw  drops  of  spirits  indispensable  at  certain  times 
to  her  existence,  and  which  came  on  very  strong 
when  that  remedy  was  not  at  hand,  Jonas  merely 
supposed  her  to  be  the  victim  of  one  of  these  at- 
tacks. 

"  Well !"  he  said,  hastily,  for  he  felt  how  inca- 
pable he  was  of  confining  his  wandering  attention 
to  the  subject.  "  You  and  she  have  arranged  to 
take  care  of  him,  have  you  ?" 

Mrs.  Gamp  replied  in  the  affirmative,  and  softly 
discharged  herself  of  her  famihar  phrase,  "Turn 
and  turn  about;  one  off,  one  on."  But  she  spoke 
so  tremulously  that  she  felt  called  upon  to  add, 
"  which  fiddle-strings  is  weakness  to  expredge  my 
nerves  this  night !" 

Jonas  stopped  to  listen.     Then  said,  hurriedly  : 

"  We  shall  not  quarrel  about  terms.  Let  them 
be  the  same  as  they  were  before.  Keep  him  close, 
and  keep  him  quiet.  He  must  be  restrained.  He 
has  got  it  in  his  head  to-night  that  my  wife's  dead, 
and  has  been  attacking  me  as  if  I  had  killed  her. 
It 's — it 's  common  with  mad  people  to  take  the 
ivorst  fancies  of  those  they  like  best.     Is  n't  it  ?" 

Mrs.  Gamp  assented  with  a  short  groan. 

"  Keep  him  close,  then,  or  in  one  of  his  fits 
fie  '11  be  doing  me  a  mischief.  And  don't  trust 
iiim  at  any  time ;  for  when  he  seems  most  rational, 


he 's  wildest  in  his  talk.     But  that  you   know  al- 
ready.    Let  me  see  the  other." 

"  The  t'other  person,  sir  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gamp. 
"Ay!  Goyou  to  him  and  send  the  other.  Quick  I 
I  'ni  busy.'" 

Mrs.  Gamp  took  two  or  three  backward  steps 
towards  the  door,  and  stopped,  there. 

"  It  is  your  wishes,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  she  said, 
in  a  sort  of  quavering  croak,  "  to  see  the  t'other 
person.     Is  it?" 

But  the  ghastly  change  in  Jonas  told  her  that 
the  other  person  was  already  seen.  Before  she 
could  look  round  towards  tiie  door,  she  was  put 
aside  by  old  Martin's  hand  ;  and  Chuflfey  and  John 
Westlock  entered  with  him. 

"  Let  no  one  leave  the  house,"  said  Martin. 
"This  man  is  my  brother's  son.  Ul-inet,  ill- 
trained,  ill-begotten.  If  he  moves  from  the  spot 
on  which  he  stands,  or  speaks  a  word  above  his 
breath  to  any  person  here,  fling  up  the  window, 
and  call  for  help!" 

"What  right  have  you  to  give  such  directions 
in  this  house?"  asked  Jonas,  faintly. 

"  The  right  ofyour  wrong-doing.  Come  in  there !" 
An  irrepresssible  exclamation  burst  from  the 
lips  of  Jonas,  as  Lewsome  entered  at  the  door.  It 
was  not  a  groan,  or  a  shriek,  or  a  word,  but  was 
wholly  unlike  any  sound  that  had  ever  fallen  on 
the  ears  of  those  who  heard  it,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  was  the  most  sharp  and  terrible  expression 
of  what  was  working  in  his  guilty  breast,  that  na- 
ture could  have  invented. 

He  had  done  murder  for  this!  He  had  girdled 
himself  about  with  perils,  agonies  of  mind,  innu- 
merable fears,  for  this!  He  had  hidden  his  secret 
in  the  wood;  pressed  and  stamped  it  down  into 
the  bloody  ground ;  and  here  it  started  up  whea 
least  expected,  miles  upon  miles  away ;  known  to 
many;  proclaiming  itself  from  the  lips  of  an  old 
man  who  had  renewed  his  strength  and  vigour  as 
by  a  miracle,  to  give  it  voice  against  him  ! 

He  leaned  his  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair,  and 
looked  at  them.  It  was  in  vain  to  try  to  do  so, 
scornfully ;  or  with  his  usual  insolence.  He  re- 
quired the  chair  for  his  support.  But  he  made  a 
struggle  for  it. 

"I  know  that  fellow,"  he  said,  fetching  hia 
breath  at  every  word,  and  pointing  his  trembling 
finger  towards  Lewsome.  "  He  's  the  greatest  liar 
alive.  What's  his  last  tale?  Ha,  ha!  You're 
rare  fellows,  too!  Why,  that  uncle  of  mine  is 
childish;  he  's  even  a  greater  child  than  his  bro- 
ther, my  father,  was,  in  his  old  age  ;  or  than  Chuf- 
fey  is.  What  the  devil  do  you  mean,"  he  added, 
looking  fiercely  at  John  Westlock  and  Mark 
Tapley  (the  latter  had  entered  with  Lewsome), 
"by  coming  here,  and  bringing  two  idiots  and  a 
knave  with  you  to  taite  my  house  by  storm. 
Hallo,  there!  Open  the  door!  Turn  these  strai'. 
gers  out!" 

"I  tell  you  what,"  cried  Mr.  Tapley,  coming 
forward,  "  if  it  was  n't  for  your  name,  I  'd  drag 
you  through  the  streets  of  my  own  accord,  and 
single-handed,  I  would!  Ah,  I  would!  Don't  try 
and  look  bold  at  me.  You  can't  do  it!  Now  go  on, 
Sir,"  this  was  to  old  Martin.  "  Bring  the  murderin' 
wagabond  upon  his  knees!  If  he  wants  noise,  lie 
shall  have  enough  of  it;  for  as  sure  as  he's  a 
shiverin'  from  head  to  fiiot,  I'll  raise  a  uproar  at 
this  winder  that  shall  bring  half  London  in.    <*t 


300 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


on  Sir  !  Let  him  try  me  once,  and  see  whether 
I  'm  a  man  of  my  word  or  not." 

With  that,  Mark  folded  liis  arms,  and  took  his 
seat  upon  the  window-ledge,  with  an  air  of  general 
preparation  for  anything,  which  seemed  to  imply 
that  he  was  equally  ready  to  jump  out  himself,  or 
to  throw  Jonas  out,  upon  receiving  the  slightest 
hint  that  it  v;ould  be  agreeable  to  the  company. 

Old  Martin  turned  to  Lewsome  : 

"  This  is  the  man,"  he  said,  exteii^ing  his  hand 
towards  Junas.     "Is  it?" 

"  You  need  do  no  more  than  look  at  him  to  be 
Bure  of  that,  or  of  the  truth  of  what  I  have  said," 
was  the  reply.     "  He  is  my  witness." 

"Oh,  brother  !"  cried  old  Martin,  clasping  his 
hands  and  lifting  up  his  eyes.  "  Oh,  brother,  bro- 
ther !  Were  we  strangers  half  our  lives  that  you 
might  breed  a  wretch  like  this,  and  I  make  life  a 
desert  by  withering  every  flower  that  grew  about 
me  !  Is  it  the  natural  end  of  your  precepts  and 
mine,  that  this  should  be  the  creature  of  your 
rearing,  training,  teaching,  hoarding,  striving  for: 
and  I  the  means  of  bringing  him  to  punishment, 
when  nothing  can  repair  the  wasted  past !" 

He  sat  down  upon  a  chair  as  he  spoke,  and 
mrnmg  away  his  face,  was  silent  for  a  few  mo- 
ments. Then  with  recovered  energy  he  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  But  the  accursed  harvest  of  our  mistaken 
lives  shall  be  trodden  down.  It  is  not  too  late  for 
that.  You  are  confronted  with  this  man,  yon 
monster  there ;  not  to  be  spared,  but  to  be  dealt 
with  justly.  Hear  what  he  says !  Reply,  be 
silent,  contradict,  repeat,  defy,  do  what  you  please. 
My  course  shall  be  the  same.  Go  on  !  And  you," 
he  said  to  ChufFey,  "  for  the  love  of  your  old 
friend,  speak  out,  good  fellow  !" 

"  I  have  been  silent  for  his  love  I"  cried  the  old 
man.  "  He  urged  me  to  it.  He  made  me  promise 
it,  upon  his  dying  bed.  I  never  would  have 
spoken,  but  for  your  finding  out  so  much.  I  have 
thought  about  it  ever  since  :  I  couln't  help  that : 
and  sometimes  I  have  had  it  all  before  me  in  a 
dream :  but  in  the  day-time,  not  in  sleep.  Is 
there  such  a  kind  of  dream  ?"  said  Chuffey,  look- 
ing anxiously  in  old  Martin's  face. 

As  Martin  made  him  an  encouraging  reply,  he 
listened  attentively  to  his  voice ;  and  smiled. 

"  Ah,  ay  !"  he  cried.  "  He  often  spoke  to  me 
like  that.  We  were  at  school  together,  he  and  I. 
I  couldn't  turn  against  his  son,  you  know  —  his 
only  son,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit!" 

"  I  would  to  heaven  you  had  been  his  son !" 
said  Martin. 

"  You  speak  so  like  my  dear  old  master,"  cried 
the  old  man  with  a  childish  delight,  "  that  I  almost 
think  I  hear  him.  I  can  hear  you  quite  as  well 
as  I  used  to  hear  him.  It  makes  me  young  again. 
He  never  spoke  unkindly  to  me,  and  I  always  un- 
derstood him,  I  could  always  see  him  too,  though 
my  sight  was  dim.  Weil,  well !  He  's  dead,  he  's 
dead.  He  was  very  good  to  me,  my  dear  old 
master?" 

He  shook  his  head  mournfully  over  the  brother's 
hand.  At  this  moment  Mark,  wl)o  had  been 
glancing  out  of  the  window,  left  tlie  room. 

"  I  couldn't  turn  against  his  only  son,  you 
know,"  said  Chuffey.  "  He  has  nearly  driven  me 
to  do  it  sometimes;  he  very  nearly  did  to-night. 
Kh  I"  cried  the  old  man,  with  a  sudden  recollec- 


tion of  the  cause.  "  Where  is  she  !  She 's  noC 
come  home  I" 

"  Do  you  mean  his  wife  ?"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit 

"  Yes." 

"  I  have  removed  her.  She  is  in  my  care,  and 
will  be  spared  the  present  knowledge  of  what  ia 
passing  here.  She  has  known  misery  enough, 
without  that  addition." 

Jonas  heard  this  with  a  sinking  heart.  He 
knew  that  they  were  on  his  heels,  and  felt  that 
they  were  resolute  to  run  him  to  destruction. 
Inch  by  inch  the  ground  beneath  him  was  sliding 
from  his  feet ;  faster  and  faster  the  encircling 
ruin  contracted  and  contracted  towards  himself, 
its  wicked  centre,  until  it  should  close  in  and 
crush  him. 

And  now  he  heard  the  voice  of  his  accomplice 
stating  to  his  face,  with  every  circumstance  of 
time  and  place  and  incident;  and  openly  pro- 
claiming, with  no  reserve,  suppression,  passion, 
or  concealment;  all  the  truth.  The  truth,  which 
nothing  would  keep  down  ;  which  blood  would 
not  smother,  and  earth  would  not  hide  ;  the  truth, 
whose  terrible  inspiration  seemed  to  change  dr- 
tards  into  strong  men  ;  and  on  whose  avenging 
wings,  one  whom  he  had  supposed  to  be  at  the 
extremcst  corner  of  the  earth  came  swooping 
down  upon  him. 

He  tried  to  deny  it,  but  his  tongue  would  not 
move.  He  conceived  some  desperate  thought  of 
rushing  away,  and  tearing  through  the  streets  ; 
but  his  limbs  would  as  little  answer  to  his  will  as 
his  stark,  stiff,  staring  face.  All  this  time  the 
voice  went  slowly  on,  denouncing  him.  It  was 
as  if  every  drop  of  blood  in  the  wood  had  found  a 
voice  to  jeer  him  with. 

When  it  ceased,  another  voice  took  up  the  tale, 
but  strangely  :  for  the  old  clerk,  who  had  watch- 
ed, and  listened  to  the  whole,  and  had  wrung  hia 
hands  from  time  to  time,  as  if  he  knew  its  truth 
and  could  confirm  it,  broke  in  with  these  words  : 

"  No,  no,  no  !  you  're  wrong  ;  you  're  wrong — 
all  wrong  together !  Have  patience,  for  the  truth 
is  only  known  to  me  !" 

"  How  can  that  be,"  said  his  old  master's  bro- 
ther, "  after  what  you  have  heard  ?  Besides,  you 
said  just  now,  above-stairs,  when  I  told  you  of 
the  accusation  against  him,  that  you  knew  he  was 
his  father's  murderer." 

"  Ay,  yes  !  and  so  he  was  !"  cried  Chuffey, 
wildly.  "  But  not  as  you  suppose  —  not  as  you 
suppose.  Stay !  Give  me  a  moment's  time.  I 
have  it  all  here — all  here  !  It  was  foul,  foul,  cruel, 
bad  ;  but  not  as  you  suppose.     Stay,  stay  !" 

He  put  his  hands  up  to  his  head,  as  if  it  throbbed 
or  pained  him.  After  looking  about  him  in  a  wan- 
dering and  vacant  manner  for  some  moments,  his 
eyes  rested  upon  Jonas,  when  they  kindled  up 
with  sudden  recollection  and  intelligence. 

"  Yes  I"  cried  old  Chuffey,  "  yes  !  That 's  how 
it  was.  It 's  all  upon  me  now.  He  —  he  got  up 
from  his  bed  before  he  died,  to  be  sure,  to  say  that 
he  forgave  him  ;  and  he  came  down  with  me  into 
this  room;  and  when  he  saw  him  —  his  only  son, 
the  son  he  loved  —  his  speech  forsook  him  :  he 
had  no  speech  for  what  he  knew  —  and  no  one 
understood  him  except  me.    But  I  did  —  I  did!" 

Old  Murtin  regarded  him  in  amazement ;  so  did 
his  companions.  Mrs.  Gamp,  who  had  said  no- 
thing yet ;  but  had  kept  two-thirds  of  herseli'  bo- 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


301 


hind  the  door,  ready  for  escape,  and  one-third  in 
the  room,  ready  for  siding  with  the  strongest 
party ;  came  a  httle  further  in  and  remarked, 
with  a  sob,  that  Mr.  Chuffey  was  "the  sweetest 
old  creetur  goin'." 

"  He  ix)ught  the  stuff,'  said  Chuffey,  stretching 
out  his  arm  towards  Jonas,  while  an  unwonted 
fire  shone  in  his  eye,  and  lightened  up  his  face ; 
"  he  bought  the  stuff,  no  doubt,  as  you  have  heard, 
and  brought  it  home.  He  mixed  the  stuff — looli 
at  him !  —  with  some  sweetmeat  in  a  jar,  exactly 
as  the  medicine  for  his  father's  cough  was  mixed, 
and  put  it  in  a  drawer;  in  that  drawer  yonder; 
in  the  desk;  he  knows  which  drawer  I  mean! 
He  kept  it  there  locked  up.  But  his  courage 
failed  him,  or  his  heart  was  touched  —  my  God  ! 
I  hope  it  was  his  heart  I  He  was  his  only  son  ! — 
and  he  did  not  put  it  in  the  usual  place,  where  my 
old  master  would  have  taken  it  twenty  times 
a-day." 

The  trembling  figure  of  the  old  man  shook  with 
the  strong  emotions  that  possessed  him.  But, 
with  the  same  light  in  his  eye,  and  with  his  arm 
outstretched,  and  with  his  gray  hair  stirring  on 
his  head,  he  seemed  to  grow  in  size,  and  was  like 
a  man  inspired.  Jonas  shrunk  from  looking  at 
him,  and  cowered  down  into  the  chair  by  which 
he  had  held.  It  seemed  as  if  this  tremendous 
Truth  could  make  the  dumb  speak. 

"I  know  it  every  word  now  I"  cried  Chuffey. 
"Every  word!  He  put  it  in  that  drawer,  as  I 
have  said.  Ho  went  so  often  there,  and  was  so 
secret,  that  his  father  took  notice  of  it;  and  when 
he  was  out,  had  it  opened.  We  were  there  toge- 
ther, and  we  found  the  mixture  —  Mr.  Chuzzle- 
wit  and  I.  He  took  it  into  his  possession,  and 
made  light  of  it  at  the  time ;  but  in  the  night  he 
came  to  my  bedside,  weeping,  and  told  me  that 
his  own  son  had  it  in  his  mind  to  poison  him. 
'  Oh,  Chuff!'  he  said, '  oh,  dear  old  Chuff!  a  voice 
came  into  my  room  to-night,  and  told  me  that  this 
crime  began  with  me.  It  began  when  I  taught 
him  to  be  too  covetous  of  what  I  have  to  leave, 
and  made  the  expectation  of  it  his  great  busi- 
ness !'  Those  were  his  words ;  ay,  they  are  his 
very  words  !  If  he  was  a  hard  man  now  and  then, 
it  was  for  his  only  son.  He  loved  his  only  son, 
and  was  always  good  to  me !" 

Jonas  listened  with  increased  attention.  Hope 
was  breaking  in  upon  him. 

"'He  shall  not  weary  for  my  death.  Chuff:' 
that  was  what  he  said  next,"  pursued  the  old 
clerk,  as  he  wiped  his  eyes ;  "  that  was  what  he 
said  next,  crying  like  a  little  child  :  '  He  shall  not 
weary  for  my  death.  Chuff.  He  shall  have  it 
now ;  he  shall  marry  where  he  has  a  fancy.  Chuff, 
although  it  don't  please  me ;  and  you  and  I  will 
go  away  and  live  upon  a  little.  I  always  loved 
him  ;  perhaps  he'll  love  me  then.  It's  a  dreadful 
thing  to  have  my  own  child  thirsting  for  my  death. 
But  I  might  have  known  it.  I  have  sown,  and  I 
must  reap.  He  shall  believe  that  I  am  taking 
this;  and  when  I  see  that  he  is  sorry,  and  has  all 
he  wants,  I  '11  tell  him  that  I  found  it  out,  and 
I  '11  forgive  him.  He  '11  make  a  better  man  of 
his  own  son,  and  be  a  better  man  himself,  per- 
haps.  Chuff!' " 

Poor  Chuffey  paused  to  dry  his  eyes  again. 
Old  Martin's  face  was  hidden  in  his  hands.  Jo- 
nas listened  still  more    keenly,  and    his  breast 

£  A 


I  heaved  like  a  swollen  water,  but  with  hope.  With 
growing  hope. 

"  My  dear  old  master  made  believe  next  day," 
said  Chuffey,  "that  he  had  opened  the  drawer  by 
mistake  with  a  key  from  the  bunch,  which  hap. 
pened  to  fit  it  (we  had  one  made  and  hung  upon 
it);  and  that  he  had  been  surprised  to  find  his 
fresh  supply  of  cough  medicine  in  such  a  place, 
but  supposed  it  had  been  put  there  in  a  hurry 
when  the  drawer  stood  open.  We  burnt  it;  but 
his  son  believed  that  he  was  taking  it  —  he  knows 
he  did.  Once  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  to  try  him,  took 
heart  to  say  it  had  a  strange  taste ;  and  got  up 
directly,  and  went  out." 

Jonas  gave  a  short,  dry  cough  •  and,  changing 
his  position  for  an  easier  one,  folded  his  arms 
without  looking  at  them,  though  they  could  now 
see  his  face. 

"  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  wrote  to  her  father ;  I  mean 
the  father  of  the  poor  thing  who's  his  wife  ;"  said 
Chuffey;  "and  got  him  to  come  up:  intending 
to  hasten  on  the  marriage.  But  his  mind,  like 
mine,  went  a  little  wrong  through  grief,  and  then 
his  heart  broke.  He  sank  and  altered  from  the 
time  when  he  came  to  me  in  the  night;  and 
never  held  up  his  head  again.  It  was  only  a  few 
days,  but  he  had  never  changed  so  much  in  twice 
the  years.  'Spare  him.  Chuff!'  he  said,  before  he 
died.  They  were  the  only  words  he  could  sf>eak. 
'Spare  him.  Chuff!'  I  promised  him  I  would. 
I've  tried  to  do  it.     He  's  his  only  son." 

In  his  recollection  of  the  last  scene  in  his  old 
friend's  life,  poor  Chuffey's  voice,  which  had 
grown  weaker  and  weaker,  quite  deserted  him. 
Making  a  motion  with  his  hand,  as  if  he  would 
have  said  that  Anthony  had  taken  it,  and  had 
died  with  it  in  his,  he  retreated  to  the  corner 
where  he  usually  concealed  his  sorrows ;  and  was 
silent. 

Jonas  could  look  at  his  company  now,  and 
vauntingly  too.  "  Well !"  he  said,  after  a  pause. 
"  Are  you  satisfied  ?  Or  have  you  any  more  of 
your  plots  to  broach  ?  Why  that  fellow.  Lew 
some,  can  invent  'em  for  you  by  the  score.  la 
this  all  ?     Have  you  nothing  else  ?" 

Old  Martin  looked  at  him  steadily. 

"  Whether  you  are  what  you  seemed  to  be  at 
Pecksniff's,  or  are  something  else  and  a  mounte. 
bank,  I  don't  know  and  I  don't  care,"  said  Jonas, 
looking  downward  with  a  smile,  "  but  I  don't 
want  you  here.  You  were  here  so  often  when 
your  brother  was  alive,  and  were  always  so  fond 
of  him  (your  dear  dear  brother  and  you  would 
have  been  cuffing  one  another  before  this,  ecod  !) 
that  I'm  not  surprised  at  your  being  attached  to 
the  place ;  but  the  place  is  not  attached  to  you, 
and  you  can't  leave  it  too  soon,  though  you  may 
leave  it  too  late.  And  for  my  wife,  old  man, 
send  her  home  straight,  or  it  will  be  the  worse  for 
her.  Ha  ha  !  You  carry  it  with  a  high  hand 
too  !  But  it  is  'nt  hanging  yet  for  a  man  to  keep 
a  penn'orth  of  poison  for  his  own  purposes,  and 
have  it  taken  from  him  by  two  old  crazy  jolter. 
heads  who  go  and  act  a  play  about  it.  Ha,  ha  I 
Do  you  see  the  door  ?" 

His  base  triumph,  struggling  with  nis  coward 
ice,  and  shame,  and  guilt,  was  so  detestable,  that 
they  turned  away  from  him,  as  if  he  were  some 
obscene  and  filthy  animal,  repugnant  to  the  sight 
And  here  that  last  black  crime  ^as  busy  wUb 


302 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OP 


him  too;  working  within  him  to  his  perdition. 
But  for  that,  the  old  clerk's  story  might  have 
touched  him,  though  never  so  lightly  ;  but  tor 
that,  the  sudden  removal  of  so  great  a  load  might 
have  brought  about  some  wholesome  change  even 
m  him.  With  that  deed  done,  however;  with 
that  unnecessary  wasteful  danger  haunting  him  ; 
despair  was  in  his  very  triumph  and  relief:  wild, 
ungovernable,  raging  despair,  for  the  uselessness 
of  the  peril  into  which  he  had  plunged ;  despair 
that  hardened  him  and  maddened  him,  and  set 
his  teeth  a  grinding  in  the  moment  of  his  exulta- 
tion. 

"  My  good  friend  !"  said  Martin,  laying  his 
hand  on  Chuffcy's  sleeve.  "  This  is  no  place  for 
you  to  remain  in.     Come  with  me." 

"Just  his  old  way  !"  cried  ChnfFey,  looking  up 
into  his  face.  "  I  almost  believe  it  's  Mr.  Chuz- 
zlewif  alive  again.  Yes !  Take  me  with  you  I 
Stay  though,  stay." 

"  For  what  ?"  asked  Martin. 

"  I  can't  leave  her,  poor  thing  !"  said  Chuffey. 
"  She  has  been  very  good  to  me.  I  can't  leave 
her,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  Thank  you  kindly.  I'll 
remain  here.  I  hav'n't  long  to  remain ;  it's  no 
great  matter." 

As  he  meekly  shook  his  poor,  gray  head,  and 
thanked  old  Martin  in  these  words,  Mrs.  Gamp, 
now  entirely  in  the  room,  was  alFected  to  tears. 

"  The  mercy  as  it  is  !"  she  said,  "  as  sech  a 
dear,  good,  reverend  cretur,  never  got  into  the 
cludges  of  Betsey  Prig,  which  but  for  me  he 
would  have  done,  undoubted :  facts  bein  stubborn 
and  not  easy  drove  1" 

"  You  heard  me  speak  to  you  just  now,  old 
man,"  said  Jonas  to  his  uncle.  "  I'll  have  no 
more  tampering  with  my  people,  man  or  woman. 
Do  you  see  the  door  ?" 

"  Do  you  see  the  door  ?"  returned  the  voice  of 
Mark,  coming  from  that  direction.    "  Look  at  it !" 

He  looked,  and  his  gaze  was  nailed  there. 
Fatal,  ill-omened,  blighted  thresh-hold,  cursed  by 
his  father's  footsteps  in  his  dying  hour,  cursed  by 
his  young  wife's  sorrowing  tread,  cursed  by  the 
daily  shadow  of  the  old  clerk's  figure,  cursed  by 
the  crossing  of  his  murderer's  feet — what  men 
were  standing  in  the  doorway  I 

Nadgett,  foremost. 

Hark !  It  came  on,  roaring  like  a  sea  I 
Hawkers  burst  into  the  street,  crying  it  up  and 
down  ;  windows  were  thrown  open  that  the  inha- 
bitants might  hear  it;  people  stopped  to  listen 
in  the  road  and  on  the  pavement ;  the  bells,  the 
same  bells  began  to  ring :  tumbling  over  one 
another  in  a  dance  of  boisterous  joy  at  the  disco- 
very (that  was  the  sound  they  had  in  his  distem- 
pered thoughts),  and  making  their  airy  playground 
rock. 

"That  is  the  man,"  said  Nadgett.  " By  the 
window  !" 

Three  othor!<  came  in,  laid  hands  upon  him,  and 
secured  him.  It  was  so  quickly  done,  that  he  had 
not  lost  sight  of  the  informer's  face  for  an  instant 
when  his  wrists  were  manacled  together. 

"  Murder,"  said  Nadgett,  looking  round  on  the 
ftistonished  group.     "  Let  no  one  interfere." 

The  sounding  street  repented  Murder.  Barbar- 
WU8  and  dreadful  Murder;  Murder,  ]\Iurdcr,  Mur- 
der. Rolling  on  from  liouse  fo  house,  and  echo- 
■'ng  from  sione  lo  sioiie,  until  the  voices  died  away 


into  the  distant  hum,  which  seemed  to  mutter  the 
same  word. 

They  all  stood  silent :  listening,  and  gazing  in 
each  other's  faces,  as  the  noise  passed  on. 

Martin  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  What  terrible 
history  is  this?"  he  demanded. 

"  Ask  him"  said  Nadgett.  "  You're  his  friend, 
Sir.  He  can  tell  you,  if  he  will.  He  knowi 
more  of  it  than  1  do,  tliough  I  know  much." 

"  How  do  you  know  much  ?" 

"I  have  not  been  watching  him  so  long  for 
nothing,"  returned  Nadgett.  "  I  never  watched 
a  man  so  close  as  I  have  watched  him." 

Another  of  the  phantom  forms  of  this  terrific 
Truth  !  Another  of  the  many  shapes  in  which 
it  started  up  about  him,  out  of  vacancy.  This 
man,  of  all  men  in  the  world,  a  spy  upon  him  ; 
this  man,  changing  his  identity:  casting  off  his 
shrinking,  purblind,  unobservant  character,  and 
springing  up  into  a  watchful  enemy  !  The  dead 
man  might  have  come  out  of  his  grave,  and  not 
confounded  and  appalled  him  so. 

The  game  was  up.  The  race  was  at  an  end  ; 
the  rope  was  woven  for  his  neck.  If  by  a  miracle 
he  could  escape  from  this  strait,  he  had  but  to 
turn  his  face  another  way,  no  matter  where,  and 
there  would  rise  some  new  avenger  front  to  front 
with  him  ;  some  infant  in  an  hour  grown  old,  or 
old  man  in  an  hour  grown  young,  or  blind  man 
with  his  sight  restored,  or  deaf  man  with  his 
hearing  given  him.  There  was  no  chance.  He 
sank  down  in  a  heap  against  the  wall,  and  never 
hoped  again,  from  that  moment. 

"  I  am  not  his  friend,  although  I  have  the  dis- 
honour to  be  his  relative,"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlew  it. 
"You  may  speak  to  me.  Where  have  yiu 
watched,  and  what  have  you  seen  ?" 

"  I  have  watched  in  many  places,"  returned 
Nadgett,  "  night  and  day.  I  have  watched  hini 
lately,  almost  without  rest  or  relief:"  his  anxious 
face  and  bloodshot  eyes  confirmed  it.  "  I  little 
thought  to  what  my  watching  was  to  lead.  As 
little  as  he  did  when  he  slipped  out  in  the  night, 
dressed  in  those  clothes  which  he  afterwards  sunk 
in  a  bundle  at  London  Bridge !" 

Jonas  moved  upon  the  ground  like  a  man  in 
bodily  torture.  He  uttered  a  suppressed  groan, 
as  if  he  had  been  wounded  by  some  cruel  wei- 
pon;  and  plucked  at  the  iron  band  upon  his 
wrists,  as  though  (his  hands  being  free)  he  would 
have  torn  himself. 

"  Steady,  kinsman  !"  said  the  chief  officer  of 
the  party.     "  Don't  be  violent." 

"  Whom  do  you  call  kinsman  ?"  asked  old 
Martin  sternly. 

"  You,"  said  the  man,  "  among  others." 

Martin  turned  his  scrutinising  gaze  upon  him. 
He  was  sitting  lazily  across  a  chair  with  his  armt 
resting  on  the  baek :  eating  nuts,  and  throwing 
the  shells  out  of  window  as  he  cracked  Ihenv, 
which  he  still  continued  to  do,  while  speaking. 

"  Ay,"  he  said,  with  a  sulky  nod.  "  You  may 
deny  your  nephews  till  you  die  ;  but  Chevy  Slyme 
is  Clievy  Slyme  still,  all  the  world  over.  Perhaps 
even  you  may  feel  it  some  disgrace  to  your  own 
blood  to  be  employed  in  this  way.  I  'ra  to  bo 
bought  off." 

"  At  every  turn  ?"  cried  Martin.  "  Self,  self, 
self.     Every  one  among  them  for  himself  1" 

"  You  had  better  save  one  or  two  among  there 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


303 


the  trouble  then,  and  be  for  them  as  well  as  your- 
self,"  replied  his  nephew.  "  Look  here  at  me ! 
Can  you  see  the  man  of  your  family,  who  has 
more  talent  in  his  little  finger  than  all  the  rest  in 
tlieir  united  brains,  dressed  as  a  police  officer, 
without  being  ashamed  ?  I  took  up  with  this 
trade  on  purpose  to  shame  you.  I  did  n't  think  I 
should  have  to  make  a  capture  in  the  family, 
though." 

"  If  your  debauchery,  and  that  of  your  chosen 
friends,  has  really  brought  you  to  this  level,"  re- 
turned the  old  man,  "  keep  it.  You  are  living 
honestly,  I  hope;    and  that's  something." 

"  Don  't  be  hard  upon  my  chosen  friends,"  re- 
turned Slyme,  "  for  they  were  sometimes  your 
chosen  friends  too.  Don  't  say  you  never  employed 
my  friend  Tigg,  for  I  know  better.  We  quarrelled 
upon  it." 

"  I  hired  the  fellow,"  retorted  Mr.  Chuzzlewit, 
"and   I  paid  him." 

"  It 's  well  you  paid  him,"  said  his  nephew, 
"  for  it  would  be  too  late  to  do  so  now.  He  has 
given  his  receipt  in  full :  or  had  it  forced  from 
him  rather." 

The  old  man  looked  at  him  as  if  he  were 
curious  to  know  what  he  meant,  but  scorned  to 
prolong  their  conversation. 

"  I  have  always  expected  that  he  and  I  would 
be  brought  together  again  in  the  course  of  busi- 
ness," said  Slyme,  taking  a  fresli  handful  of  nuts 
from  his  pocket,  "  but  I  thought  he  would  be 
wanted  for  some  swindling  job;  it  never  entered 
my  head  that  1  should  hold  a  warrant  for  the  ap- 
prehension of  his  murderer." 

"  His  murderer  1"  cried  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  look- 
ing from  one  to  another. 

"  His  or  Mr.  Montague's,"  said  Nadgeft.  "  They 
are  the  same,  I  am  told.  I  accuse  him  yonder  of 
the  murder  of  Mr.  Montague,  who  was  found  last 
night,  killed,  in  a  wood.  You  will  ask  me  why  I 
accuse  him,  as  you  have  already  asked  me  how  I 
know  so  much.  I  '11  tell  you.  It  can't  remain  a 
secret  long." 

The  ruling  passion  of  the  man  expressed  itself 
even  then,  the  tone  of  regret  in  which  he  deplored 
the  approaciiing  publicity  of  what  he  knew. 

"  I  told  you  I  had  watched  him,"  he  proceeded. 
"  I  was  instructed  to  do  so  by  Mr.  Montague,  in 
whose  employment  I  have  been  for  some  time. 
We  had  our  suspicions  of  him ;  and  you  know 
what  they  pointed  at,  for  you  have  been  discussing 
it  since  we  have  been  waiting  here,  outside  the 
room.  If  you  care  to  hear,  now  it 's  all  over,  in 
what  our  suspicions  began,  I  '11  tell  you  plainly  : 
in  a  quarrel  (it  first  came  to  our  ears  through  a 
hint  of  his  own)  betv^'een  him  and  another  office 
in  which  his  father's  life  was  insured,  and  which 
had  so  much  doubt  and  distrust  upon  the  subject, 
that  he  compounded  with  them,  and  took  half  the 
money ;  and  was  glad  to  do  it  Bit  by  bit,  I  fer- 
reted out  more  circumstances  against  him,  and 
not  a  few.  It  required  a  little  patience  ;  but  it 's 
my  calling.  I  tbund  the  nurse — here  slie  is  to 
confirm  me  ;  I  found  the  doctor,  I  found  the  un- 
dertaker's man.  I  found  out  how  the  old  gentle- 
tleman  there,  Mr.  Chuffey,  had  behaved  at  the 
funeral ;  and  I  found  out  what  this  man,"  touching 
Lewsome  on  the  arm,  "had  talked  about  in  his 
fever.  I  found  out  how  he  conducted  himself 
before  his  father's  death,  and  how  since,  and  how 
at  the  time;  and  wrilmg  it  all  down,  and  putting 


it  carefully  together,  made  cnse  enough,  for  Mr 
Montague  to  tax  him  with  the  crnne,  which  (as 
he  himself  believed  until  to-night)  he  had  com- 
mitted. I  was  by  when  this  was  done.  You  see 
him  now.     He  is  only  worse  than  he  was  then.' 

Oh,  miserable,  miserable  fool !  oh,  insupporta- 
ble, excruciating  torture !  To  find  alive  and 
active — a  party  to  it  all — the  brain  and  right-hand 
of  the  secret  he  had  thought  to  crush !  In  whom, 
though  he  had  walled  the  murdered  man  up  by 
enchantment  in  a  rock,  the  story  would  have  lived 
and  walked  abroad  !  He  tried  to  stop  his  cars 
with  his  fettered  arms,  that  he  might  shut  out  the 
rest- 
As  he  crouched  upon  the  floor,  they  drew  aw;iy 
from  him  as  if  a  pestilence  were  in  his  breath. 
They  fell  otF,  one  by  one,  from  that  part  of  the 
room,  leaving  him  alone  upon  the  ground.  Even 
those  who  had  him  in  their  keeping  shunned  him, 
and  (with  the  exception  of  Slyme,  who  was  still 
occupied  with  his  nuts)  kept  apart. 

"  From  that  garret-window  opposite,"  said  Nad- 
gett,  pointing  across  the  narrow  street,  "  I  have 
watched  this  house  and  him  for  days  and  nights. 
From  that  garret-window  opposite  I  saw  him  re- 
turn home,  alone,  from  a  journey  on  which  he 
had  set  out  with  Mr.  Montague.  That  was  my 
token  that  Mr.  Montague's  end  was  gained;  and 
I  might  rest  easy  on  my  watch,  though  I  was  not 
to  leave  it  until  he  dismissed  me.  But,  standing 
at  the  door  opposite,  after  dark  that  same  night,  1 
saw  a  countryman  steal  out  of  this  house,  by  a 
side-door  in  the  court,  who  had  never  entered  it. 
I  knew  his  walk,  and  that  it  was  himself,  dis- 
guised.  I  followed  him  immediately.  I  lost  him 
on  the  western  road,  still  travelling  westward." 

Jonas  looked  up  at  him  for  an  instant  and  mut 
tered  an  oath. 

"  I  could  not  comprehend  what  this  meant," 
said  Nadgett ;  "  but,  liaving  seen  so  much,  I  re 
solved  to  see  it  out,  and  through.  And  I  did. 
Learning,  on  inquiry  at  his  house  from  his  wife, 
that  he  was  supposed  to  be  sleeping  in  the  room 
from  which  I  had  seen  Mm  go  out,  and  that  lie 
had  given  strict  orders  not  to  be  disturbed,  I 
knew  that  he  was  coming  back;  and  for  his 
coming  back  I  watched.  I  kept  my  watch  in  the 
street — in  doorways,  and  such  places — all  that 
night ;  at  the  same  window,  all  next  day  ;  and 
when  night  came  on  again,  in  the  street  once 
more.  For  I  knew  he  would  come  back,  as  he 
had  gone  out,  when  tliis  part  of  the  town  was 
empty.  He  did.  Early  in  the  morning,  the 
same  countryman  came  creeping,  creeping,  creep- 
ing  home" 

"  Look  sharp  1"  interposed  Slyme,  who  had 
now  finished  his  nuts.  "This  is  quite  irregulcir, 
Mr.   Nadgett." 

"  I  kept  at  the  window  all  day,"  said  Nadgett 
without  heeding  him.  "  I  think  I  never  closed 
my  eyes.  At  night,  I  saw  him  come  out  with  a 
bundle.  I  followed  him  again.  He  went  down 
the  steps  at  London  Bridge,  and  sunk  it  in  the 
river.  I  now  began  to  entertain  some  serious 
fears,  and  made  a  communication  to  the  Poller, 
which  caused  that  bundle  to  be — " 

•'  To  be  fished  up,"  interrupted  Slyme.  "  Be 
alive,  Mr.  Nadgett." 

"  It  contained  the  dress  I  had  seen  him  wear, 
said  Nadgett;   "stained  with  clay,  and  spoiled 
with  blood      Information  of  the  murder  was  •••■ 


304 


LIFE  AND  ADVEx^TURES  OF 


ceived  in  town  last  night.  The  wearer  of  that 
dress  is  already  known  to  have  been  seen  near  the 
place ;  to  have  been  lurking  in  that  neighbour- 
hood ;  and  to  have  alighted  from  a  coach  coming 
from  that  part  of  the  country,  at  a  time  exactly 
tallying  with  the  very  minute  when  I  saw  him 
returning  home.  The  warrant  has  been  out,  and 
these  officers  have  been  with  me  some  hours.  We 
chose  our  time ;  and  seeing  you  come  in,  and 
seeing  this  person  at  the  window — " 

"  Beckoned  to  him,"  said  Mark,  taking  up  the 
thread  of  the  narrative,  on  hearing  this  allusion 
to  himself,  "  to  open  the  door ;  which  he  did  with 
a  deal  of  pleasure." 

"That's  all  at  present,"  said  Nadgett,  putting 
up  his  great  pocket-book,  which  from  mere  habit 
he  had  produced  when  he  began  his  revelation, 
and  had  kept  in  his  hand  all  the  time  ;  "  but  there 
is  plenty  more  to  come.  You  asked  me  for  the 
facts  so  far;  I  have  related  them,  and  need  not 
detain  these  gentlemen  any  longer.  Are  you 
ready,  Mr.  Slyme  ?" 

"And  something  more,"  replied  that  worthy, 
rising.  "  If  you  walk  round  to  the  office,  we  shall 
be  there  as  soon  as  you.    Tom  !  Get  a  coach  !" 

The  officer  to  whom  he  spoke  departed  for  that 
purpose.  Old  Martin  lingered  for  a  few  moments, 
as  if  he  would  have  addressed  some  words  to 
Jonas ;  but  looking  round,  and  seeing  him  still 
seated  on  the  floor,  rocking  himself  in  a  savage 
manner  to  and  fro,  took  Chuffy's  arm,  and  slowly 
followed  Nadgett  out.  John  Westlock  and  Mark 
Tapley  accompanied  them,  Mrs.  Gamp  had  tot- 
tered out  first,  for  the  better  display  of  her  feel- 
ings, in  a  kind  of  walking  swoon ;  for  Mrs.  Gamp 
performed  sv/oons  of  diffisrent  sorts,  upon  a  mode- 
rate notice,  as  Mr.  Mould  did  funerals. 

"  Ha :"  muttered  Slyme,  looking  after  them. 
"Upon  my  soul !  As  insensible  of  being  disgraced 
by  having  such  a  nephew  as  myself,  in  such  a 
situation,  as  he  was  of  my  being  an  honour  and  a 
credit  to  the  family  !  That's  the  return  I  get  for 
having  humbled  my  spirit — such  a  spirit  as  mine 
-  —to  earn  a  livelihood,  is  it  ?" 

He  got  up  from  his  chair,  and  kicked  it  away 
indignantly. 

"  And  such  a  livelihood,  too  !  When  there  are 
hundreds  of  men,  not  fit  to  hold  a  candle  to  me, 
rolling  in  carriages  and  living  on  their  fortunes. 
Upon  my  soul  it 's  a  nice  world  !" 

His  eyes  encountered  Jonas,  who  looked  ear- 
nrslly  towards  him,  and  moved  his  lips  as  if  he 
wore  whispering. 

"  Eh?"  said  Slyme. 

Jonas  glanced  at  the  attendant  whose  back  was 
towards  him,  and  made  a  clumsy  motion  with  his 
bound  hands  towards  the  door. 

"  Humph  !"  said  Slyme,  thoughtfully.  "  I 
could  'nt  hope  to  disgrace  him  into  anything  when 
you  have  shot  so  far  ahead  of  me  though.  I  for- 
got that." 

Jonas  repeated  the  same  look  and  gesture. 

"Jack  I"  said  Slyme. 

*•  Hallo !"  returned  his  man. 

"  Go  down  to  the  door,  ready  for  the  coach. 
Call  out  when  it  comes.  I  'd  rather  have  you  there. 
Now  then,"  he  added,  turning  hastily  to  Jonas, 
ivben  the  man  was  gone.  "  What 's  the  mutter  ?" 

Jonas  essayed  to  rise. 

"Stop  a  bit,"  said  Slyme.  "It's  not  so  easy 
when  your  wrists  are  tight  together.  Now  then  ' 
Up'    Wb»tiflit?" 


"  Put  your  hand  in  my  pocket.  Here !  The 
breast-pocket,  on  the  left  I"  said  Jonas. 

He  did  so;  and  drew  out  a  purse. 

"  There  's  a  hundred  pound  in  it,"  said  Jonas, 
whose  words  were  almost  unintelligible;  as  hii 
face,  in  its  pallor  and  agony,  was  scarcely  human. 

Slyme  looked  at  him  ;  gave  it  into  his  hands ; 
and  shook  his  head. 

"  I  can't.  I  daren't.  I  couldn't  if  I  dared. 
Those  fellows  below " 

"  Escape's  impossible,"  said  Jonas.  "  I  know 
it.  One  hundred  pound  for  only  five  minutes  in 
the  next  room  I" 

"  What  to  do  !"  he  asked. 

The  face  of  his  prisoner  as  he  advanced  to 
whisper  in  his  ear,  made  him  recoil  involuntarily. 
But  he  stopped  and  listened  to  him.  The  words 
were  few,  but  his  own  face  changed  as  he  heard 
them. 

"  I  have  it  about  me,"  said  Jonas,  putting  hia 
hands  to  his  throat,  as  though  whatever  he  referred 
to,  were  hidden  in  his  neck-kerchief,  "  How 
should  you  know  of  it  ?  How  could  you  know  ? 
A  hundred  pound  for  only  five  minutes  in  the 
next  room  !     The  time  's  passing.     Speak  1" 

"It  would  be  more  —  more  creditable  to  the 
family,"  observed  Slyrne,  with  trembling  lips, 
"  I  wish  you  hadn't  toid  me  half  so  much.  Less 
would  have  served  your  purpose.  You  might  have 
I,.ept  it  to  yourself" 

"  A  hundred  pound  for  only  five  minutes  in  the 
next  room  '.    Speak  !"  cried  Jonas,  desperately. 

He  took  the  purse.  Jonas,  with  a  wild  un- 
steady step,  retreated  to  the  door  in  the  glass  par- 
tition. 

"Stop!"  cried  Slyme,  catching  nt  his  skirts. 
'•  I  don't  know  about  this.  Yet  it  must  end  so  at 
last.     Are  you  guilty  ?" 

"  Yes  !"  said  Jonas. 

"  Are  the  proofs  as  they  were  told  just  now  7" 

"  Yes  !"  said  Jonas. 

"  Will  you — will  you  engage  to  say  a — a  pray- 
er, or  something  of  that  sort  V"  faltered  Slyme. 

Jonas  broke  from  him  without  replying,  and 
closed  the  door  between  them. 

Slyme  listened  at  the  keyhole.  After  that,  he 
crept  away  on  tiptoe,  as  far  off  as  he  could :  and 
looked  awfully  towards  the  place.  He  was  roused 
by  the  arrival  of  the  coach,  and  their  letting  down 
the  steps. 

"  He 's  getting  a  few  things  together,"  he  said, 
leaning  out  of  window,  and  speaking  to  the  two 
men  below,  who  stood  in  the  full  light  of  a  street- 
lamp.  "  Keep  your  eye  upon  the  back,  one  of 
you,  for  form's  sake." 

One  of  the  men  withdrew  into  the  court.  The 
other,  seating  himself  on  the  steps  of  the  coach, 
remained  in  conversation  with  Slyme  at  the  win- 
dow :  who  perhaps  had  risen  to  be  his  superior, 
in  virtue  of  his  old  propensity  (once  so  much 
lauded  by  the  murdered  man)  of  being  always 
round  the  corner.  A  useful  habit  in  his  present 
calling. 

"  Where  is  he  ?"  asked  the  man. 

Slyme  looked  into  the  room  for  an  instant,  and 
gave  his  head  a  jerk,  as  much  as  to  say,  "Close 
at  hand.     I  see  him." 

"  He 's  booked,"  observed  the  man. 

"  Through,"  said  Slyme. 

They  looked  at  each  other,  and  up  and  down 
the  street.  The  man  on  the  coach-steps  took  hii 
hut  off,  and  put  it  on  again,  and  whistled  a  little 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEVVIT. 


30d 


"I  say!  he  s  taKing  his  time  !"  he  remonsratcd. 

*'  1  allowed  him  five  minutes,"  said  Slyme. 
"  Time's  more  than  up,  though.  I'll  bring  him 
down." 

He  withdrew  from  tlie  window  accordingly, 
and  walked  on  tiptoe  to  tlie  door  in  the  partition. 
He  listened.  There  was  not  a  sound  witiiin.  He 
Bet  tlie  candles  near  it,  tjiut  they  miglit  shine 
urougli  tlie  glass. 

It  was  not  easy,  he  found,  to  make  up  his  mind 
to  the  opening  ot'tlie  door.  But  he  flung  it  wide 
open  suddenly,  and  with  a  noise;  then  retreated. 
Aller  peeping  in  and  listening  again,  he  entered. 

He  stirted  back  as  his  eyes  met  those  of  Jonas, 
standing  in  an  angle  of  tlie  wall,  and  staring  at 
him.  His  neck-kerchief  was  off;  his  face  was 
ashy  pale. 

"*  You're  too  soon,"  said  Jonas,  with  an  abject 
whimper.  "  I've  not  had  time.  I  have  not  been 
able  to  do  it.  I — five  minutes  more — two  minutes 
more  I — Only  one  1" 

Slyme  gave  him  no  reply,  but  thrusting  the 
purse  upon  him  and  forcing  it  back  into  his  pocket, 
called  up  his  men. 


I  He  whined,  and  cried,  and  cursed,  and  entreated 
'  them,  and  struggled,  and  sui)initted,  in  the  same 
breath,  and  had  no  power  to  stand.  But  they  g(jt 
him  away  and  into  the  coach,  where  they  put  him 
on  a  scat,  but  he  soon  fell  moaning  down  among 
the  straw  at  the  bottom,  and  lay  tliere. 

The  two  men  were  with  him ;  Slyme  being  on 
the  box  with  the  driver;  and  they  let  him  li-i. 
Happening  to  pass  a  fruiterer's  on  their  way; 
the  door  of  which  was  open,  though  the  shop  was 
by  this  time  shut ;  one  of  them  remarked  how 
faint  the  peaches  smelt. 

The  other  assented  at  the  moment,  but  pre- 
sently stooped  down  in  quick  alarm,  and  looked 
at  the  prisoner. 

"Stop  the  coach!  He  has  poisoned  himself! 
The  smell  comes  from  this  bottle  in  his  hind  I" 

The  hand  had  shut  upon  it  tight.  With  that 
rigidity  of  grasp  with  which  no  living  rn;in,  in 
the  full  strength  and  energy  of  life,  can  clutch  a 
prize  he  has  won. 

They  dragged  him  out  into  the  dark  street ;  but 
jury,  judge,  and  hangman  could  have  done  no 
more,  and  could  do  nothing  now.  Dead,  dead,  dead. 


CHAPTER  Lll. 

IN  WHICH  THE  TABLES  ARE  TURNED,  COMPLETELY  UPSIDE  DOWxN. 


Old  Martin's  cherished  projects,  so  long  hid- 
den in  his  own  breast,  so  frequently  in  danger 
of  abrupt  disclosure  through  tlie  bursting  forth 
of  the  indignation  he  had  hoarded  up,  during  his 
residence  with  Mr.  Pecksniff,  were  retarded,  but 
not  beyond  a  few  hours,  by  the  occurrences  just 
now  related.  Stunned,  as  he  had  been  at  first  by 
the  intelligence  conveyed  to  him  through  Tom 
Pinch  and  John  Westlock,  of  the  supposed  man- 
ner of  his  brother's  death ;  overwhelmed  as  he 
was  by  the  subsequent  narratives  of  Chuffey  and 
Nadgett,  and  the  forging  of  that  chain  of  circum- 
stances ending  in  the  death  of  Jonas,  of  which 
catastrophe  he  was  immediately  informed ;  scat- 
tered as  his  purposes  and  hopes  were  for  the  mo- 
ment, by  the  crowding  in  of  all  these  incidents 
between  him  und  his  end;  still  their  very  inten- 
sity and  the  tuiault  of  their  assemblage  nerved 
him  to  the  rapid  and  unyielding  execution  of  his 
scheme.  In  every  single  circumstance,  whether 
it  were  crutl,  cowardly,  or  false,  he  saw  the 
flowering  of  the  same  pregnant  seed.  Self; 
grasping,  eager,  narrow-ranging,  over-reaching 
self;  with  its  long  train  of  sus[iicions,  lusts,  de- 
ceits, and  all  tiicir  growing  consequences;  was 
t!ie  root  of  tiie  vile  tree,  Mr.  Pecksniff  had  so 
presented  his  character  before  the  old  man's  eyes, 
that  he — the  good,  the  tolerant,  enduring  Peck- 
sniff— had  become  the  incarnation  of  all  selfish- 
ness and  treachery;  and  the  more  odious  the 
shapes  in  which  those  vices  ranged  themselves 
before  him  now,  the  sterner  consolation  he  had  in 
his  design  of  petting  Mr.  Pecksniff  right,  and 
Mr.  PecksnilT's  victims  too. 

To  this  work  he  brought,  not  only  the  energy 
»nd  determination  natural  to  his  character  (which, 
as  the  reader  may  have  observed  in  the  beginning 
of  his  or  her  acquaintance  with  this  gentleman, 
was  remarkable  tor  the  strong  development  of 
those  qualities),  but  all  the  forced  and  unnatu- 
rally nurtured  energy  consequent  upon  their  long 
3D  2a« 


suppression.  And  these  two  tides  of  resolution 
setting  into  one  and  sweeping  on,  became  so 
strong  and  vigorous,  that,  to  prevent  themselves 
from  being  carried  away  before  it,  Heaviu  knows 
where,  was  as  much  as  John  Westlock  and  Mark 
Tapley  together  (though  they  were  tolerably 
energetic  too),  could  manage  to  effect. 

He  had  sent  for  John  Westlock  immediately 
on  his  arrival;  and  John,  under  the  conduct  of 
Tom  Pinch,  had  waited  on  him.  Having  a  lively 
recollection  of  Mr.  Tapley,  he  had  caused  tliat 
gentleman's  attendance  to  be  secured,  through 
John's  means,  without  delay ;  and  thus,  as  we 
liave  seen,  they  had  all  repaired,  together,  to  the 
city.  But  his  grandson  he  had  refused  to  see 
until  to-morrow,  when  Mr.  Tapley  was  instructed 
to  summon  him  to  the  Temple  at  ten  o'clock  in 
the  forenoon.  Tom  he  would  not  allow  to  be  eirk- 
ployed  in  anything,  lest  he  should  be  wro.iglully 
suspected  ;  but  he  was  a  party  to  all  their  pro- 
ceedings, and  was  with  them  until  late  at  nigiit — 
until  after  they  knew  of  the  death  of  Jonas ; 
when  he  went  home  to  tell  all  these  wonders  to 
little  Ruth,  and  to  prepare  her  for  accomj)  uiying 
him  to  the  Temple  in  the  morning,  agreeably  to 
Mr.  Ciiuzzlewit's  particular  injunction. 

It  was  characteristic  of  old  Martin,  and  his 
looking  on  to  something  which  he  had  distinctly 
before  him,  that  he  communicated  to  them  ni» 
thing  of  his  intentions,  beyond  such  hints  of  rt 
prisal  on  Mr.  Pecksniff  as  they  gathered  Irom  the 
game  he  had  played  in  that  gentleman's  house, 
and  the  brightening  of  his  eyes  wlxjnever  his 
name  was  mentioned.  Even  to  John  Westlock, 
in  whom  he  was  evidently  disposed  to  i)laee  great 
confidence  (which  may  indeed  be  said  of  every 
one  of  them),  he  gave  no  explanation  whatever 
He  merely  requested  him  to  return  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  and  with  this  for  their  utmost  satisfaction, 
they  left  him,  when  tlie  night  was  far  advanced. 
alone. 


30G 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


The  events  dF  such  a  day  might  have  worn 
out  the  body  and  spirit  of  a  much  younger  man 
than  he,  but  he  sat  in  deep  and  painful  medita- 
tion until  the  morning  was  bright.  Nor  did  he 
even  then  seek  any  prolonged  repose,  but  merely 
slumbered  in  his  chair,  until  seven  o'clock,  when 
Mr.  Tupky  had  appointed  to  come  to  him  by  his 
desire :  and  came — as  fresh  and  clean  and  cheer- 
ful as  tlie  morning  itself. 

"You  are  punctual,"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit, 
opening  the  door  to  him  in  reply  to  his  light 
knock,  which  had  roused  him  instantly. 

"  My  wishes.  Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Tapley,  whose 
mind  would  appear  from  the  context  to  have 
been  running  on  the  matrimonial  service,  "  is  to 
love,  honour,  and  obey.  The  clock's  a  striking 
now,  Sir." 
"  Come  in." 

"  Thank''«e,  Sir,"  rejoined  Mr.  Tapley,  "  what 
could  I  do  for  you  first,  Sir  ?" 

"  You  gave  my  message  to  Martin  ?"  said  the  | 
old  man,  bending  his  eyes  upon  him.  | 

"  I  did.  Sir,"  returned  Mark  ;  "  and  you  never 
Bee  a  gentleman  more  surprised  in  all  your  born  ' 
days,  than  he  was."  I 

"  What  more  did  you  tell  him  ?"  Mr.  Chuzzle- 
wit  inquired. 

"  Why,  Sir,"   said    Mr,   Tapley,  smiling,  "  I 
ehould  have   liked  to  tell  him  a  deal  more,  but  I 
not  being  able,  Sir,  I  didn't  tell  it  him."  I 

"  You  told  him  all  you  knew  ?"  | 

"  But  it  was  precious  little.  Sir,"  retorted  Mr. 
Tapley.  "  There  was  very  little  respectin'  you 
that  I  was  able  to  tell  him.  Sir.  I  only  men- 
tioned my  opinion  that  Mr.  Pecksniff  would  find 
himself  deceived,  Sir,  and  that  you  would  find 
yourself  deceived,  and  that  he  would  find  himstif 
deceived.  Sir."  j 

"  In  what  ?"  asked  Mr  Chuzzlewit  i 

"  Meaning  him.  Sir  ?"  | 

"  Meaning  both  him  and  me." 
"  Well,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley.     "  In  your  oid 
opinions  of  each  other.     As  to  him.  Sir,  and  liis 
opinions,  I  know  he's  a  altered  man.    I  know  it  j 
I  know'd  it  long  afore  he  spoke   to  you   t'other 
day,  and    I   must  say  it     Nobody  don't  know  j 
half  as  much  of  him  as  I  do.     Nobody   can't  j 
There  was  always  a  deal  of  good  in  him,  but  a 
little  of  it  got  crusted   over  somehow.     I   can't 
say  who  rolled  the  paste  of  that  'ere  crust  my- 

eelf,  but " 

"  Go  on,"  said  Martin."  "  Why  do  you  stop  ?" 
"  But  it — well  !  I  beg  pardon,  but  I  think  it 
may  have  been  you.  Sir.  Unintentional  I  think 
it  may  have  been  you.  I  don't  believe  that  neither 
of  you  gave  the  other  quite  a  fair  chance.  There  I 
Now  I've  got  rid  on  it,"  said  Mr.  Tapley  in  a  fit 
of  desperation  :  "  I  can't  go  carryin'  it  about  in 
my  own  mind,  bustin'  myself  witli  it;  yesterday 
was  quite  long  enough.  It's  out  now.  I  can't 
help  it  I'm  sorry  for  it  Don't  wisit  it  on  him. 
Sir,  that's  all." 

it  was  quite  clear  that  Mark  expected  to  be 
orcered  out  immediately,  and  was  quite  prepared 
logo. 

"So  you  think,"  said  Martin,  "that  his  old 
&ults  are,  in  some  degree,  of  my  creation,  do 
you  ?" 

"  Well,  Sir,  retorted  Mr.  Tapley,  "  I'm  wery 
•orry,  but  1  can't  uiis;iy  it  It's  hardly  fair  of 
Tnu,  Sir.  \>>  make  a  ignorant  man  cuiiwict  liiui- 


self  in  this  way ;  but  I  do  think  so.  I  am  aa 
respectful  disposed  to  you.  Sir,  as  a  man  can  be  ; 
but  I  do  think  so." 

The  light  of  a  faint  smile  seemed  to  break 
through  the  dull  steadiness  of  Martin's  iict.-,  as 
he  looked  attentively  at  him,  witliout  replying. 

"  Yet  3'ou  are  an  ignorant  man,  you  say, '  he 
observed,  after  a  long  pause. 

"Wery  much  so,"  Mr.  Taplt  y  replied. 
"  And  I  a  learned,  well-inst  ucted  nmn,  you 
think." 

"Likewise  wery  much  so,"  Mr.  Tapley  an- 
swered. 

The  old  man,  with  his  chin  lesting  on  liis 
hand,  paced  the  room  twice  or  thrice  before  he 
added  : 

"  You  have  left  him  this  morning?" 
"Come  straight  from  him  now.  Sir." 
"  For  what :  docs  he  sui)pose  ?" 
"He    don't     know    wot    to    supp.ise.    Sir,    no 
more  than  myself.     I  told  him  jest  wot  passed 
yesterday.  Sir,  and  that    you    had    said   to   me, 
'  Can  you  be  here  by  seven  in  the  mor.iing  ''  and 
that  you  had  said  to  him,  through  me,  '  Can  vou 
be  here  by  ten  in  the  morning  !'  and  tiiat  1  had 
said  '  Yes,'  to  both.     That's  all.  Sir." 

His  frankness  was  so  genuine  that  it  plainlj 
wcis  all. 

"Perhaps,"  said  Martin,  "  he  may  thmk  you 
are  going  to  desert  him  and  to  serve  me  1" 

"  I  Jiave  served  him  in  that  sort  of  wav,  Sir," 
replied  Mark,  without  the  loss  of  any  aiom  of 
his  self-possession  ; '  and  we  iiave  beea  that  sort  of 
companions  in  misfortune,  that  my  opini. -n  ia, 
he  don't  believe  a  word  on  it  No  more  than 
yuu  do,  sir."' 

"  Will  you  help  me  to  dress,  and  get  me  some 
breakfast  from  the  hotel?"  asked  Martin. 
"  With  pleasure.  Sir,"  said   Mark. 
"  And  by-ai)d-by,"  pursued  Martin,  "  remain- 
ing in  the   room,  as  I  wish   you  to  do,  will   yiio 
attend    to   the  door    yonder — give  admission  to 
visitors,  I  mean,  when  they  knock." 
"Certainly,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley. 
"  You   will    not  find   it   neccssaiy  to   express 
surprise  at  their  appearance,"  Alartin  suggesltd. 
"  Oh  dear,  no,  Sir  I"  said  Mr.Ta pley, "  not  at  alL' 
Although  he  pledged  himself  to  this  with   f>tr- 
I  feet  confidence,  he  was  in  a  state  ot'  unbounded 
I  astonishment    even    now.     Martin    apjiearid    to 
observe  it  and  to  have  some   sense  of  the  iiuii- 
crous  bearing  of  Mr.  Tapley  under  these  perples 
ing  circumstances  ;  for,  in   s])ile  of  the  ciniij'O- 
sure  of  his  voice  and  the  gravity  of  liis  fad-,  t.x 
I  same  indistinct  light  flickered  on  tiie  latter  stve- 
ral  times.     Mark  bestirred  himself,  howevi  r,  to 
execute  the  offices  witli  wliich  he  was  entrusted  • 
1  and  soon  lost  all  tendency  to  any  outward   vt 
pression  of  his  surprise,  in    the  occupation  --f 
being  brisk  and  busy. 

But  when  he  had  put  Mr.  Cluizzlewit's  clothes 
in  good  order  tor  dressing,  and  when  that  gentle- 
man was  dressed  and  sitting  at  his  breaktiist, 
.Air.  Tapley's  feelings  of  wonder  began  to  n  turn 
upon  hiin  with  great  violence;  and,  standing 
beside  tlie  old  man  witii  a  napkin  under  his  ar.n 
(it  was  as  natural  and  easy  a  joke  to  Mark  ti>  bo 
a  butler  in  the  Temple,  as  it  had  been  to  v.aiM- 
iter  as  cook  on  board  the  Screw),  he  found  it 
diflunilt  to  resist  the  temptation  of  casting  side- 
long glances  at  him  very  often.     Nay,  he   found 


MARTIN   CHtJZZLEVVIT. 


307 


It  Impossible  ;  and  according'ly  yielded  to  this 
impulse  su  ofltn,  that  M  irtin  cau|iht  him  in  tlie 
fact  some  fifty  times.  The  extraordinary  things 
Mr.  Taplcy  did  with  iiis  own  face  when  any  of 
tliese  detections  occurred  ;  the  sudden  occasions 
h'-  liad  to  rub  his  eyesor  liis  nose  or  chin ;  the  took 
of  wisdom  with  which  he  immediately  i)Iunged 
into  the  deepest  thought,  or  became  intensely  inte- 
rested in  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  flies 
Upon  the  ceiling',  or  the  sparrows  out  of  doors  ; 
ar  the  overwhelming  politeness  with  which  he 
endeavoured  to  hide  his  confusion  by  handing 
the  muffin  ;  may  not  unreasonably  be  assumed 
to  have  exercised  the  utmost  power  of  featura 
tliat  even  Martin  Chuzzlewit  the  elder  possessed. 

But  he  sat  perfectly  quiet,  and  took  his  break- 
fast at  his  leisure,  or  made  a  show  of  doing  so,  for 
he  scarcely  ate  or  drank,  and  frequently  lapsed 
into  long  intervals  of  musing.  When  he  had 
finished,  Mark  sat  down  to  his  breakfast  at  the 
Bame  table;  and  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  quite  silent  still, 
walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

Mark  cleared  away  in  due  course,  and  set  a 
chair  out  for  him,  in  which,  as  the  time  drew  on 
towards  ten  o'clock,  he  took  his  seat,  leaning  his 
hands  upjn  his  stick,  and  clenching  them  upon 
tlie  handle,  and  resting  his  chin  on  thorn  again. 
All  his  impatience  and  abstraction  of  manner 
had  vanished  now  ;  and  as  he  sat  there,  looking, 
with  hia  keen  eyes,  steadily  towards  the  door, 
Mark  cuald  not  help  thinking  what  a  firm,  square, 
powerful  face  it  'was ;  or  exulting  in  the  thought 
that  Mr.  Pecksniff,  after  playing  a  pretty  long 
game  of  bowls  with  its  owner,  seemed  to  be  at 
last  in  a  very  fair  way  of  coming  in  for  a  rubber 
or  two. 

Mark's  uncertainty  in  respect  of  what  was 
going  to  be  done  or  said,  and  by  whom  to  whom, 
would  have  excited  him  in  itself.  But  knowing 
for  a  certainty,  besides,  that  young  Martin  was 
coming,  and  in  a  very  few  minutes  must  arrive, 
he  found  it  by  no  means  easy  to  remain  quiet  and 
silent.  But,  excepting  that  he  occasionally 
coughed  in  a  hollow  and  unnatural  manner  to 
relieve  himself,  he  behaved  with  great  decorum 
through  the  longest  ten  minutes  he  had  ever 
known. 

A  knock  at  the  door.  Mr.  Westlock.  Mr.  Tap- 
ley,  in  admitting  him,  raised  his  eyebrows  to  tiie 
highest  possible  pitch,  implying  thereby  thit  he 
considered  himself  in  an  unsatisfactory  position. 
Ml.  Chuzzlewit  received  him  very  courteously. 

Mark  waited  at  the  door  for  Tom  Pinch  and 
his  sister,  who  were  coming  up  the  stairs.  The 
old  man  went  to  meet  them;  took  her  hands  in 
his;  and  kissed  heron  the  cheek.  As  this  looked 
promisingly,  Mr.  Tapley  smiled  benignantly. 

Mr.  Chuzzlewit  had  resumed  his  chair,  before 
young  Martin,  who  was  close  behind  them,  en- 
entered.  The  old  man,  scarcely  looking  at  him, 
pomted  to  a  distant  seat.  This  was  less  encour- 
aging; and  Mr.  Tiipley's  spirits  fell  again. 

He  was  nuickly  summoned  to  the  door  by  an- 
other knojk.  He  did  not  start,  or  cry,  or  tumble 
down,  at  sight  of  Miss  Graham  and  Mrs.  Lupin  ; 
but  he  drew  a  very  long  breath,  and  came  back 
perfectly  resigned,  looking  on  them  and  on  tiie 
rest  with  an  expression  which  seemed  to  say  that 
nothing  could  surprise  him  any  more,  and  that  he 
was  rather  glad  to  have  done  with  that  sensation 
£>r  ever.  ] 


The  old  man  received  Mary  no  less  tenderly 
than  he  had  received  Tom  Pinch's  sister.  A  lock 
of  friendly  recognition  passed  between  himself 
and  Mrs.  Lupin,  which  implied  the  existence  ot' a 
perfect  under.slaiuling  between  them.  It  engen- 
dered no  iistonishment  in  Mr.  Tapley;  for,  as  he 
aflerwards  observed,  he  had  retired  from  the  bus^ 
ness,  and  sold  off  the  stock. 

Not  tlie  least  curious  feature  in  this  as^enw 
blage  was,  that  everybody  present  was  so  much 
surprised  and  embarrassed  by  the  sight  of  every- 
body else,  that  nobody  ventured  to  .speak.  Mr. 
Chuzaiewit  alone  broke  silence. 

"Set  the  door  open,  Mark  1"  he  said;  "an J 
come  here." 

Mark  obeyed. 

The  last  appointed  footstep  sounded  now  upon 
the  stairs.  'I'liey  all  knew  it.  It  was  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff's; and  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  in  a  hurry,  too, 
for  he  came  bounding  up  with  such  uncommon 
expedition  that  he  stumbled  twice  or  thrice. 

"  Where  is  my  venerable  friend !"  he  cried,  up- 
on the  upper  landing ;  and  then  with  open  arms 
came  darling  in. 

Old  Martin  merely  looked  at  him ;  but  Mr. 
PecksnifT  started  back  as  if  he  had  received  the 
charge  of  an  electric  battery. 

"My  venerable  friend  is  well?"  cried  Mr. 
Pecksniff. 

"Quite  well." 

It  seemed  to  reassure  the  anxious  inquirer.  He 
clasped  his  hand,  and,  looking  upward  with  a 
pious  joy,  silently  expressed  his  gratitude.  He 
then  looked  round  on  the  assembled  group,  and 
shook  his  head  reproachfully.  For  such  a  man 
severely,  quite  severely. 

"  Oh,  vermin !"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff.  "  Oh, 
blood-suckers !  Is  it  not  enough  that  you  have 
embittered  the  existence  of  an  individual,  wholly 
unparalleled  in  the  biographical  records  of  amia- 
ble persons  ;  but  must  you  now,  even  now,  when 
he  has  made  his  election,  and  reposed  his  trust  in 
a  Nurnble,  but  at  least  sincere  and  disinterested 
relative;  nmst  you  now,  vermin  and  swarmers  (I 
regret  to  make  use  of  these  strong  expressions, 
my  dear  Sir,  but  there  are  times  when  honest  in- 
dignation will  not  be  controlled),  must  you  now, 
vermin  and  swarmers  ffor  I  will  repeat  it), 
taking  advantage  of  his  unprotected  state,  assem- 
ble around  him  from  all  quarters,  as  wolves  and 
vultures,  and  other  animals  of  the  featherec" 
tribe  assemble  round  —  I  will  not  say  round  car- 
rion or  a  carcass,  for  .'Mr.  C'huzzlcvvit  is  quite  the 
contrary —  but  round  their  prey  ;  their  prey;  to 
rifle  and  despoil ;  gorging  their  voracious  maws, 
and  staining  their  offensive  beaks,  with  every  de 
scription  of  carnivorous  enjoyment!" 

As  he  stopi)ed  to  fetch  his  breath,  he  waved 
them  off,  in  a  solemn  manner,  with  his  hand 

"  Horde  of  unnatural  [)lunderers  and  robbers  :" 
he  continued;  "Leave  him!  leave  him,  I  say! 
Begone!  Abscond!  You  had  better  be  off! 
Wander  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  young  Sirs^ 
like  vagabonds  as  you  are,  and  do  not  presume  to 
remain  in  a  spot  which  is  hallowed  by  the  gray 
hairs  of  the  patriarchal  gentleman  to  whose  tot- 
terinfif  limbs  I  have  the  honour  to  act  as  an  un 
worthy,  but  I  hope  an  unassuming,  prop  and  staff 
.\nd  you,  my  tender  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniff,  ad- 
dressing himself  in  a  \one  of  gentle  remonstnanco 
to  the  old  man,  "  how  could  you  ever  leave  m«. 


308 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF 


though  even  for  this  short  period  !  You  have  ab- 
sented youisth',  I  do  n(jt  doubt,  upon  some  act  of 
kindness  to  nie;  bless  you  lor  it:  but  you  must 
not  do  it;  you  must  not  be  so  venturesome.  I 
phould  really  be  angry  witli  you  if  1  could,  my 
friend  1" 

He  advanced  with  outstretched  arms  to  take 
the  old  man's  hand.  But  he  had  not  seen  how 
tiie  hand  clasped  and  clutched  the  stick  within  its 
giasp.  As  he  came  smiling  on,  and  got  within 
his  reach,  old  Martin,  with  his  burning  indigna- 
tion crowded  into  one  vehement  burst,  and  flash- 
ing out  of  every  line  and  wrinkle  of  his  face,  rose 
up,  and  struck  him  down  upon  the  ground. 

With  such  a  well-directed  nervous  blow,  that 
down  he  went,  as  heavily  and  true  as  if  the 
charge  of  a  Life-Guardsman  had  tumbled  him  out 
of  a  saddle.  And  whether  he  was  stunned  by  the 
shock,  or  only  confused  by  the  wonder  and  novelty 
of  tins  warm  reception,  he  did  not  offer  to  get  up 
ag^ain  ;  but  lay  there,  looking  about  him,  with  a 
disconcerted  meekness  in  his  face  so  enormously 
ridiculous,  that  neither  Mark  Tapley  nor  John 
VVestlock  could  repress  a  smile,  though  both  were 
actively  interposing  to  prevent  a  repetition  ot  the 
blow  ;  which  the  old  man's  gleaming  eyes  and 
vigorous  attitude  seemed  to  render  one  of  the 
most  probable  events  in  the  world. 

"  Drag  him  away !  Take  him  out  of  my  reach !" 
«aid  Martin.  "Or  I  can't  help  it.  The  strong 
restraint  I  have  put  upon  my  hands  has  been 
enough  to  palsy  them.  I  am  not  inaster  of  my- 
s.lf,  while  he  is  within  their  range.  Drag  him 
away  I" 

Seeing  that  he  still  did  not  rise,  Mr.  Tapley, 
without  any  compromise  about  it,  actually  did 
driig-  him  away,  and  slick  him  up  on  the  floor, 
vith  his  back  against  the  opposite  wall. 

"  Hear  me,  rascal  1"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  "  I 
have  summoned  you  here  to  witness  your  own 
work.  I  have  summoned  you  here  to  witness  it,  | 
because  I  know  it  will  be  gall  and  wormvvood  to 
you !  I  have  summoned  you  here  to  witness  it, 
because  I  know  the  sight  of  every  body  here  must 
be  a  dagger  in  your  mean  false  heart  1  VVhatl  j 
do  you  know  me  as  I  am,  at  lastl" 

Mr.  Pecksniff" had  cause  to  stare  at  him,  for  the  I 
triumph  in  his  face  and  speech  and  figure  was  a  | 
sight  to  stare  at. 

"Look  there!"  said  the  old  man,  pointing  at 
bin),  and  appealing  to  the  rest.  "Look  there  I 
And  then — Come  hither,  my  dear  Martin — look 
here!  here  I  here!"  At  every  earnest  repetition 
ol'lhe  word  he  pressed  his  grandson  closer  to  his 
bre.ist." 

''Tlie  passion  I  felt,  Martin,  when  I  dared  not 
do  this,"  he  said,  "was  in  the  blow  I  struck  just 
now.  Why  did  we  ever  part!  How  could  we 
fv(-r  parti  How  could  you  ever  fly  from  ine  to 
him  ?" 

Martin  was  about  to  answer,  but  he  stopped 
him, and  went  on. 

"Tlie  fault  was  mine  no  less  than  yours.  Mark 
lias  told  me  so  to-day,  and  I  have  known  it  long; 
liiou^h  not  so  long  as  I  might  have  done.  Mary, 
my  love,  come  here. 

As  she  trembled  and  was  very  pale,  he  sat  her 
in  his  own  chair,  and  stood  beside  it  with  her 
liand  in  his;  and  Martin  standing  by  him. 

"The  curse  of  our  house,"  said  the  old  man, 
touking  kindly  down  upon  her,  "  iias   been  the 


love  of  self;  has  ever  been  the  love  oC  self.  How 
often  liave  I  said  so,  when  I  never  knew  that  I 
had  wrought  it  upon  others!" 

He  drew  one  hand  through  Martin's  arm,  and 
standing  so,  between  them,  proceeded  thus : 

"You  all  know  how  1  bred  this  orphan  up,  tt. 
tend  me.  None  of  you  can  know  by  what  degrees 
I  have  come  to  regard  her  as  a  daughter;  for 
she  has  won  upon  me,  by  her  self-forgetfulness, 
her  tenderness,  her  patience,  all  the  goodness  of 
her  nature,  wi)en  Heaven  is  her  witness  that  I 
took  but  little  pains  to  draw  it  forth.  It  blossomed 
without  cultivation,  and  it  ripened  without  heaU 
I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  say  that  1  am  sorry 
for  it  now,  or  yonder  fellow  might  be  holding  up 
his  head." 

Mr.  Pecksniff"  put  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat, 
and  slightly  shook  that  part  of  him  to  which  allu- 
sion had  been  made:  as  if  to  signify  that  it  was 
still  uppermost. 

"There  is  a  kind  of  selfishness,"  said  Martin  : 
"  I  have  learned  it  in  my  own  experience  of  n>y 
own  breast:  which  is  constantly  upon  the  watch 
for  selfishness  in  others;  and  holding  others  at  a 
distance  by  suspicions  and  distrusts,  wonders  why 
they  don't  approach,  and  don't  confide,  and  calls 
that  selfishness  in  them.  Thus  I  once  doubted 
those  about  me  —  not  without  reason  in  the  be- 
ginning— and  thus  I  once  doubted  you,  Martin." 

"Not  without  reason,"  Martin  answered; 
"either." 

"  Listen,  hypocrite  !  Listen,  smooth-tongued, 
servile,  crawling  knave  !"  said  Martin.  "  Listen, 
you  shallow  dog.  What!  Wiien  I  was  seeking 
him,  you  had  already  spread  your  nets ;  you  were 
already  fishing  for  liirn,  were  ye?  When  I  lay 
ill  in  this  good  woman's  house,  and  your  meek 
spirit  pleaded  for  my  grandson,  you  had  already 
caught  him,  had  ye  ?  Counting  on  the  restora- 
tion  of  the  love  you  knew  1  bore  him,  you  designed 
him  for  one  of  your  two  daughters,  did  ye?  Or 
failing  that,  you  traded  in  him  as  a  speculation 
which  at  any  rate  should  blind  me  with  the  lustre 
of  your  charity,  and  found  a  claim  upon  me  I 
Why,  even  then  I  knew  you,  and  I  told  you  so.' 
Did  I  tell  you  that  I  knew  you,  even  then  ?" 

"  I  am  not  angry,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Pecksniif, 
softly.  "  I  can  bear  a  great  deal  from  you.  I 
will  never  contradict  you,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit." 

"  Observe  !"  said  Martin,  looking  round.  "  I 
put  iTiyscIf  in  that  man's  hands  on  terjns  as 
mtan  and  base,  and  as  degrading  to  himself  as  I 
could  ."-ender  them  in  words.  I  stated  them  at 
length  to  him,  bef<)re  his  own  children,  syllable 
by  syllable,  as  coarsely  as  I  could,  and  willi  as 
nmch  olTence,  and  with  as  plain  an  exposition  ot 
my  conti;mpt,  as  words — not  looks  and  manners 
merely — could  convey.  If  I  had  only  called  llio 
angry  blood  into  his  face,  I  would  have  wavered  m 
my  purp^ise.  If  I  had  only  stung  him  into  bemg 
a  man  for  a  minute  I  would  have  abandoned  it 
If  he  had  offered  me  one  word  of  remonstrance, 
in  favour  of  the  grandson  whom  he  supposed  I 
had  disinherited ;  if  he  had  pleaded  with  mc, 
though  never  so  faintly,  against  my  appeal  to  him 
to  abandon  him  to  misery  and  cast  hin»  from  his 
house  ;  I  think  I  could  have  borne  with  him  for 
ever  afterwards.  Hut  not  a  word,  not  a  word. 
Pandering  to  the  worst  of  human  passions  wa» 
the  office  of  his  nature;  and  faithfully  he  did  hia 
work!" 


Warm  reception  of  Mr  Pecksnifl'  by  his  vcuevablf  friend. 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


309 


"I  an«   not  angry,"  observed    Mr.  Pecksniff. 
"I  am   hurt,  Mr.  Chuzzlcwit :  wounded   in   my 
feelings  :  but  I  am  not  angry,  my  good  sir." 
Mr.  t.'huzzlewit  resumed. 

"  Once  resolved  to  try  him,  I  was  resolute  to 
pursue  the  trial  to  the  end  ;  but  while  1  was  bent 
jn  fathoming  the  depth  of  his  duplicity,  I  made 
i  sacred  compact  with  myself  that  1  would  give 
oim  credit  on  the  other  side  for  any  latent  spai  k  of 
(fcodness,  honour,  forbearance — any  virtue — that 
might  glimmer  in  htin.  From  first  to  last,  there 
has  been  no  such  thing.  Not  once.  He  cannot 
eny  I  have  not  given  him  opportunity.  He  can- 
not s.iy  I  have  ever  led  him  on.  ?Ie  cannot  say 
1  liave  not  left  him  freely  to  himself  in  all  things; 
or  that  I  have  not  been  a  passive  instrument  in 
his  hands,  which  he  might  have  used  for  good  as 
easily  as  evil.  Or  if  he  can,  he  lies  !  And  that's 
his  nature  too. 

"  Mr.  (^huzzlewit,"  interrupted  Pecksniff,  shed- 
ding tears ;  "  I  am  not  angry,  sir.  I  cannot  be 
angry  with  you.  But  did  you  never,  my  dear 
sir,  express  a  desire  that  the  unnatural  young 
man  who  by  his  wicked  arts  has  estranged  your 
good  opinion  from  me,  for  the  time  being:  only 
for  the  time  being:  that  your  grandson,  Mr. 
Chuzzlewit,  should  be  dismissed  my  house  ? 
Recollect  yourself,  my  Christian  friend." 

"  I  have  said  so,  have  1  not?"  retorted  the  old 
man  sternly.  "  I  could  not  tell  how  far  your 
specious  hypocrisy  had  deceived  him,  knave;  and 
knew  no  better  way  of  opening  his  eyes  than  by 
presenting  you  before  him  in  your  own  servile 
character.  Yes.  I  did  express  that  desire.  And 
you  leaped  to  meet  it ;  and  you  met  it;  and  turn- 
ing in  an  instant  on  the  hand  you  had  licked  and 
bcblaveied,  as  only  such  hounds  ran,  you  strength- 
ened, and  confirmed,  and  justified  me  in  my 
scheme." 

Mr.  Pecksniff  made  a  bow;  a  submissive,  not 
to  Say,  a  grovelling  and  an  abject  bow.  If  he 
Lad  been  complimented  on  his  practice  of  the 
loftiest  virtues,  he  never  could  have  bowed  as  he 
bowed  then. 

"  The  wretched  man  who  has  been  murdered," 
Mr.  t^huzzlewit  went  on  to  say  ;  "  then  passing 
by  the  name  of — " 

•'Tigg,"  suggested  Mark. 

"OfTigg,  brought  begging  messages  to  me, 
on  behalf  of  a  friend  of  his,  and  an  unworthy 
relative  of  mine;  and  finding  him  a  man  well 
enough  suited  to  my  purpose,  I  employed  him  tn 
glef.n  some  news  of  you,  Martin,  for  me.  It 
was  from  him  I  learned  that  you  had  taken  up 
yr)nr  nbode  with  yonder  fellow.  It  wns  he,  who 
meeting  you  here,  in  town,  one  evening — you 
rcfnemlier  where?" 

"At  the  pawnbroker's  shop,"  said  Martin. 
"  Yes ;  watched  you  to  your  lodging,  and  ena- 
bled me  to  send  you  a  bank  note." 

"  1  lateJy  thought,"  said  .Martin,  greatly  moved, 
"that  it  had  come  from  you.  I  little  thought 
that  you  were  interested  in  my  fate.  If  I  had — " 
"  if  you  had,"  returned  the  old  man,  sorrow- 
fully, "you  (Aould  have  shown  less  knowlidireof 
me  as  I  seemed  to  be,  and  as  I  really  was.  I 
htiped  to  biing  you  back,  Martin,  penitent  and 
humbled.  I  hoped  to  distress  you  into  coming 
back  to  me.  Mui-h  as  I  loved  you,  I  had  th;it 
to  acknowledge  which  I  could  not  reconcile  it  to 
myself  to  avow  then,  unless  \  ou  made  suhiiiission 
to  me.  first.     T^ius  i    »us  I  lost  you.     if  I  have 


had,  indirectly,  any  act  or  part  in  the  f^ite  of  that 
unhappy  man,  by  putting  means,  however  small, 
within  his  reach,  Heaven  tc^rgive  me  1  I  mi'.'lit 
have  known,  perhaps,  that  he  would  iiii-u.sc 
money;  that  it  was  ill  bestowed  upon  him;  and 
that,  sown  by  his  hands,  it  could  engender  mis. 
chief  only.  But  I  never  thought  of  him  at  that 
time,  as  having  the  disposititin  or  ability  to  be  a. 
serious  impostor,  or  otherwise  than  as  a  thought- 
less, idle-humoured,  dissipated  spcndthritl,  sin- 
ning more  against  himself  than  others,  and  fre- 
quenting low  haunts  and  indulging  vicious  tastes, 
to  his  own  ruin  only." 

"  Beggin'  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley, 
who  had  Mrs.  Lupin  on  his  arm  by  this  time, 
quite  agreeably ;  "  if  I  may  make  so  bold  as  say 
so,  my  opinion  is,  as  you  was  quite  correct,  and 
that  he  turned  out  perfectly  nat'ral  for  all  that. 
There's  a  surprising  number  of  men,  sir,  who,  as 
long  as  they've  only  got  their  own  shoes  and 
stockings  to  depend  upon,  will  walk  down-hill 
along  the  gutters  quiet  enough,  and  by  them- 
selves,  and  not  do  much  harm.  But  set  any  on 
'em  up  with  a  coach  and  horses,  sir ;  and  it's 
wonderful  what  a  knowledge  of  drivin'  he'll 
show,  and  how  he'll  fill  his  wehicle  with  passen- 
gers, and  start  off  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  neck 
or  nothing,  to  the  devil !  Bless  your  heart,  sir, 
there's  ever  so  many  Tiggs  a  passing  this  here 
Temple  gate  any  hour  in  the  day,  that  only  want 
a  chance  to  turn  out  full-blown  Montagues  every 
one  1" 

"  Your  ignorance,  as  you  call  it,  Mark,"  said 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  "is  wiser  than  some  nun's  en- 
liglitenment,  and  mine  among  them.  You  are 
right;  not  for  the  first  time  to-day.  Now  hear 
me  out,  my  dears.  And  hear  me,  you,  who,  if 
what  I  have  been  told  be  accuralely  stated,  are 
bankrupt  in  pocket  no  less  than  in  good  name! 
And  when  you  have  heard  me,  leave  this  place, 
and  poison  my  sight  no  more  I" 

Mr.  Pecksniff  Jaid  his  hand  upon  his  breast, 
and  bowed  again. 

"The  penance  I  have  done  in  this  house," 
said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  "  has  carried  this  reflection 
with  it  constantly,  above  all  others.  That  if  it 
had  f)leased  Heaven  to  visit  such  infirmity  on 
my  old  a^e  as  really  had  reduced  me  to  the  state 
in  which  I  feigned  to  be,  I  should  have  broufrlit 
its  misery  upon  myself.  Oh  you  whose  wealth, 
like  mine,  hiis  been  a  source  of  continual  uiiiiap- 
piness,  leading  you  to  distrust  the  nearest  and 
dearest,  and  to  dig  yourself  a  living  grave  of  sus. 
picion  and  reserve ;  take  heed  that,  having  c.ist 
off  all  whom  you  mii^lit  have  bound  to  you,  airl 
tenderly,  vou  do  not  become  in  your  decay  t!ie 
instrument  of  such  a  man  as  this,  and  waken  in 
another  world  to  the  knowledge  of  such  wrong, 
as  would  embitter  Heaven  itself,  if  wrong  or  you 
could  ever  reach  it !" 

And  then  he  told  them,  how  ho  had  .sometimes 
thought,  in  the  bcwinniug,  that  love  mi^-ht  grow 
up  between  Mary  and  .Martin  ;  and  how  he  h.id 
pleased  his  fancy  with  the  picture  of  observing 
it  when  it  w  is  new,  and  taking  them  to  task, 
apart,  in  counterfeited  doubt,  and  then  confessing 
to  them  that  it  had  been  an  object  dear  to  his 
heart;  and  by  his  synijiathy  with  them,  ami 
generous  |irovision  for  their  young  fbrtune* 
establishing  a  claim  on  their  atfection  and  re- 
gard which  not  "ling  should  wither,  and  whicb 
should  surround  his  old  age  with  means  o*"  lui>- 


310 


LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF 


pineBS.  How,  in  the  first  dawn  of  tliis  design, 
and  when  the  pleasure  of  such  a  scheme  for  the 
happiness  of  others  was  new  and  indistinct 
within  him,  Martin  had  come  to  tell  him  that  he 
had  already  chosen  for  himself;  knowing  that 
he,  the  old  man,  had  some  faint  project  on  that 
head,  but  ignorant  whom  it  cone  erned.  How  it 
was  little  comfort  to  him  to  know  that  Martin 
had  chos(;n  her,  because  the  grace  of  his  design 
was  lost,  and  because,  finding  that  she  had  re- 
turned his  love,  he  tortured  himself  with  the 
reflection  that  they,  so  young,  to  whom  he  had 
been  so  kind  a  benefactor,  were  already  like  the 
world,  and  bent  on  their  own  selfish,  stealthy 
ends.  How,  in  the  bitterness  of  this  impression, 
and  of  his  past  experience,  he  had  reproached 
Martin  so  harshly,  (forgetting  that  he  had  never 
invited  his  confidence  on  such  a  point,  and  con- 
founding  what  he  had  meant  to  do  with  what  he 
had  done,)  that  high  words  sprung  up  between 
them,  and  they  separated  in  wrath.  How  he 
loved  him  still,  and  hoped  he  would  return. 
How  on  the  night  of  his  illness  at  the  Dragon, 
.he  had  secretly  written  tenderly  of  him,  and 
made  him  his  heir,  and  sanctioned  his  marriage 
with  Mary;  and  how,  after  iiis  interview  with 
Mr.  PecksnitT,  he  had  distrusted  him  again,  and 
burnt  the  paper  to  ashes,  and  had  lain  down  in 
his  bid  distracted  by  suspicions,  doubts,  and 
regrets. 

And  then  he  told  them  how,  resolved  to  probe 
this  Pecksniff,  and  to  prove  the  constancy  and 
truth  of  Mary  (to  himself  no  less  than  Martin), 
he  had  conceived  and  entered  on  his  plan ;  and 
how,  beneath  her  gentleness  and  patieuce,  he  liad 
softened  m.jre  and  more  ;  still  more  and  more 
beneath  the  goodness  and  simplicity,  t!ie  honour 
and  the  manly  faith  of  Tom.  And  when  bespoke 
of  Tom,  he  said  God  bless  him  I  and  the  tears 
were  in  his  eyes;  for  he  said  that  Tom,  niis- 
tnisti  d  and  disliked  by  him  at  first,  had  come 
hke  summer  rain  upon  his  heart;  and  had  dis- 
posed it  to  believe  in  better  things.  And  Martin 
toiik  him  by  tlie  hand,  and  Mary  too,  and  John, 
his  (lid  friend,  stoutly  too  ;  and  Mark,  and  .Mrs. 
Lupin,  and  his  sister,  little  Ruth.  And  peace  of 
mind,  deep,  tranquil  peace  of  mind,  was  in  Tom's 
heart. 

The  old  man  then  related  how  nobly  Mr.  Peek- 
snift"  liad  performed  the  duty  in  which  he  stood 
indebted  to  .society,  in  the  matter  of  Tom's  dis- 
missal ;  and  how,  having  often  heard  dis])arage- 
ineiit  of  Mr.  Westlock  from  Peclisnillian  li[)s, 
and  Knowing  him  to  bo  a  friend  to  Toui,  he  iiad 
us(  (l,tlirough  his  confidential  agint  and  solicitor, 
that  little  artifice  which  had  kept  him  in  readi- 
ness to  receive  his  unknown  friend  in  London. 
And  he  called  on  Mr.  Pecksniff  (by  the  name  of 
Scoundrel)  to  remember  that  tlierc  again  he  had 
niit  trapped  him  Id  <Io  evil,  but  that  he  liad  done 
it  of  his  own  tree  will  and  agency;  nay,  that  lie 
had  cautioned  him  against  it.  Ami  once  again 
he  caile<i  on  Mr.  Peek.sniff(by  the  name  of  Hang- 
dog) to  reineiiiber  that  wh(;n  Martin  coming 
home  n*.  list,  an  a.iercd  man,  iiad  sued  fo*-  the 
fcrgivenesK  which  awaited  him,  he,  Pecksnift*, 
h?i.d  rejected  him  in  language  of  his  i.>vn,  and 
had  remor.selcssly  stepped  in  hclwcen  him  and 
the  least  touch  of  natural  tenderness.  "  Por 
•vhich,"  said  the  old  man,  "if  the  tiendinL''  of  my 
(iiiger  would-  remove  a  halter  (n)ii)  your  neck,  I 
wouldn't  bend  it  I" 

•*  Mnrtui  "  hn  added.  "  your  rival  has  not  l)ccn 


a  dangerous  one,  but  Mrs.  Lupin  here,  has  pliyed 
duenna  for  some  weeks  ;  not  so  much  to  watch 
your  love  as  to  watch  her  lover.  For  thatGhoule" 
— his  fertility  in  finding  names  for  Mr.  Pecksniff 
was  astonishing — "  would  have  crawled  into  iier 
daily  walks  otherwise,  and  polluted  the  fresh  aiiSi 
What's  this?  Her  hand  is  trembling  strangely. 
See  if  you  can  hold  it." 

Hold  it !     If  he  clasped   it  halt   as  tightly  as 

he  did  her  waist. Well,  well !     That's  dan 

gerous. 

But  it  was  good  in  him  that  even  then,  in  his 
high  fortune  and  happiness,  with  her  lips  nearly 
printed  on  his  own,  and  her  proud  young  beauty 
in  his  close  embrace,  he  had  a  hand  still  left  tf 
stretch  out  to  Tom  Pinch. 

"  Oh,  Tom  !  Dear  Tom  !  1  saw  you,  acciden 
tally,  coming  here.     Forgive  me  !" 

"  Forgive  !"  cried  Tom.  "  Pll  never  forgive  yx)0 
as  long  as  I  live,  Martin,  if  you  say  another  syl- 
lable  about  it.  Joy  to  you  both  !  Joy,  my  dear 
fellow,  fifty  thousand  times." 

Joy  !  There  is  not  a  blessing  on  earth  that 
Tom  did  not  wish  them.  There  is  not  a  blessing 
on  earth  that  Tom  would  not  have  bestowed  upon 
them,  if  he  could. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley, 
stepping  forward  ;  "  but  you  was  mentionin',  just 
now,  a  lady  of  the  name  of  Lupin,  Sir." 

"  I  was,"  returned  old  Martin. 

"  Yes,  Sir.     It's  a  pretty  name.  Sir  ?" 

"  A  very  good  name,"  said  Martin. 

"  It  seems  a'rnost  a  pity  to  change  such  a 
name  into  Tapley.     Don't  it.  Sir  ?"  said  Mark. 

"  That  depends  upon  the  lady.  What  is  her 
opinion  ?" 

"  Why,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tapley,  retiring,  with  a 
bow,  towards  the  buxom  hostess,  "  her  opinion  is 
as  the  name  ain't  a  change  tor  the  better,  but  the 
indiwidual  may  be  ;  and  therefore,  if  nobody 
ain't  acquainted  v^'ith  no  jest  cause  or  impedi. 
inent,  et  cetrer,  the  Blue  Dragon  will  be  con- 
wertcd  into  the  Jolly  Tapley.  A  sign  of  uiy 
own  inwention,  Sir.  Wery  new,  conwivial,  and 
expressive  I" 

The  whole  of  these  proceedings  were  so  agree- 
able to  Mr.  Pecksniff,  that  he  stood  with  his  eyea 
fixed  upon  the  fioor  and  his  hands  clasping  one 
another  alternately,  as  if  a  ho^t  of  penal  sen- 
tences were  being  passed  upon  him.  Not  only 
did  his  figure  appear  to  have  shrunk,  but  his  dis- 
comfiture seemed  to  have  extended  itsell',  even  to 
i)is  dress.  His  clothes  seemed  to  have  sjrovvn 
shabbier,  his  linen  to  have  turned  yellow,  his  hair 
to  have  become  lank  and  frowsy;  his  very  honta 
looked  villanoiis  and  dim,  as  if  their  gloss  had  de- 
parted  with  his  own. 

Feeling,  rather  than  seeing,  that  the  old  man 
now  pointed  to  the  door,  he  raised  his  eyes,  picked 
up  his  hat,  and  thus  addressed  him: 

"Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  Sirl  you  have  partaken  ol 
my  hospitality." 

"  And  paid  ibr  it,"  he  observed. 

"  Thank  you.  That  savours,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, taking  out  his  pocket-handkerchief,  "of 
your  old  familiar  franluiess.  You  have  paid  f  >r 
it.  I  was  about  to  ni  ike  the  remark.  You  have 
deceived  me.  Sir.  Tiiaiik  you  again.  I  am  glad 
of  it.  Ti)  sec  you  in  the  poss(;ssion  of  your  health 
and  faculties  on  any  terms,  is,  in  itselt',  a  sufR. 
cient  recompense.  To  have  been  deceived,  im- 
plies a  trusting  nature.  Mine  is  a  trusting  na- 
ture.     I  am  thankful  for  i'     1  woMJd  ratlici  iiav« 


MARTIX   CHUZZLEWIT. 


311 


m  trusting  niture,   do  you  know,   Sir,   than    a 
doubting  one  !" 

tlcit  Mr.  Pecksniff,  willi  a  sad  smile,  bowed, 
and  wiped  Jiis  eyes. 

"There  is  hardly  any  person  present,  Mr. 
Chuzzlewit,"  said  Pecksniff,  "  by  wijoni  1  have 
Ttul  been  deceived.  I  have  forgiven  those  persons 
OQ  the  spot.  That  was  my  duly  ;  and,  of  course, 
1  have  done  it.  Whether  it  was  worthy  of  you 
to  puitake  of  my  hospitality,  and  to  acl  the  part 
you  did  act  in  my  house;  that, Sir,  is  a  question 
which  I  leave  to  your  own  conscience.  And 
your  Conscience  does  not  acquit  you.  No,  Sir, 
no  I" 

Pronouncing  these  last  words  in  a  loud  and 
solemn  voice,  Mr.  Pecksniff  was  not  so  absolutely 
lost  in  his  own  fervour  as  to  be  unmindful  of  the 
expediency  of  getting  a  little  nearer  to  the  door. 
"  1  have  been  struck  this  day,"  said  Mr.  Peck- 
sniff, "  with  a  walking-stick,  which  I  have  every 
reason  to  believe  has  knobs  upon  it :  on  that 
delicate  and  exquisite  portion  of  the  human 
anatomy,  the  brain.  Several  blows  have  been 
inflicted.  Sir,  without  a  walking-stick,  upon  lliat 
tenderer  portion  of  my  frame:  my  heart.  You 
have  mentioned.  Sir,  my  being  bankrupt  in  my 
purse.  Yes,  Sir,  I  am.  By  an  unfortunate 
speculation,  combined  with  treachery,  I  find 
myself  reduced  to  poverty ;  at  a  time,  Sir,  when 
the  child  of  my  bosom  is  widowed,  and  alQiction 
and  disgrace  are  in  my  fan)ily." 

Here  Mr.  Pecksniff  wiped  his  eyes  again,  and 
gave  himself  two  or  three  little  knocks  upon  the 
breast,  as  if  lie  were  answering  two  or  three  other 
lilile  knocks  from  within,  given  by  the  tinkling 
liammer  of  his  conscience,  to  express  "  Cheer  up, 
my  boy  1" 

"  1  know  the  human  mind,  although  I  trust 
iL  That  is  my  weakness.  Do  I  not  know,  Sir;" 
here  he  became  exceedingly  plaintive,  and  was 
observed  to  glance  towards  Tom  Pinch  ;  "  that 
my  misfbrtunes  bring  this  treatment  on  me  ?  Do 
I  not  know.  Sir,  that  but  !br  them  I  never  should 
have  heard  what  1  have  heard  to-day  ?  Do  I  not 
know,  tkat  in  the  silence  and  the  solitude  of 
night,  a  little  voice  will  whisper  in  your  ear,  Mr. 
Cliuzzlevvit,  'This  was  not  well.  Tliis  was  not 
well.  Sir  !  Think  of  this,  Sir  (if  you  will  have 
the  goodness),  remote  from  the  impulses  of  pas- 
sion, and  apart  from  the  specialities,  if  I  may  use 
tliat  strung  remark,  of  prejudice.  And  if  you 
ever  contemplate  the  silent  tomb,  Sir,  which  you 
will  excuse  me  for  entertaining  some  doubt  of 
your  doing,  after  the  conduct  into  which  you 
have  allowtd  yourself  to  be  betrayed  this  day  ;  it 
you  ever  contemplate  the  silent  tomb,  Sir,  think 
of  me.  If  y()U  find  yourself  approaching  to  the 
silent  tomb.  Sir,  think  of  me.  1  you  should  wish 
to  have  any  thing  inscribed  ui'on  your  silent 
tomb.  Sir,  let  it  be,  that  I — ah,  my  remorseful 
Sir  I  that  I — the  humble  individual  who  has  now 
the  honour  of  reproaching  you :  forgave  you. 
T'hal  I  tbrguve  you  when  my  injuries  were  fresh, 
and  when  my  bosom  was  newly  wrung.  It  may 
be  bitterness  to  you  to  hear  it  now,  Sir,  but  you 
will  live  to  seek  a  consolation  in  it.  May  you 
find  a  consolation  in  it  when  you  want  it,  Sir ! 
Good  morniog  !" 

With  tliis  sublime  address  Mr.  Pecksniff  dc- 
parted.  15ut  the  effecn)f  his  departure  was  much 
impaired  by  his  loiiig  immediately  afterwards 
ran  against,  and  nearly  knocked  down,  by  a 
inonBtrou8ly.excited  little  man  in  velveteen  sliurts 


and  a  very  triH  h:it ;  who  cnme  burptinir  up  the 
st.irs,  and  str;ii:.iil  into  the  chambers  of  Mr. 
Chiizz  1  wit.  as  it' lie  were  deraiif^eu. 

"Is  llierc  any  body  here  that  knows  hlrn?" 
cried  ilic  little  man.  "Is  there  any  body  he:e 
that  knows  hiin  ?  Oh,  my  bturs,  is  there  any 
body  here  that  knows  him  ?" 

They  loi  ked  at  each  other  for  an  explanation; 
but  nobody  knew  any  thing  more  tlian  thi.t  liere 
was  an  excited  little  man  with  a  very  tall  baton, 
running  in  and  out  of  tlie  room  as  hard  as  he 
could  go  ;  making  his  single  pair  of  bright  blue 
stockings  appear  at  least  a  dozen  ;  and  constantly 
repeating,  in  a  shrill  voice,  "  Js  there  any  body 
here  that  knows  him  ?" 

"  If  j'our  brains  is  not  turned  topjy  turjcy,  Mr. 
Swcedlepipes  1"  exclaiined  another  voice,  "hold 
that  there  nige  of  yourn,  I  beg  you.  Sir." 

At  the  same  lime,  Mrs.  Gamp  was  leen  in  the 
doorway  ;  out  of  breath  from  coming  up  so  many 
stairs,  and  panting  fearfully  ;  but  dropping  curt- 
seys  to  the  last. 

"  Excuge  the  weakness  of  the  man,"  said  Mrs. 
Gamp,  eyeing  Mr.  Sweedlepijie,  with  great  in- 
dignatiori ;  "  and  well  I  might  expect  it,  as  I 
should  have  know'd  and  wishin  he  was  drownded 
in  the  Thames  afore  I  had  brought  him  here, 
which  not  a  blessed  hour  ago  he  nearly  shaved 
the  noge  off  f>om  the  father  of  as  lovely  a  family 
as  ever,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  was  borp  three  sets  of 
twins,  and  would  have  done  it,  tnly  he  see  it 
a  goin  in  the  glass,  and  dodged  the  rager.  And 
never,  Mr.  Sweedlepipes,  1  do  assure  you.  Sir, 
did  I  so  well  know  what  a  inislbrtun  it  was  to 
be  acquainted  with  you,  as  now  I  do,  which  so  I 
say.  Sir,  and  I  don't  deceive  you  ?" 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  ladies  and  gentlemen  all," 
cried  the  little  barber,  taking  off  his  hat,  "  and 
yours  too,  .Mrs.  Gamp.  But — but,"  he  added  this, 
half  lau<rhing  and  half  crying,  " /s  there  any 
body  here  that  knows  him?" 

As  the  barber  said  these  words,  a  something 
in  top-boots,  with  its  head  bandaged  up,  stag, 
gered  into  the  room,  and  began  going  round  and 
round  and  round,  app.ircntly  under  tlie  impres- 
sion  that  it  was  walking  straight  forward. 

"  Look  at  him  1"  cried  the  excited  little  barber 
"  Here  he  is !  That'll  soon  wear  off,  and  then 
he'll  be  all  right  again.  He's  no  more  dead  than 
I  am.  He's  all  alive  and  hearty.  Ain't  you, 
Bailey  ?" 

"  K — r — reether  so.  Poll !"  replied  that  gentle- 
man. 

"  Look  here  1"  cried  the  little  barber,  laughing 
and  cryin:;  in  the  fame  breath.  "Whin  1  steady 
him  he  comes  all  right.  There  !  He's  all  righ* 
now.  Nothiny's  the  matter  with  him  now,  e.v 
cept  that  he's  a  little  shook  and  rather  giddy  ;  is 
there,  Bailey  ?" 

"  R — r — reether  shook.  Poll — reether  so  ! '  said 
Mr.  Bailey.  "  Wliat,  my  lovely  Sairey  1  There 
you  air  1" 

"What  a  boy  he  is!"  cried  the  tender-hearted 
Poll,  actually  sobbing  over  him.  "  I  never  see 
such  a  boy  !  It's  all  his  fun.  He's  full  of  it 
He  shall  go  into  the  business  along  with  me.  I 
am  determined  he  shall.  We'll  make  it  Sweedle 
pipe  and  B.iiley.  He  shall  have  the  sporting 
branch  (what  a  one  he'll  be  lor  the  matches  !> 
and  me  the  shavin'.  Til  make  over  the  birds  tu 
him  as  soon  as  ever  he's  \*  ell  enough.  He  shall 
have  the  little  bullfinrh  in  tlie  shop,  and  all.  He't 
sech  a  uov  '     '  ask  your  pardon,  ladies  and  gea- 


S12 


LIFE   AND   ADVExNTURES   OF 


tlemen,  but,  I  thought  there  might  be  some  one 
toere  that  know'd  timi  1" 

Mrs.  Gafup  hud  observed,  not  without  jealousy 
and  scorn,  tliat  a  t'uvouiable  iiiipn  ssioa  appeared 
to  exist  in  beiialf  of  Mr.  Sweedlepip.'  and  his 
young  iricnd ;  and  ttiat  she  had  lallen  ratlicr 
into  the  bacliground  in  conscqaence.  Siie  now 
struggled  to  llie  iiront,  therefore,  and  stated  her 
business. 

"  Which,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  she  said,  "  is  well 
beknowii  to  Mrs.  Harris  as  has  one  sweet  infant 
(thougii  site  do  not  wisli  it  known)  in  her  own 
family  by  tlie  mother's  side,  kep  in  spirits  in  a 
bottle  ;  and  that  sweet  babe  she  see  at  Green wicii 
Fair,  a  travtllin  in  company  with  the  pink-eyed 
lady,  Prooslian  dwarf,  and  livin  skelinton,  which 
judge  her  feelins  wen  the  barrel  organ  played, 
and  she  was  showed  her  own  dear  sister's  child, 
tlie  same  not  bein  expected  from  the  outside  pic- 
ter,  where  it  was  painted  quite  contrairy  in  a 
livin  state,  a  many  sizes  larger,  and  performing 
beautiful  upon  ihe  Arp,  which  never  did  that 
dear  ciiild  know  or  do :  since  breathe  it  never 
did,  to  speak  on,  in  this  wale!  And  Mrs.  Harris, 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  has  knowed  me  many  year, 
and  can  give  you  informalion  that  the  lady  wliich 
is  widdered  can't  do  better  and  may  do  worse, 
fJian  let  me  wait  upon  her,  which  I  hope  to  do. 
Permittin  the  sweet  faces  as  I  see  afore  me." 

"  Oh  I"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  "  Is  that  your 
business?  Was  this  good  person  paid  for  the 
trouble  we  gave  her  ?" 

"  I  paid  her,  sir,"  returned  Mark  Tapley ; 
"  Hheral." 

"  The  young  man's  words  is  true,"  said 
Mrn.  Gamp,  "  and  thank  you  kindly." 

"  Then  here  we  will  close  our  acquaintance, 
Mrs.  Gamp,"  retorted  Mr.  Cliuzzlewit.  "And 
Mr.  Sweedlepipe — is  tluit  your  name?" 

"That  is  my  name,  sir,"  replied  Poll,  accept- 
ing with  a  profusion  of  gratitude,  some  chinking 
pieces  which  the  old  man  slipped  into  his  hand. 

"  Mr.  Sweedlepipe,  tike  as  much  care  of  your 
lady-lodger  as  you  can,  and  give  her  a  word  or 
two  of  good  advice  now  and  then.  Such,"  said 
old  Martin,  looking  gravely  at  the  astonished 
Mrs.  Gamp,  "  as  hmting  at  the  expediency  of  a 
little  less  liquor,  and  a  little  more  humanity,  and 
a  little  less  regara  for  herseit',  and  a  little  more 


regard  for  her  patients,  and  perhaps  a  ^itle  of 
additional  honesty.  Or  when  Mrs.  Gamp  gets 
into  trouble,  Mr.  Sweedlepipe,  it  had  better  not 
be  at  a  time  when  1  am  near  enough  to  the  Old 
Bailey,  to  volunteer  myself  as  a  witness  to  her 
character.  Endeavour  to  impress  that  upon  her 
at  your  leisure,  if  you  please." 

Airs.  Gamp  clasped  her  hands,  turned  up  her 
eyes  till  they  were  quite  invisible,  threw  back 
her  bonnet  for  the  admission  of  fresh  air  to  her 
heated  brow;  and  in  the  act  of  saying  faintly — 
"  I.ess  liquor  I — Sairey  Gamp  I — Bottle  on  th 
chindi;y.piece,  and  let  me  put  my  lips  to  it  whin 
I  am  so  dispoged  !" — fell  into  one  of  the  walking 
swoons :  in  which  pitiable  state  she  was  con 
ducted  forth  by  Mr.  Sweedlepipe,  who  between 
his  two  patients,  the  swooning  Mrs.  Gamp  and 
the  revolving  Bailey,  had  enough  to  do,  poo  f 
fellowi 

The  old  man  looked  about  him,  with  a  smile- 
until   his   eyes  rested   on    Torn    Pinch's   sister 
when  he  smiled  the  more. 

"  We  will  all  dine  together,"  he  said  ;  "  and  as 
you  and  Mary  have  enough  to  talk  of,  Martin, 
you  shall  keep  house  for  us  until  the  afternoon, 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tapley.  1  must  see  your 
lodgings  in  the  meanwhile,  Tom." 

'I'oin  was  quite  delighted.  So  was  Ruth.  Sire 
would  go  with  them. 

"  Thank  you,  my  love,"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit. 
"  But  I  am  afraid  I  must  take  Tom  a  little  out 
of  'he  way,  on  business.  Suppose  you  go  on 
first,  "ly  dear  ?" 

Pietty  little  Ruth  was  equally  delighted  to  do 
that. 

''  But  not  alone,"  said  Martin,  "  not  alone. 
Mr.  VVestloek,  I  dare  say,  will  escort  you." 

Wliy,  of  course  he  would :  what  else  had 
Mr.  Westlock  in  his  mind  ?  How  dull  these  old 
men  are  1 

"  You  are  sure  you  have  no  engagement?"  he 
persisted. 

Engagement!  As  if  he  could  have  any  en. 
gage  me  lit. 

So  they  went  off  arm  in  arm.  When  Tom 
and  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  went  off  arm  in  arm  a  few 
minutes  after  thein,  the  latter  was  still  smiling: 
and  really,  tor  a  gentleman  of  his  habits,  in 
rather  a  knowing  manner. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 


WHAT  JOIIiV  WKSTLOCK  SAID  TO  TOM  PINCH'S  SISTKR;  WHAT  TOM  PINCH'S  SISTFR 
SAID  TO  JOIIi\  WESTLOCK;  WHAT  TOM  PmCH  SAID  TO  BOTH  OF  THEM;  AAD 
HOW  THEY  ALL  PASSED  THE  REMAINDER  OF  THE  DAY. 


Brilliantly  the  Temple  Fountain  sparkled 
In  the  sun,  and  laughingly  its  liipud  music 
piuyed,  and  merrily  the  idle  drops  of  wuler 
dar'ccd  and  danced,  and  peeping  out  in  spurt 
among  the  trees,  plunged  lightly  down  to  hide 
themselves,  as  little  Ruth  and  her  compmion 
came  towards  it. 

And  why  ihey  came  towards  thi-  Fountain  at 
Dil  is  a  iiiysleiy  ;  fur  they  had  no  liosiness  there. 
It  was  not  in  their  way.  It  w.is  (luilc  out  of 
tlieir  way.  They  had  no  more  to  du  with  the 
Fountain,  bless  you,  than  they  h.ul  with — with 
Love,  or  any  out  of  tlie  way  tfiinf  of  that  sort.. 

It  ivas  all  very  well  for  Torn  and  bis  ^ister  to 
Djiike  appointments  by   the   Fount.uu,  but   that 


was  quite  another  affair.  Because,  of  cour^, 
when  she  had  to  wait  a  minute  or  two,  it  would 
have  been  very  awkward  for  her  to  have  had  'o 
wait  in  any  but  a  tolerably  quiet  spot;  and  that 
was  as  quiet  a  spot,  every  thing  considered,  .:S 
they  could  choose.  But  when  she  had  Jolni 
Wi'stlock  to  take  care  of  her,  and  was  going 
home  with  her  arm  in  his  Jiomc  being  in  a 
ditftrcnt  direction  altogether),  their  evnning  any 
vvlnTc  near  that  Fountain,  was  quite  extra(jr- 
dinaiy. 

However,  there  they  foiWd  themselves.  And 
aiKitlier  exlraordunry  part  a£  the  matter,  was, 
tiril  lliey  seemed  to  have  coine  there  by  a  piKnt 
uiuliTstanding.     Yet  v\lien  ^hey  got  there,  thtjy 


MARTIN   CHUZZLEWIT. 


313 


were  a  little  confused  by  being  there,  which  was 
the  strangest  part  ot'  ail ;  because  there  is  tio- 
tiiing  naturally  confusing  in  a  Fountain.  We 
all  know  that. 

What  a  good  old  place  it  was  I  John  said. 
With  quite  an  earnest  affection  for  it. 

"A  pleasant  place,  indeed,"  said  little  Ruth. 
"So  sh:idy  I" 

Oh  wicked  little  Ruth! 

They  came  to  a  stop  when  John  began  to 
praise  it.  The  day  was  exquisite;  and  stopping 
at  all,  it  was  quite  natural — nothing  could  be 
more  so — that  they  should  glance  down  Garden 
Court ;  because  Garden  Court  ends  in  the  Garden, 
and  the  Garden  ends  in  the  River,  and  that 
glimpse  is  very  bright  and  fresh  and  shining  on 
a  summer's  day.  Then  oh  little  Ruth,  why  not 
look  boldly  at  it!  Why  fit  that  tiny,  precious, 
blessed  little  foot  into  the  cracked  corner  of  an 
insensible  old  flagstone  in  the  pavemrnt;  and  be 
so  very  anxious  to  adjust  it  to  a  nicely  ! 

If  the  fiery-faced  matron  in  the  crunched  bon- 
Di't  could  have  seen  them  as  they  walked  away  : 
how  many  years'  purchase  might  Fiery  Face 
have  been  disposed  to  take  for  her  si-tuation  in 
Furnival's  Inn  as  laundress  to  Mr.  Westlock  ! 

They  went  away,  but  not  through  London's 
streets  !  Through  some  enchanted  city,  where 
tlie  pavements  were  of  air;  where  all  the  rough 
eounds  of  a  stirring  town  were  softened  into  gen- 
tle music;  where  every  thing  was  happy;  where 
tiicre  was  no  distance,  and  no  time.  There  were 
two  good-tempered  burly  draymen  letting  down 
big  butts  of  beer  into  a  cellar,  somewhere;  and 
when  John  helped  her — almost  lifted  her — the 
iiijhtest,  easiest,  neatest  thing  you  ever  saw — 
across  the  rope,  they  said  he  owed  them  a  good 
turn  for  giving  him  the  chance.  Celestial  dray- 
men ! 

Green  pastures,  in  the  summer  tide,  deep-lit- 
tcred  straw-yards  in  the  winter,  no  siint  of  corn 
and  clover,  ever  to  that  noble  horse  who  icoitld 
dance  on  the  pavement  with  a  gig  behind  him, 
and  who  frightened  her,  and  made  her  clasp  his 
arm  with  both  liands  (both  hands:  meeting  one 
upon  the  t)iher,  so  endearingly  I),  and  caused  her 
to  implore  him  to  take  refuge  in  the  pastry- 
csook's ;  and  afterwards  to  peep  out  at  the  door 
W)  shrinkinjily  ;  and  then:  looking  at  him  with 
those  eyes  :  to  ask  him  was  he  sure — now  was 
he  sure — they  might  go  safely  on!  Oh  for  a 
string  of  rampant  horses  !  For  a  lion,  for  a  bear, 
a  mad  bull,  any  thing  to  bring  the  little  hands  to- 
gether on  his  arm,  again  I 

They  talked,  of  course.  They  talked  of  Tom, 
and  all  these  chanfjes,  and  the  attachment  Mr. 
Cfiuzzlcwit  had  coticeived  for  him,  and  the  bright 
prospects  he  had  in  such  a  friend,  and  a  great 
deal  more  to  the  same  purpose.  The  more  they 
,  tulUed,  the  more  afraid  this  tlutterinar  little  Ruth 
became  of  any  [)ause;  and  sooner  than  have  a 
p^iuse  she  would  say  the  same  things  over  again; 
and  if  she  hadn't  cuirage  or  presence  of  mind 
enough  for  tliat  (to  say  the  truth  she  very  seldom 
had),  she  was  ten  thousand  times  more  charming 
and  irre-'isiihle  than  she  had  been  betbrc. 

"  iMartin  will  be  married  very  soon  now,  I 
■uppose,"  said  John. 

She  siiiij'.osi'd  he  would.  Never  did  a  bewitch- 
ing little  woman  suppose  anything  in  such  a  taint 
voice  as  Rnt'i  su;i[ioscd  that. 

But  leeluig  that  another  of  those  alarming 
40 


pauses  was  approaching,  she  remarked  that  h» 
vMiuld  have  a  beautiful  wife.  Didn't  Mr.  West- 
lock  think  so  ? 

"  Ye — yes,"  said  John  ;  "  oh,  yes." 

Siie  feared  he  was  rather  hard  to  please,  he 
spoke  so  coldly. 

"  Rather  say  already  pleased,"  said  John.  "  I 
have  scarcely  seen  her.  I  had  no  care  to  see 
her.     1  had  no  eyes  tor  her,  this  morning." 

Oh,  good  gracious  ! 

It  was  well  they  had  reached  their  destination. 
She  never  could  have  gone  any  further.  It  would 
have  been  impossible  to  walk  in  such  a  tremble. 

Tom  had  not  come  in.  They  entered  the  tri- 
angular parlour  together,  and  alone.  Fiery  Face, 
Fiery  Face,  how  many  years'  purchase  now! 

She  sat  down  on  the  little  sofa,  and  untied  her 
bonnet-strings.  He  sat  down  by  her  side,  and 
very  near  her:  very,  very  near  her.  Oh,  rapid, 
swelling,  bursting  little  heart,  yoi.  knew  that  it 
would  come  to  this,  and  hoped  it  would.  Why 
beat  so  wildly,  heart! 

"  Dear  Ruth  !  Sweet  Ruth  !  If  I  had  loved  you 
less,  I  could  have  told  you  that  I  loved  you,  long 
ago.  I  have  loved  you  from  the  first.  There 
never  was  a  creature  in  the  world  more  truly 
loved  than  you,  dear  Ruth,  by  me!" 

She  clasped  her  little  hands  before  her  face 
The  gushing  tears  of  joy,  and  pride,  and  hope, 
and  innocent  affection,  would  not  be  restrained. 
Fresh  from  her  full  young  heart  they  came  to 
answer  him. 

"  My  dear  love  I  If  this  is  :  I  almost  dare  to 
hope  it  is,  now  :  not  painful  or  distressing  to  you, 
you  make  me  hapt)icr  than  I  can  tell,  or  you 
imagine.  Darling  Ruth!  My  own  good,  gentle, 
winning  Ruth!  I  hope  I  know  the  value  of  your 
heart,  I  hope  I  know  the  worth  of  your  angel 
nature.  Let  me  try  and  show  ynu  that  I  do; 
and  you  will  make  me  happier,  Ruth — " 

"  Not  happier,"  she  sobbed,  "  than  you  make 
me.  No  one  can  be  happier,  John,  than  you 
make  me  !" 

Fiery  Face,  provide  yourself!  The  usual 
wages,  or  the  usual  warning.  It's  all  over,  Fiery 
Fac>'.     We  needn't  trouble  you  any  further 

The  little  hands  could  meet  each  other  now, 
without  a  rampant  horse  to  urge  them.  There 
was  no  occasion  for  lions,  bears,  or  mad  bulls.  It 
could  all  be  done,  and  infinitely  better,  without 
their  assistance.  No  burly  drayman,  or  big  butts 
of  beer,  were  wanted  for  apologies.  No  apology 
at  all  was  wanted.  The  soft,  light  touch  fell 
coyly,  but  quite  naturally,  upon  the  lover's  shouU 
der ;  the  delicate  waist,  the  drooping  head,  the 
blushing  cheek,  the  beautiful  eyes,  the  exquisite 
little  mouth  itself,  were  all  as  natural  as  possible 
If  all  the  horses  in  Araby  had  run  away  at  once, 
they  couldn't  have  improved  upoti  it. 

They  soon  began  to  talk  of  Tom  airuin. 

"  I  hope  he  will  be  glad  to  hear  of  it  !"  said 
John,  with  sparkling  eyes. 

Ruth  drew  the  little  hands  a  little  tighter  when 
he  said  it,  and  looJied  up  seriously  into  his  fact. 

"  1  am  never  to  leave  him,  am  I,  dear  ?  1 
could  never  leave  Tom.  I  am  sure  you  know 
that." 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  ask  you  ?"  he  return 
ed,  with  a — well !  Never  mind  with  what 

"I  am  sure  you  never  would,"  she  answeret^ 
the  bright  tears  standing  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  I  will  swear  it,  Ruth,  my  darling,  if  yt>' 


314 


LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES  OF 


please.  Leave  Tom  I  That  would  be  a  strange 
beginning'.  Leave  Tom,  dear !  If  Tom  and 
we  be  not  inseparable,  and  Tom,  (God  bless  him) 
h,.ve  not  all  honour  and  all  love  in  our  home,  my 
little  wife,  may  that  home  never  be  !  And  that's 
a  strong  oath,  Ruth." 

Shall  it  be  recorded  how  she  thanked  him  ? 
Yes,  it  shall.  In  all  simplicity  and  innocence 
and  purity  of  heart,  yet  with  a  timid,  graceful, 
half-determined  hesitation,  she  set  a  little  rosy 
seal  upon  the  vow,  whose  colour  was  reflected  in 
her  face,  and  flashed  up  to  the  braiding  of  her 
dark  brown  hair. 

"Tom  will  be  so  happy,  and  so  proud,  and 
glad,"  she  said,  clasping  her  little  hands.  "  But 
»o  surprised  !  I  am  sure  he  has  never  thought 
of  such  a  thing." 

Of  course  JoHt)  asked  her  immediately — be- 
cause you  know  they  were  in  that  foolish  state 
when  grciit  allowances  must  be  made — when  she 
iiad  begun  tn  think  of  such  a  thing,  and  this 
made  a  little  diversion  in  their  talk  ;  a  charming 
diversion  to  them,  but  not  so  interesting  to  us; 
at  the  end  of  which,  they  came  back  to  Tom 
again. 

"Ah,  dear  Tom  I"  said  Ruth.  "I  suppose  I 
ought  to  tell  you  every  thing  now.  I  should 
have  no  secrets  from  you.    Should  I  John,  love?" 

It  is  of  no  use  saying  how  that  preposterous 
John  answered  her,  because  he  answered  in  a 
manner  which  is  untranslatable  on  paper,  though 
highly  satisfactory  in  itself.  But  what  he  con- 
veyed  was.  No  no  no,  sweet  Ruth  ;  or  something 
to  that  effect. 

Then  she  told  him  Tom's  great  secret;  not 
exactly  saying  how  she  had  tound  it  out,  but 
leaving  him  to  understand  it  if  he  liked;  and 
John  was  sadly  grieved  to  hear  it,  and  was  full 
of  sympathy  and  sorrow.  But  they  would  try, 
he  said,  only  the  more,  on  this  account,  to  m;ike 
him  happy,  and  to  beguile  him  with  his  favourite 
jrsuils.    And  then,  in  all  the  confidence  of  such 

time,  he  told  her  how  he  had  a  capital  oppor- 
unity  of  establishing  himself  in  his  old  profes- 
ion  in  the  country;  and  how  he  had  l)een  think- 
jig,  in  the  event  of  that  happiness  coming  upon 
him  which  had  actually  corue — tliere  was  another 
slight  diversion  here — how  he  had  been  thinking 
that  it  would  afford  occupation  to  Tom,  and 
enable  ihein  to  live  tngetlicr  in  the  easiest  man- 
ner,  without'  any  sense  of  dependence  on  Tom's 
part ;  and  to  be  as  happy  as  the  day  was  long  : 
and  Ruth  receiving  this  with  joy,  they  went  on 
Catering  for  Tom  to  that  extent  that  they  had 
already  pureiiased  him  a  select  library  and  built 
him  an  organ,  on  wh-ich  he  was  performing  with 
the  greatest  satisfaction  :  when  they  heard  him 
knocking  at  the  door. 

Though  she  longed  to  tell  him  what  had  hap- 
pened, poor  little  Ruth  was  greatly  agitated  by 
his  arrival  ■  the  more  so  because  she  knew  that 
Mr.  Chuzzlewit  was  with  him.  So  she  said,  all 
hi  a  tremble  : 

'What  shall  I  do,  dear  John  !  I  can't  bear 
that  he  should  hear  it  from  any  one  but  me,  and 
I  could  not  tell  him,  unless  we  wcire  alone." 

"  Do,  my  love,"  said  John,  "  whatever  is  natu- 
ral to  you  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  and  I 
am  sure  it  will  be  right." 

He  had  hardly  time  to  say  thus  much,  and 
Ruth  had  hardly  time  to — ^just  tu  get  a  little  far- 
ther uff— upon  the  sofa,   when   Turn   and  Mr. 


Chuzzlewit  came  in.     Mr.  Chu/zlt<vit  came  firs*, 
and  Tom  was  a  few  seconds  behind  him. 

Now  Ruth  had  hastily  resolved  that  she  would 
beckon  Tom  up  stairs  after  a  short  time,  and 
would  tell  him  in  his  little  bedroom.  But  when 
she  saw  his  dear  old  face  come  in,  her  heart  waa 
so  touched  that  she  ran  into  his  arms,  and  laid 
her  head  down  on  his  breast,  and  sobbed  out, 
"  Bless  me,  Tom  !     My  dearest  brother  !" 

Tom  looked  up,  in  surprise,  and  saw  John 
Wesllock  close  beside  him,  holding  out  his  hand, 

"  John  I"  cried  Tom.     ".lohn  I" 

"  Dear  Tom,"  said  his  friend,  "give  me  your 
hand.     We  are  brothers,  Tom.' 

Tom  wrung  it  with  all  his  force,  embraced  his 
sister  fervently,  and  put  her  in  John  Westlock'a 
arms. 

"  Don't  speak  to  me,  John.     Heaven  is  very 

good  to  us.     I "     Tom  could  find  no  furthei 

utterance,  but  left  the  room;    and   Ruth   went 
after  him. 

And  when  they  came  back,  which  they  did 
by-and-by,  she  looked  more  beautiful,  and  Turn 
more  good  and  true  (if  that  were  possible)  than 
ever.  And  though  Tom  could  not  speak  upon 
the  subject  even  now  :  being  yet  too  newly  glad 
he  put  both  his  hands  in  both  of  John's  with 
emphasis  sufficient  for  the  best  speech  evei 
spoken. 

"  I  am  glad  you  chose  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Chua. 
zlewit  to  John;  with  the  same  knowing  smile  a» 
when  they  had  let't  him.  "  I  thought  you  would 
I  hope  Tom  and  I  lingered  behind  a  discreet 
time.  It's  so  long  since  1  had  any  practical 
knowledge  of  these  subjects,  that  I  have  been 
anxious,  I  assure  you." 

"  Your  knowledge  is  still  pretty  accurate, 
Sir,"  returned  John  laughing,  "  if  it  led  you  to 
foresee  what  would  happen  to  day." 

"  Why,  I  am  not  sure,  Mr.  Westlock,"  said 
the  old  man,  "  that  any  great  spirit  of  prophecy 
was  needed,  al'ter  seeing  you  and  Ruth  logetheR 
Come  hither,  pretty  one.  See  what  Tom  and  I 
purchased  this  morning,  while  you  wero  dealing 
in  exchange  with  that  young  merchant  there." 

The  old  man's  way  nf  seating  her  beside  him, 
and  humouring  his  voice  as  if  she  were  a  mere 
child,  was  whimsical  enough,  but  full  of  tender, 
ncss,  and  not  ill  adapted,  somehow,  to  charming 
little  Ruth. 

"  See  here  !"  he  said,  taking  a  case  from  hig 
pocket,  "  what  a  beautiful  necklace.  Ah!  How 
it  glitters  I  Ear-rings,  too,  and  bracelets,  and  a 
zone  fof  your  waist.  This  set  is  yours,  and 
Mary  has  another  like  it.  Tom  couldn't  under- 
stand why  I  wanted  two.  What  a  short-sighted 
Tom  !  Ear-rinys  and  bracelets,  and  a  zone  for 
your  waist!  Ah!  beauiit'ul!  Let  us  see  how 
brave  they  look.  Ask  Mr.  Westlock  to  clapp 
them  on." 

It  was  the  prettiest  thing  to  see  her  holdirfg 
out  her  round,  white  arm  ;  and  John  (oh  deej», 
deep,  John  !)  pretending  tha:  the  bracelet  waa 
very  hard  to  fasten;  it  was  the  prettiest  thing  to 
see  her  girding  on  the  precious  little  zone,  and 
yet  obliged  to  have  assistance  because  hiT  finger* 
were  in  such  terrible  perplexity  ;  it  was  the 
prettiest  thing  to  see  her  so  confused  and  bashful, 
with  the  sinik's  and  blnshcs  playing  brightly  on 
her  face,  like  the  sparkling  liyht  upon  the  jewels, 
it  was  the  prettiest  thing  that  you  would  see,  in 


MARiiN    CHUZZLEWIT. 


815 


the  common  experiences  of  a  twelveciKHith,  rely 

upon  it. 

"  The  set  of  jewels  and  th»e  wearer  are  so  well 
matched,"  said  the  old  man,  "  ttiat  I  don't  know 
which  becomes  the  other  most.  Mr.  VVesllock 
could  tell  me,  1  have  no  donhl  ;  but  I'll  not  a.sk 
him  for  he  is  bribed.  Health  to  wear  them,  my 
dear,  and  happiness  to  make  you  Ibrgetful  of 
them,  except  as  a  rememhrunce  o(  a  loving 
friend  1" 

He  patied  her  upon  the  cheek,  and  said  to 
Tom : 

"  1  must  play  the  part  of  father  here,  Tom, 
also.  There  are  not  many  fathers  who  marry 
two  duu;j;hters  on  Ihe  siime  day  ;  but  we  will 
overlook  the  improbability  l()r  the  gratification 
o!  an  old  man's  fancy.  I  may  claim  that  much 
indulgence,"  lie  added,  "  for  1  have  gratified  lew 
fancies  enough  in  my  life  icnding  to  the  happi. 
iiess  of  others.  Heaven  knows!" 

These  various  proceedings  had  occupied  so 
niuch  time,  and  they  fell  into  such  a  pleasant 
Conversation  now,  that  it  was  within  a  quarter 
of  an  lioiir  of  the  time  a[>pointed  for  dinnir  be- 
fore any  of  them  thought  about  it.  A  hackney- 
coach  soon  carried  them  to  the  Temple,  however; 
and  there  they  found  every  thing  prepared  liir 
their  reception. 

Mr.  Tupley  having  been  furnished  with  un 
limited  credentials  relative  to  the  ordering  of 
dinner,  had  so  exerted  himself  for  the  honour  ol' 
the  parly,  that  a  prodigious  banquet  was  served, 
Uiwler  the  joint  direction  of  himself  and  his  in- 
tended.  ]VIr.  Chuzzlewil  would  have  had  them 
of  the  party,  and  .Martin  urgently  seconded  his 
wish,  but  Mark  could  by  no  means  be  persuadid 
to  sit, down  at  t^ihle;  observing,  that  in  having 
the  honour  of  attending  tr)  their  comforts,  lie 
ftit  himseir,  indeed,  the  landlord  of  the  Jolly 
Tapley,  and  could  almost  delude  himself  into 
the  belief  that  the  entertainment  was  actually 
being  held  under  the  Jolly  Tapley's  roof. 

For  the  belter  encouragement  of  hiinself  in 
this  fable,  Mr.  Tapley  took  it  upon  him  to  issue 
divers  general  directions  to  the  waiters  from  the 
Hotel,  relative  to  the  disposal  of  the  dishes  and 
so  forth;  and  as  they  were  usually  in  direct  op- 
position to  all  precedent,  and  were  iilways  issuid 
in  his  most  facetious  form  of  thought  and  spteeli, 
they  occasioned  great  merriment  among  these 
attendants;  in  which  Mr.  Tapley  |)articipated, 
with  an  infinite  enjoyment  of  his  own  humour. 
He  likewise  entertained  them  with  short  anec- 
ootes  of  his  travels,  ai>propriale  to  the  occasion; 
a.id  now  and  then  with  some  comic  passage  or 
oliitr  between  himself  and  .Mrs.  Lupin;  so  that 
explosive  laughs  were  constantly  issuing  from 
li.e  sidf  board,  and  from  the  backs  of  chairs  ;  and 
t!ie  head. w;i iter  (who  wore  powder,  and  knec- 
fiinalis,  and  was  iisiially  a  grave  m.m)  got  lu  be 
a  brivlit  scarlet  in  the  face,  and  broke  his  waist- 
toa'-stnngs,  audibly. 

Younii  Martin  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
an-1  Tom  Pinch  at  the  foot;  and  if  there  was  a 
genial  fa  e  at  that  board,  it  was  Tom's.  They 
sU  took  thtir  tone  from  Tom.  Everybody  drank 
to  him.  everybody  looked  to  him,  everybody 
thcnght  c\'  him,  everybody  loved  him.  If  he  so 
uidch  a^••  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork,  somebody 
put  out  a  hand  to  shake  with  him.  Martin  and 
Mary  had  taken  him  aside  before  dinner,  and 
•Duken  to  bini  so  heartily  of  the  time  to  come; 


laying  such  fervent  stress  upon  the  trust  ihey 
hud  in  his  completion  of  thtir  felicity,  by  iiis 
society  and  closest  friendship:  that  Tom  waa 
positively  moved  to  tears.  He  couldn't  bear  lU 
His  heart  was  full,  he  said,  of  happiness.  And 
so  it  was,  Tom  spoke  the  honest  truih.  It 
was.  L.irge  as  thy  heart  was,  dear  Tom  Finch, 
it  had  no  room  that  day,  for  any  thing  but  liap- 
piness  and  sympathy  ! 

And  there  was  Fips,  old  Fips  of  Austin  Friara, 
prest'ut  at  the  dinner,  and  turning  out  to  be  the 
joihest  old  dog  that  ever  did  violence  to  his  con- 
vivial sentiments  by  shutting  liimself  up  in  a 
dark  office.  "Where  is  he  I"  said  Fips,  wlieu 
he  came  in.  And  then  he  pounced  on  Tom, 
and  told  him  that  he  wanted  to  relieve  himself  of 
all  his  old  constraint;  and  in  tlie  first  place 
shook  him  by  one  hand,  and  in  the  second  place 
shook  him  by  the  other,  and  in  the  third  place 
nudged  him  in  the  waistcoat,  and  in  Ihe  fourth 
phice,  said,  "How  are  youl"  and  in  a  great 
many  other  places  did  a  great  many  other  things 
to  show  his  friendliness  and  joy.  And  he  sang 
songs,  did  Fijjs;  and  made  speeches,  did  Fips, 
and  knocked  olT  his  wine  pretty  handsome,  did 
Ftps;  and,  in  short,  he  was  a  perfect  Trump. 
was  F'ips,  in  all  respects. 

But  ah!  the  happiness  of  strolling  home  at 
night — obstinate  little  Ruth,  she  wouldn't  hear 
of  riding  ! — as  they  had  done  on  that  dear  night, 
from  Furnival's  Inn  !  The  happiness  of  being 
able  to  talk  about  it,  and  to  confide  their  happi- 
ness to  each  olher!  The  happiness  of  stating 
all  iheir  liltle  plans  to  Tom,  and  seeing  his 
brii;ht  face  grow  brighter  as  they  spoke  ! 

When  they  reached  home,  Tom  left  John  and 
his  sister  in  the  parlour,  and  went  up  stairs  into 
his  own  room,  under  pretence  of  seeking  a  book- 
And  Tom  actually  winked  to  himself,  when  he 
got  upstairs:  lie  thought  it  such  a  deep  thing 
to  have  done. 

"  They  like  to  be  by  themselves  of  course," 
said  'i'om  ;  "  and  I  came  away  so  naturally',  that 
1  have  no  doubt  Ihey  are  expecting  me,  every 
moment,  to  return.     That's  capital  I" 

Hut  he  had  n-ot  sat  reading  very  long,  when 
he  heard  a  tap  at  his  door. 

"  May  I  come  in  ?"  said  John. 

"Oh,  surely  !"  Tom  replied. 

"  Pon'l  leave  us,  Tom.  Don't  sit  by  yourself. 
We  want  to  make  vou  merry  ;  not  melancholy." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Tom,  with  a  cheerful 
smile, 

"  Brother,  Tom.     Brother." 

"  My  dear  brother,"  said  Tom;  "there  is  no 
danger  of  my  being  melancholy.  How  can  I 
be  melancholy,  when  I  know  that  you  and  Ruth 
are  so  blest  in  each  olher  !  I  think  I  can  find 
my  tongue  to-night,  John,"  he  added,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  But  I  never  can  tell  you 
what  unutterable  joy  this  day  has  given  me. 
It  would  be  unjust  to  you  to  speak  of  yo'ir 
having  chosen  a  portionless  girl,  for  I  feel  thai 
you  know  her  worth;  I  am  sure  you  know  hei 
vvoril).  Nor  will  it  diminish  in  your  estiiiialion, 
John  ;  which  money  might." 

"  Which  money  would,  Tom,"  he  returned. 
"  Her  Wort'  !  Oh,  who  eoulJ  see  her  here,  and 
not  love  lir  Who  could  know  her,  Tom,  and 
not  honour  ► -tr.  Who  could  ever  stnnd  possessed 
of  Pxjch  a  he  ♦!  as  hers,  and  grow  indifferent  to 
the  treasure      Who  ould  feel  the  rapture  that  / 


316 


LIFE    AND    ADVENTURES    OF 


feel  to-day,  nnd  love  as  I  love  her,  Tom  ;  without 
knowing-  soiiu;tliii]y  of  her  worth  !  Your  ji.y 
uriullcraoh'!    No,  no,  Tom.    It's  mine,  it's  mine." 

''  No,  no,  Jolm,"  said  Tom.  "  It's  mine,  it's 
mine." 

Their  friendly  contention  was  brought  to  a 
.•lose  by  little  Ruth  herself,  who  came  peeping 
in  at  the  door.  And  oh,  the  look,  the  glorious, 
hiilf-proud,  half-timid  look  she  gave  Tom,  when 
her  lover  drew  her  to  his  side  1  As  much  as  to 
say,  "  Yes  indcea,  Tom,  he  will  do  it.  But  tiien 
be  has  a  right  you  know.  Because  I  a7n  fond 
of  him,  Tom." 

As  to  Tom,  he  was  perfectly  delighted.  He 
could  have  sat  and  looked  at  them,  just  as  they 
were,  for  hours. 

"  I  have  told  Tom,  love ;  as  we  agreed ;  that 
we  are  not  going  to  permit  him  to  run  away, 
and  that  we  cannot  possibly  allow  it.  The  loss 
of  one  person,  and  such  a  person  as  Tom,  too, 
out  of  our  small  household  of  three,  i«  not  to  be 
endured  ;  and  so  1  have  told  him.     Whether  he 


is  considerate,  or  whether  he  is  only  selfish,  I 
don't  kcow.  But  he  needn't  be  considerate,  for 
he  is  not  the  least  restraint  upon  us.  Is  he 
dearest  Ruth  ?'* 

Well !  He  really  did  not  seem  to  be  any  par- 
ticular  restraint  upon  them.  Judging  from  what 
ensued. 

Was  it  folly  in  Tom  to  be  so  pleased  by  their 
remembrance  of  him,  at  such  a  ti-ne  ?  Was 
their  graceful  love  a  folly,  were  tiieir  dear  ca- 
resses follies,  was  their  lengthened  parting  folly? 
Was  it  folly  in  him  lo  watch  her  window  frtun 
the  street,  and  rate  its  scantiest  gleain  of  liglit 
above  all  diamonds;  folly  in  her  to  bre  ithe  liis 
name  upon  her  knees,  and  pour  out  her  pure 
heart  before  iliat  Beinjr,  from  whom  such  hearts 
and  such  afTections  come! 

If  these  be  follies,  then  Fiery  Face  go  on  and 
prosper !  If  they  be  not,  then  Fiery  Face 
avaunt  I  But  set  the  crunched  bonntt  at  some 
other  sinijlu  genileman,  in  any  case,  for  one  is 
lost  to  thee  tor  ever  I 


CHAPTER  LIV. 


GIVES  THE  AUTHOR  GREAT  CONCERN.    FOR  IT  IS  THE  LAST  IN  THE  BOOK. 


ToDQERs's  was  in  high  feather,  and  mighty 
preparations  for  a  late  breakfast  were  astir  in 
fts  commercial  bowers.  The  blissful  morning 
had  arrived  when  Miss  Pecksniff  was  to  be 
united,  in  holy  matrimony,  to  Augustus. 

Miss  Pecksniff  was  in  a  frame  of  mind, 
equally  becnmina;'  to  herself  and  the  occasion. 
She  w;is  full  of  clemency  and  conciliation.  She 
had  laid  in  several  chaldrons  of  live  coals,  and 
was  pre;)aied  to  heap  them  on  the  heads  of  her 
enemies.  She  bore  no  spite  or  malice  in  her 
heart.     Not  the  least. 

Quarrels,  Miss  Pecksniff  said,  were  dreadful 
things  in  families;  and  though  she  never  could 
forgive  her  dear  papa,  she  was  willing  to  receive 
her  other  relations.  They  had  been  separated, 
she  observed,  too  lon<r.  It  was  enough  to  call 
down  a  judgment  upon  the  family.  She  believed 
the  death  of  .lonas  was  a  judgment  on  tt)cm  for 
their  internal  dissensions.  And  Miss  Pecksniff 
was  ctinfirmi  d  in  this  belief,  hv  the  lightness 
with  which  the  visitation  had  fallen  on  hersilf. 

By  way  of  doing  sacrifice — not  in  triumph; 
not,  of  coarse,  in  triumph,  but  in  humiliation  of 
spirit — this  amiable  young  person  wrote,  there- 
fore, to  her  kinswoman  of  tlie  stronir  mind,  and 
in  brmed  her,  that  her  nuptials  would  take  place 
on  such  a  (lay.  That  she  had  been  niu(.-h  hurt 
by  the  unnatural  conduct  of  herself  and  daugh- 
ters, and  lioped  they  might  not  have  suffered  in 
their  cons(  iemes.  That  being  desirous  to  for- 
give  her  enemies,  and  make  her  ^eace  with  the 
world  l)(;fore  entering  into  the  most  solenm  of 
covenants  with  'lie  most  devoted  of  men,  she 
now  hold  out  the  hand  of  friendship.  'I'hat  if 
tile  strong. minded  woman  took  that  hand,  in  the 
temper  in  vvliicli  it  was  extended  lo  her,  shi'. 
Miss  PecksnilF,  did  invite  her  to  be  pnscut  at 
the  ceremony  of  her  marriage,  and  did  further- 
more invite  the  three  red-nosed  spinsters,  her 
duogliters  (but  Miss  Pecksniff  did  not  [lartieu- 
lii'iTC  their  noses),  to  attend  as  bri(ie<maids, 

'i'lie  stroti^j-minded  woman  returned  for  nn- 
fwet.  that   herself  and   dauirhters  were,  as  nj. 


garded  their  consciences,  in  the  enjoyment  of 
robust  health,  which  she  knew  Miss  Pecksniff 
would  be  glad  to  hear.  That  she  had  received 
Miss  Pecksniff's  note  with  unalloyed  delight, 
because  she  never  had  attached  the  least  im- 
portance to  the  paltry  and  insignificant  jeal- 
ousies with  whieh  herself  and  circle  had  been 
assaihd ;  otherwise  than  as  she  found  them,  in 
the  contemplation,  a  harmless  source  of  inno- 
cent mirth.  That  she  would  joyfully  attend 
Miss  Pi'cksnifTs  bridal ;  and  that  her  tiiree  dear 
daughters  would  be  happy  to  assist,  on  so  inte- 
resting, and  so  very  unexpected — whieh  the 
strong-minded  woman  underlined — so  very  un- 
expected an  occasion. 

On  the  receipt  of  this  gracious  reply,  Mi-ss 
Pecksnitf  extended  her  forgiveness  and  her  iiu 
vitatlons  to  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Spottletoe;  to  Mr, 
George  Chuz7.1ew:t  the  bachelor  cousin ;  to  tiie 
solitary  'eniile  who  usually  had  tlie  tootliache; 
and  to  the  hairy  young  gentleman  with  the  out- 
line of  a  face  ;  surviving  remnants  of  the  party 
that  liad  once  assemblrd  in  Mr.  PecksuitTs  par- 
lour. Aflcr  which  Miss  Pecksnitf  remarked, 
that  t  ere  was  a  sweetness  in  doing  our  duty, 
whieh  neutralised  the  bitter  m  our  cups. 

The  wedding  guests  had  not  yet  assembled, 
and  indeed  it  was  so  early  that  Miss  Peeksiii.^f 
herself  was  in  the  act  of  dressing  at  her  leisuri', 
when  a  carriage  stopped  near  the  iMonumtiit ; 
and  Mark,  <!ismomiting  from  the  ruml)!e,  as- 
sisted Mr.  ('hu/ziewit  to  iiliirht.  'I'he  carriage 
rcmaiiKul  in  waiting;  so  did  Mr.  Taplcy.  Mr. 
Chuzzh  wit  betook  himself  to  Todgers's. 

He  was  sliown,  by  the  degenerate  successor 
of  Mr.  Biiley,  into  the  dining-parlour ;  where — 
for  his  visit  was  expected — Mrs.  Todgers  ini. 
mediately  appeared, 

"  You  are  dressed,  I  see,  for  the  wedding,"  ho 
said. 

Mrs.  Todgers,  who  was  greatly  flurried  by 
the  preparations,  replied  in  the  affirmative. 

"*  It  goes  against  my  wishes  to  have  it  in  pro 
gicss  Just  now,  I  assure  yuu.  Sir,"  said  Mra 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


317 


Tod^ers;  "bat  Miss  Pecksniff's  mind  was  set 
U[Jon  it,  and  it  ruuUy  is  time  that  Miss  Peck- 
BQiff  was  married.  That  cannot  be  denied, 
Sir." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  "assuredly  not. 
[Icr  sister  tuites  no  part  in  the  procepdiu^s?" 

"Oh  de.ir,  no,  Sir.  Poor  tiling!"  said  Mrs. 
Todgers,  shaking  her  liead,  and  dro|)()iiig  iier 
voice.  "  Since  she  has  known  the  worst,  she  has 
ni  vcr  left  my  room  ;  the  next  room." 

"  Is  siie  prepared  to  see  me  ?"  he  inquired. 

*'  Quite  prepiirt'd,  Sir." 

''  Tht  n  let  us  lose  no  time." 

Mrs.  'J'udgtrs  conducted  him  into  the  little 
back  chambrr  cmnmanding  the  proijpect  of  the 
cistern  ;  and  there,  sadly  different  from  when  it 
had  first  been  her  lodging,  sat  poor  Merry,  in 
mourning  weeds.  The  room  looked  very  dark 
and  sorrowfiil;  and  so  did  she  j  but  she  had  one 
friund  beside  her,  faithful  to  the  last.  Old 
Qiuffey. 

When  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  sat  down  at  her  side, 
sbe  took  his  h.md  and  put  it  to  her  lips.  She 
was  in  great  grief.  He  loo  was  agitated  ;  for  he 
h;id  not  seen  her  since  their  parting  in  the 
churchyard. 

"  I  judi.'ed  you  hastily,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 
**  I  fear  I  judged  you  cruelly.  Let  me  know  that 
I  have  your  t<)r!j;iveness." 

"She  kissed  his  hand  agnin;  and  retaining  it 
in  hers,  ihemkLd  him  in  a  broken  voice,  for  all 
his  kindness  to  her  sinci;." 

"Tom  Pinch,"  said  Mnrtin,  "has  faithfully 
related  to  me  all  that  you  desired  him  to  convey  ; 
Qt  a  time  when  he  deemed  it  very  improbable 
that  he  would  ever  have  an  opportunity  of  deliver- 
ing your  message.  Believe  me,  that  if  I  ever 
deal  Mgriin  with  an  ill-advised  and  unawnkfined 
nature,  hidinsr  the  strengtii  it  thinks  its  weak- 
ness: I  will  have  long  and  mercilbl  considera- 
tion for  it." 

"You  had  for  me;  even  for  me,"  she  an- 
swered. "1  quite  believe  it  I  said  the  words 
you  have  repeated,  when  my  distress  was  very 
sharp  and  hard  to  bear;  I  say  them  now  for 
others ;  but  i  cannot  urge  them  for  myself. 
You  spoke  to  me  at'ter  ynu  had  seen  and  watched 
nw;  day  by  diy.  There  was  great  consideration 
in  that.  Yod  might  have  spoken,  perhaps,  more 
kindly;  you  might  have  tried  to  invite  niy  con- 
fidence by  greater  gentleness;  but  the  end  would 
have  been  the  same." 

He  shook  iiis  heaa  in  doubt,  and  not  without 
eome  inward  s(  I'-rcprnach. 

''  Hnw  can  I  hope,"  she  said,  "that  your  inter- 
position would  have  prevailed  with  me,  when  I 
know  how  obdurate  I  was  !  I  never  thought  at 
all;  dear  Mr.  (^huzzlewitt,  I  never  thought  at 
ill! ;  I  had  no  thought,  no  heart,  no  care  to  find 
une ;  at  that  time.  It  has  grown  out  of  my 
trouble.  I  have  felt  it  in  my  trouble.  I  wouldn't 
recall  my  trouble,  such  as  it  is,  as  has  been — and 
it  is  light  in  comparison  with  trials  which  hun- 
dreds of  good  people  suffer  every  day,  I  know — 
I  wouldn't  recall  it  to-morrow,  if  I  could.  It  has 
been  my  friend,  for  without  it,  no  one  could  have 
changed  me;  nothing  could  have  changed  me. 
Do  not  mistrust  me  because  of  these  tears  ;  I 
cannot  help  them.  I  am  grateful  for  it,  in  my 
»oul.     Indeed  I  am  !" 

"  Indeed  she  is '"  said  Mrs.  Todgers.  "  I 
believe  it,  Sir." 


"  And  so  do  1 1"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit.  "  Now? 
attend  to  me,  my  dear.  Your  l.ite  Imsbanrl't 
estate,  if  nut  wasted  by  the  confession  of  a  lartro 
debt  to  the  broken  r)iiiee  (which  document,  bemg 
useless  to  the  runaways,  has  beim  sent  over  to 
England  by  them  :  not  eo  much  tijr  the  sake  of 
the  creditors  as  for  the  gratification  of  llieir  dis- 
like to  him,  whom  they  suppose  to  be  still  living), 
will  be  seized  upon  by  law  ;  for  it  is  not  exempt, 
as  I  learn,  iVom  the  claims  of  thosi;  who  have 
sutTered  by  the  fr  lud  in  which  he  was  engaged. 
Your  father's  property  was  all,  or  nciirly  all, 
embarked  in  the  same  transaction.  If  there  be 
any  left,  it  will  be  seized  on  in  like  manner 
Tll^e  is  no  home  there." 

"•1  couldn't  return  to  him,"  she  said,  with  an 
instinctive  reference  to  his  having  for^;ed  her 
marriage  on.     "  I  could  not  return  to  him  !" 

"I  know  it,"  Mr.  Chuzzlewit  resumed:  "and 
I  am  here,  because  I  know  it.  Come  with  me  ! 
From  all  who  are  about  me,  you  are  certain  (I 
have  ascertained  it)  of  a  generous  welcome.  But 
until  your  health  is  re-otabljii'ied,  and  you  are 
sufHciently  composed  to  bear  welcnme,  you  shall 
have  your  abode  in  any  quiet  retreat  of  your  own 
choosing,  near  London ;  not  so  far  reniuved  but 
that  this  kind-hearted  lady  may  visit  yon  as  often 
as  she  pleases.  You  have  suffered  mneh  ;  but 
you  are  young,  and  have  a  brighter  and  a  better 
future  stretching  out  betbre.  Come  with  me. 
Your  sister  is  careless  of  you,  I  know.  Slie 
hurries  on  and  publishes  this  marria:i:e,  in  a 
spirit  which  (to  say  no  more  of  it)  is  barely 
decent,  is  unsisterly,  and  bad.  Leave  the  house 
before  her  guests  arrive.  She  means  to  give  you 
pain.  Spare  her  the  offence ;  and  come  with 
me  !" 

Mrs.  Todgers,  though  most  unwilling  to  part 
with  her,  added  her  persuasions.  Even  ()iior  old 
Chuffey  (of  course  included  in  the  project)  addi.'d 
his.  She  hurriedly  attired  herselfi  and  was 
ready  to  depart,  when  Miss  Pecksniff  dashed 
into  the  room. 

Miss  Pecksniff  dashed  in  so  suddenly,  that  she 
was  placed  in  an  embarrassino;  positiim.  For 
though  she  had  completed  her  bridal  ti<iletle  as 
to  her  liead,  on  which  she  bore  a  bridal  bonnet 
with  orange  flowers,  she  had  not  compkti  d  it  is  in 
her  skirts,  which  displayed  no  choicer  decoration 
than  a  dimity  bedgown.  She  had  dashed  in,  in 
fact,  about  halfway  throu<rh,  to  console  her  sisiiT 
in  her  affliction  with  a  siyhl  of  the  afore*  nd 
bonnet ;  and  beinsr  quite  uncDiiscious  of  tlie 
presence  of  a  visiter,  until  she  found  Mr.  Cfmz. 
zlewit  standing  face  to  lace  with  her,  her  surprise 
was  an  uncomlurtalile  one. 

"  So,  young  lady  !"  said  the  old  man,  eyeing 
her  with  strong  dislavour.  "  You  are  to  be  mar- 
ried to-day  !" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Miss  Pecksniff,  modestly. 
"I  am.  I — my  dress  is  rather — really,  Mrs, 
Todgers  !" 

"  Your  delicacy,"  said  old  Martin,  "is  troubled 
I  perceive.  I  am  not  surprised  to  find  it  so.  You 
have  chosen  the  period  of  your  uiai  ridge,  untbr- 
tunalely." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,"  retorted 
Cherry  ;  very  red  and  anjrry  in  a  moment:  "  but 
if  you  have  any  thing  to  say  on  that  subject,  I 
must  beg  to  refer  you  to  Augustus.  You  wil 
scarcely  think  it  manly,  I  hope,  to  Ibrce  an  areu- 
ment  on  me,  when  Augustus  is  at  all  tiuieb  read* 


318 


LIFE   AND    ADVENTURES   OF 


to  discus*  it  with  you.  1  have  nothing  to  do 
with  uny  deceptions  thut  m;iy  have  been  prac- 
tised on  my  parent,"  said  Miss  PccksnitF,  point- 
edly ;  "  and  as  1  wish  to  be  on  good  terms  with 
every  body  at  such  a  time,  I  should  have  been 
glad  if  you  would  have  favoured  us  with  your 
company  at  breakfast.  But  I  will  not  ask  you  as 
it  is  :  seeing  that  you  have  been  prepossessed  and 
6et  against  nie  in  another  quarter.  I  hope  I  have 
my  natural  affections  for  another  quarter,  and 
my  natural  pity  for  another  quarter  ;  but  I  can- 
not always  submit  to  be  subservient  to  it,  Mr. 
(Jliuzzlewit,  That  would  be  a  little  too  much.  I 
trust  I  have  more  respect  for  myself,  as  well  as 
for  the  man  who  claims  nie  as  his  Bride." 

"  Your  sister,  meeting,  as  I  think  :  not  as  she 
euys,  for  she  has  said  nolhiiiff  about  it  :  with 
little  Consideration  from  you,  is  going  away  with 
me,"  said  Mr.  Chuzzlewit. 

"  I  am  very  happy  to  find  that  she  has  some 
good  fortune  at  last,"  rtturned  Miss  Pecksniff, 
tossing  her  head.  "  I  congriitulate  iier,  1  am 
eure.  I  am  not  surprised  th;it  this  event  should  be 
painful  to  her;  painful  to  her:  but  I  eun'l  help 
that,  Mr.  Cliuzzlewit.      It's  not  my  fiiult." 

"Come,  Miss  Pecksniff!"  said  the  old  man, 
quietly.  "1  should  like  to  see  a  better  parting 
between  you.  I  should  like  to  see  a  better  part- 
ing on  your  side,  in  such  circumstances.  It 
would  make  me  your  friend.  You  may  want  a 
friend  one  day  or  other." 

"  Every  relation  of  life,  Mr.  Chuzzlewit,  beg- 
ging your  pardon:  and  every  friend  in  life:" 
returned  Miss  Pecksniff,  uilh  dignity,  "is  now 
bound  up  and  cemented  in  Augustus.  So  long 
as  Augustus  is  my  own,  I  cannot  want  a  friend. 
When  you  speak  of  friends,  sir,  1  must  beg,  once 
for  all,  to  refer  you  to  Augustus.  That  is  my 
impression  of  the  religious  ceremony  in  whicli  i 
uin  so  soon  to  take  a  ()arl  at  tliul  altar  to  which 
Augustus  will  conduct  rne.  I  bear  no  ni;ilice  at 
any  time,  much  less  in  a  infuiicnt  of'  triumjih, 
towards  any  one;  inueh  less  Icwiirds  my  sister. 
On  the  contrary,  I  conyralijlaie  tier.  If  you 
didn't  hear  .Tie  say  s<',  I  am  not  to  bhune.  And 
as  I  owe  it  to  Augustus,  to  be  punctual  on  an 
occasion  when  he  muy  iidiurally  be  supposed  to 
be — to  be  impatient — really,  Mrs.  TodgersI — 1 
must  beg  your  leave.  Sir,  to  retire." 

After  tliesp  words  the  bridal  bonnet  disap- 
peared ;  with  as  much  slate,  as  the  dimity  bed- 
gown left  in  it. 

Old  Martin  gave  his  arm  to  the  younger  sister 
without  speakiof"  ;  and  led  lier  out.  Mrs.  'lod- 
gers, with  lier  holiday  (jarmenls  fluttering  in  the 
wind,  aceompanietl  them  to  the  (arriiige,  clung 
round  Merry's  neck  at  parting,  and  ran  back  to 
her  own  dingy  house,  crjing  the  whole  way. 
She  had  a  lean  lank  body,  Mrs.  Todgers,  but  a 
well-conditioned  soul  wilhin.  Perhaps  the  Good 
Samaritan  was  lean  and  lank,  and  found  it  hard 
to  live.     Who  knows  I 

Mr.  Chuzzlewit  followed  her  so  closely  with 
his  eyes,  that  until  she  had  shut  her  own  door, 
tliey  did  not  encounter  Mr.  Tapley's  lace. 

"Why,  Mark  !"  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  oliscrvcd 
it,  "  what's  the  matter  I" 

"The  wonderfullest  cweni,  sir!"  returned 
Mark,  pumping  at  his  voice  in  a  most  laborious 
manner,  and  hardly  able  to  articulate  with  all  his 
efforts.  "A  coincidence  as  never  was  e(iualled  ! 
I'm  blessed  if  here  ain't  two  old  neighbours  of 
•urn,  sir  i" 


"  What  neighbours !"  cried  old  Martin,  looking 
out  of  window.     "  Where  !" 

"I  was  a  walkin'  up  and  down  not  five  yarda 
from  this  spot,"  said  Mr.  Tapley,  breathless,  "  and 
they  come  upon  me  like  their  own  ghosts,  as  I 
thought  they  was  I  It's  the  wonderfullest  ewent 
that  ever  happened.  Bring  a  feather,  somebody, 
and  knock  me  down  with  it!" 

"  What  do  you  mean!"  exclaimed  old  IMartin, 
quite  as  much  excited  by  the  spectacle  nt  Mark's 
excitement,  as  that  strange  person  was  himself. 
*'  Neighbours,  where  !" 

"Here,  sir!"  replied  Mr.  Tapley.  "Here  in 
the  city  of  London  !  Here  upon  these  very  stones  ! 
Here  they  are,  sir!  Don't  1  know  'em  I  Lord 
love  their  welcome  faces,  don't  I  know  'em !" 

With  which  ejaculations  Mr.  Tapley  not  only 
pointed  to  a  decent-looking  man  and  woman 
standing  by,  but  commenced  embracing  them  al- 
ternately, over  and  over  again,  in  Monument 
Yard. 

"Neighbours,  where!"  old  Martin  shouted: 
almost  maddened  by  his  ineffectual  efforts  to  get 
out  at  the  coach-door. 

"  Neighbours  in  America  !  Neighbours  in 
Eden  !"  cried  Murk.  "  Neighbours  in  the 
swamp,  neighbours  in  the  bush,  neighbours  in 
the  fever.  Didn't  she  nurse  us  I  Didn't  he  help 
us  !  Shouldn't  we  both  have  died  without  'em  ! 
Ilav'n't  they  come  a  strugglin'  back,  w  itiioul  a 
single  child  for  their  consolation  I  And  talk  to 
me  of  neighbours !" 

Away  he  went  again,  in  a  perfectly  wild  state, 
hugging  them,  and  skipping  round  them,  and 
cutting  in  between  them,  as  if  he  were  pertiirming 
some  frantic  and  outlandish  dance. 

Mr.  Chuzzlewit  no  sooner  gathered  who  these 
people  were,  than  he  burst  open  the  coach-door 
somehow  or  other,  and  came  tumbling;  out  among 
them  ;  and  as  if  the  lunacy  of  Mr.  Tapley  were 
contagious,  he  immediali  ly  began  to  shake  hands 
too,  and  exhibit  every  demonstration  of  the  live- 
liest joy. 

"Get  up  behind  !"  he  said.  "Get  up  in  the 
rumble.  Come  along  with  me!  Go  you  on  the 
box,  Mark.     Home  !     Home  !" 

"  Home  !"  cried  Mr.  Tapley,  seizing  the  old 
man's  hand  in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm.  "  Exactly 
my  opinion,  sir.  Home,  for  ever!  Excuse  the 
liberty,  Sir,  I  can't  help  it.  Success  to  the  .lolly 
Tapley  !  There's  nothin'  in  the  house  they 
sha'n't  have  for  the  askin'  for,  except  a  bill 
Home  to  be  sure  !     Hurrah  !" 

Home  they  rolled  accordingly,  when  he  had 
got  the  old  man  in  again,  as  fiist  as  tlicy  could 
go;  Mark  abating  nothing  of  his  fervour  by  the 
way  but,  allowing  it  to  vent  itself  as  unrestrained- 
ly  as  if  he  had  been  on  Salisbury  Plain. 

And  now  the  wedding  parly  began  to  assem- 
ble at  Todgers's.  Mr.  Jinkins,  the  only  boarder 
invited,  was  on  the  ground  first.  He  wore  a 
white  favour  in  his  button-hole,  arrd  a  bran  new 
extra  super  double-milled  blue  saxony  dress  coal 
(that  was  its  description  in  the  bill),  with  a 
variety  of  tortuous  embellishments  about  the 
pockets,  invented  by  the  ariist  to  do  honour  to 
the  day.  The  miserable  Augustus  no  longer  felt 
strongly  even  on  the  subject  of  Jinkins.  He 
hadn't  strength  of  mind  enough  to  do  it.  "  Lei 
him  come  !"  he  had  said,  in  answer  to  Miss  PeckL. 
sniff,  when  she  urged  the  point.  "  Let  him  come  ! 
He  has  ever  been  my  rock  ahead  Llirough   lifoi 


MARTIN  CHUZZLEWIT. 


319 


Tis  meet  he  should  be  there.  Ha,  ha  !  Oh,  yes ; 
let  Ji.ikuis  coiiiu  1" 

Jiiihiii!i  had  come,  with  .ill  the  pleasure  in  life; 
and  there  he  was.  For  some  few  minutes  he 
had  no  companion  but  the  breakfast,  wliich  was 
set  forth  in  llie  drawing-room,  with  unusual  taste 
and  ceremony.  But  Mrs.  Todgers  soon  joined 
biin  ;  and  tlie  bachelor  cousin,  the  hairy  young 
gentleman,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Spottletoe,  arrived 
lo  quicis  succession. 

Mr.  Spottletoe  honoured  Jinkins  with  an  en- 
couraging bow.  "Glad  lo  know  you,  Sir,"  he 
said.  "Give  you  joy;"  Under  the  impression 
that  Jinkiijs  was  the  happy  man. 

Mr.  Jiiikins  explained.  He  was  merely  doing 
ItiG  honours  i()r  his  friend  .Moddle,  who  had 
ceased  to  reside  in  the  house,  and  had  not  yet 
arrived. 

"  Not  arrived,  Sir  I"  exclaimed  Spottletoe  in  a 
great  heut. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Mr.  Jinkins. 

"  Upon  my  soul  I"  cried  Spottletoe.  "  He  be- 
gins well!  Upon  my  life  and  honour  this  younjr 
man  begins  well!  But  I  should  very  much  like 
to  know  how  it  is  that  every  one  who  comes  into 
contact  with  this  family  is  guilty  of  some  gross 
insult  to  it !  Death  !  Not  arrived  yet.  Not  here 
to  receive  us  !" 

The  nephew  with  the  outline  of  a  countcjiance 
suggested  that  perhaps  he  liad  ordered  a  new 
pair  of  boots,  and  they  hadn't  come  home. 

"Don't  talk  to  me  of  bouts,  Sir!"  retorted 
Spottletoe,  with  immense  indignution.  "  He  is 
bound  to  come  here  in  his  slip]iers  then  ;  he  is 
bound  to  come  here  barefoot.  l)on't  offer  such  a 
wretched  and  evasive  plea  to  me  on  behalf  of 
your  friend,  as  boots.  Sir." 

"  He  is  not  my  friend,"  said  the  nephew,  "  I 
never  saw  him." 

"  Very  well,  Sir,"  returned  the  fiery  Spottletoe. 
■Then  don't  talk  to  me." 

The  door  was  thrown  open  at  this  juncture, 
and  Miss  Pecksniff  entered,  tottering,  and  sup- 
ported by  her  three  bridesm;iids.  The  strong- 
minded  woman  brought  up  the  rear,  haviirg 
Waited  outside  until  now,  for  the  purp'jse  of  spoil- 
ing  the  effect. 

"How  do  you  do,  ma'am,"  said  Spottletoe  to 
the  strong-minded  woman  in  a  tone  of  defiunce. 
"  I  believe  you  see  Mrs.  Spottletoe,  M.i'atn." 

The  strong-minded  woman,  with  an  air  of 
great  interest  in  Mrs.  Spottletoe's  heullh,  regret- 
ted that  she  was  not  more  easily  srcn.  N.iture 
erring,  in  that  lady's  case,  upon  the  slim  side. 

"Mrs.  Spottletoe  is  at  least  more  ensily  seen 
than  the  bridegroom,  Ma'am,"  returned  that 
lady's  husband.  "I'hat  is,  unless  he  li.is  con- 
fined his  attentiotis  to  any  purlicuhir  part  or 
branch  of  this  family,  which  would  be  quite  in 
keeping  with  its  usual  proceeding's." 

"  If  you    allude   to    me.  Sir "  the  strong- 

tninded  woman  began. 

"■Pray,"  interposed  Miss  Pecksniff,  "  do  not 
allow  Aui^ustus,  at  this  awful  moniciil  of  his  lite 
and  miiie,  to  be  the  means  of  disturbing  that 
harmony  which  it  is  ever  Augustus's  and  my 
wish  to  maintain.  Aufjustus  h.is  not  been  intro- 
duced to  any  of  my  relations  now  present.  He 
preferred  not." 

"Why,  then,  I  venture  to  assert,"  cried  Mr. 
Spottletoe,  "that  the  imn  who  aspires  to  join  this 
family,  and  '  prefers  not'  to  be  introduced  to  its 


members,  is  an  impertinent  Puppy.  That's  my 
opinion  ol  him ."' 

The  strong-minded  woman  remarked  with 
great  suavity,  that  she  was  afraid  he  must  be. 
Her  three  daughters  observed  aloud  that  it  waa 
"  Shameful  I" 

"  You  do  not  know  Augustus,"  said  Misa 
Pecksniff,  tearfully,  "  indeed  you  do  not  know 
him.  Augustus  is  all  mildness  and  humility. 
Wait  'till  you  see  Augustus,  and  i''u  sure  b« 
will  conciliate  your  affections." 

"  The  question  arises,"  said  Spottletoe,  folding 
his  artns  ;  ''  How  long  we  are  to  wail.  1  am  not 
accustomed  to  wait;  that's  the  tact.  And  1  want 
to  know  how  long  we  are  expected  to  wail." 

"  -Mrs  Todgers  !"  said  Cliarity.  "  Mr.  Jinkins  ! 
I  am  afruid  there  must  be  some  mistake.  I 
thitik  Augustus  must  liave  gone  straight  to  the 
Altar  !" 

As  such  a  thing  was  possible,  and  the  church 
was  close  at  hand,  Mr.  Jinkins  ran  uti"  to  see : 
accompanied  by  Mr.  George  Chuzziewit  the 
bachelor  C(jusin,  who  preferred  anything  to  the 
aggravation  of  sitting  near  the  brcjkfast,  with- 
out  being  able  to  eat  it.  But  tiiey  came  back 
with  no  other  tidings  than  a  familiar  message 
from  the  clerk  importing  that  if  they  wanted  to 
be  married  that  ifiorning,  they  had  better  look 
sharp:  as  the  curate  wasn't  going  to  wait  there 
all  diiy. 

The  bride  was  now  alarmed  ;  seriously  alarm- 
ed. Good  Heavens  what  could  have  happened  ! 
Augustus  !      Dear  Augustus  1 

Mr  Jinkins  volunteered  to  take  a  cab,  and 
seek  him  at  the  newly-furnished  house.  The 
striing-minded  woman  administered  comfort  lo 
Miss  Pecksniff.  "  It  was  a  specimen  of  what  she 
had  to  expect.  It  would  do  her  good.  It  would 
dispel  the  romance  of  the  aff;iir."  The  red-nosed 
daughters  also  administered  the  kindest  comiort 
"  Perhaps  he'd  come,"  they  said.  The  sketchy 
nephew  hinted  that  he  might  have  fallen  off  a 
bridge.  The  wrath  of  .Mr.  Spottletoe  resisted  all 
the  entreaties  of  his  wife.  Every  body  spoke  at 
once,  and  Miss  Pecksniff,  with  clasped  hands, 
souglit  consolation  every  where  and  ffMind  it 
nowdere,  when  Jinkins,  having  met  the  postman 
at  the  door,  came  back  with  a  letter  :  which  he 
put  into  her  hand. 

Miss  Pecksniff  opened  it :  glanced  at  it;  uttered 
a  ()iprcin£'  shriek;  threw  it  down  upon  the 
ground  ;  and  faint'd  away. 

Tluy  picked  it  up;  and  crowding  round,  an! 
looking  over  one  another's  shoulders,  read  in  the 
words  and  dashes  following,  this  communica. 
lion: 

"  Off  Gravesend, 

"Clipper  Schooner,  Cdfid. 
"  Wednesday  night. 
"  Ever  injured  Miss  Pecksniff, 

"  Rre  this  reaches  you,  the  undersigned 
will  be — if  not  a  corpse — on  the  way  to  Va.i 
Piemen's  Land.  Send  not  in  pursuit.  I  never 
will  be  taken  alive  ! 

"The  burden — 300  tons  per  register — forgive, 
if  in  mv  distraction,  I  allude  to  the  ship — on 
my  mind — has  been  truly  dreadful.  Frequently 
— when  ynu  have  sought  to  soothe  my  brow  with 
ki-ses — has  self-destruction  flashed  across  me. 
Frequently — incredible  as  it  may  seem — have  I 
abandoned  the  idea. 


820    LIFE   AND   ADVENTURES   OF   MARTir;   CHUZZLEWIT. 


"  I  love  another.  She  is  another's.  Every 
thing  appears  to  be  somebody  else's.  Nothing  in 
the  world  ia  mine — not  even  my  Situation — 
which  I  have  forfeited — by  ray  rash  conduct — in 
running  away. 

"  If  you  ever  loved  me,  hear  my  last  appeal! 
The  last  appeal  of  a  miserable  and  bliglded  exile. 
Forward  tlie  enclosed — it  is  the  key  of  my  desk 
— to  the  office — by  hand.  Please  address  to 
Biilibs  and  Cholberry — I  mean  Chobbs  and  Bol- 
berry — but  my  hand  is  totally  unhinged.  I  left 
a  penkniftj — with  a  buck-horn  handle — in  your 
work-box.  It  will  repay  the  messenger.  May 
it  make  him  happier  than  ever  it  did  me! 

"  Oh,  Miss  PecksniiF,  why  didn't  you  leave  me 
alone!  Was  it  not  cruel,  cruel'.  Ob,  my  good- 
ness, have  you  not  been  a  witness  of  my  i'eelings 
— have  you  not  seen  them  flowing  from  my  eyes 
— did  you  not,  yourself,  reproach  me  with  weep- 
ing more  than  usual  on  that  dreadful  night  when 
last  we  met — in  that  house — where  I  once  was 
peaceful — though  blighted — in  the  society  of  Mrs. 
Todgers! 

"But  it  was  written — in  the  Talmud — that 
you  should  involve  yourself  in  the  inscrulahle 
and  gloomy  Fate  which  it  is  my  mission  to  ac- 
complish, and  wreathes  itself — e'en  now — ubout 
my  temples.  I  will  not  reproach,  for  I  have 
wronged  you.  May  the  Furniture  make  some 
amends! 

"  Farewell !  Be  the  proud  bride  of  a  ducal 
coronet,  and  forget  me !  Long  may  it  be  before 
you  know  the  anguish  with  which  I  now  sub- 
scribe myself — amid  the  tempestuous  bowlings 
of  the — sailors, 

"  Unalterably, 

"  Never  yours, 

"  Augustus." 

They  thought  as  little  of  Miss  Pecksniff,  while 
they  greedily  perused  this  letter,  as  if  she  were 
the  very  last  person  on  earth  whom  it  concerned. 
But  Miss  Pecksniff  really  had  fainted  away. 
The  bitterness  of  her  mortification ;  the  bitter- 
ness of  having  summoned  witnesses,  and  such 
witnesses  to  behold  it;  the  bitterness  of  knowing 
that  the  strong-minded  woman  and  the  red-nosed 
daughters  t'jwered  triumphant  in  this  hour  of 
their  anticipated  overthrow  ;  was  too  much  to 
be  borne.  Miss  Pecksniff  had  fainted  away  in 
earnest. 


What  sounds  are  these  that  fall  so  grandly  on 
the  ear!     What  darkening  room  is  this! 

And  that  mild  figure  seated  at  an  organ,  who 
is  he?     Ah  Tom,  dear  Tom,  old  friend  I 

Thy  head  is  prematurely  gray,  though  Time 
hds  passed  between  thee  and  our  old  association, 
Tom.  But  in  those  sounds  with  whicn  it  is  thy 
•ont  to  bear  tne  twilight  company,  the  music  of 


thy  heart  speaks  out:  the  story  of  thy  life  relatet 
itself. 

Thy  life  is  tranquil,  calm,  and  happy,  Tom. 
In  the  soft  strain  winch  ever  and  again  cornea 
stealing  back  upon  the  ear,  the  memory  of  thine 
old  love  may  find  a  voice  perhaps;  but  it  is  a 
pleasant,  softened,  whispering  memory,  like  that 
in  which  we  sonietiiues  hold  the  dead,  and  does 
not  pain  or  grieve  thee,  God  be  thanked ! 

Touch  the  notes  lightly,  Tom,  as  lightly  as 
thou  wilt,  but  never  will  thine  hand  fall  half  so 
lightly  on  that  instrument  as  on  the  head  of 
thine  old  tyrant  brought  down,  very,  very  low; 
and  never  will  it  make  as  hollow  a  response  to 
any  touch  of  thine,  as  he  does  always. 

For  a  drunken,  begging,  squalid-letter-writing 
man,  called  Pecksniff:  with  a  shrewish  daughter: 
haunts  thee,  Tom ;  and  when  he  makes  appeals 
to  thee  for  cash,  reminds  thee  that  he  built  thy 
fortunes  better  than  his  own  ;  and  when  he  spends 
it,  entertains  the  ale-house  company,  with  tales 
of  thine  ingratitude  and*lHa  munificence  towards 
thee  once  upon  a  time ;  and  then  he  shows  his 
elbows  worn  in  holes,  and  puts  his  soleless  shoes 
up,  on  a  bench,  and  begs  his  auditors  look  there; 
while  thou  art  comfortably  housed  and  clothed. 
All  known  to  thee,  and  yet  all  borne  with,  Tom! 

So,  with  a  smile  upon  thy  face,  thou  passes>l 
gently  to  another  measure;  to  a  quicker  and  more 
joyful  one;  and  little  feet  are  used  to  dance  about 
thee  at  the  sound ;  and  bright  young  eyes  to 
glance  up  into  thiue.  And  there  is  one  slight 
creature,  Tom — her  child;  not  Ruth's — whom 
thine  eyes  follow  in  the  romp  and  dance:  whi», 
wondering  sometimes  to  see  thee  look  so  thought- 
fi^l,  jruns  to  climb  up  on  thy  knee,  and  put  her 
cheek  to  thine :  who  loves  thee,  Tom,  above  the 
rest,  if  that  can  be:  and  falling  sick  once,  chose 
thee  for  her  nurse:  and  never  knew  impatience, 
Tom,  when  thou  wert  by  her  side. 

Thou  glidest  now,  into  a  graver  air:  an  air 
devoted  to  old  friends  and  bygone  times;  and  in 
thy  lingering  touch  upon  the  keys,  and  the  rich 
swelling  of  the  mellow  harinony,  they  rise  befire 
thee.  T'le  spirit  of  that  old  man  dead,  who  de- 
lighted to  anticipate  thy  wants,  and  never  ceasi:d 
to  honour  thee,  is  there,  among  the  rest:  repeat- 
ing, with  a  face  composed  and  calm,  the  words 
he  said  to  thee  upon  his  bed,  and  blessing  thee! 

And  coming  from  a  garden,  Tom:  bestrewn 
with  flowers  by  children's  hands :  thy  sister  little 
Ruth,  as  light  of  foot  and  heart  as  in  old  days, 
sits  down  beside  thee.  From  the  Present,  and 
the  Past,  with  which  she  is  so  tenderly  entwined 
in  all  thy  thoughts,  thy  strain  soars  onward  to 
the  Future.  As  it  resounds  within  thee  and 
without,  thy  kindling  face  looks  on  her  with  a 
Love  and  Trust,  that  knows  it  cannot  die.  The 
noble  music,  rolling  round  her  in  a  cloud  of 
melody,  shuts  out  the  grosser  prospect  of  so 
earthly  parting,  and  uplifts  her,  Tom,  to  Heavwi '. 


THE  END. 


( 


V 


:-llte 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


^'^   L.D 


'^^N 111963 


RECEIVCP 


JUL3U»69^1^'^'^ 


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JUL  /:  'i  1905 


gmCUUATION  DffT, 


LD  21A-50m-ll,'62 
(D3279sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  Califoraia 

Berkeley 


GENERAL  LIBRARY    U.C.  BERKELEY 


BD0D7aS3MS 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


■^•'^^: 


^ 


